Tumgik
#(do i sound too desperate and/or demanding?)
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Another
Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister!reader
Requested by anonymous
Synopsis: You go with your brothers to a bar, but things turn sideways when a stranger won’t leave you alone.
Warnings: creepy guy, scared reader, protective Sam and Dean
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Another hunt. Another town. Another bar.
After you guys had moved into the bunker, some stupid, stupid part of you thought that maybe some things would change. But some things would always be the same.
You didn’t mind the hunting, you really didn’t. You didn’t want to do it, and you wished your brothers had a safer life, but you understood at least. They helped people, and that was everything.
But you hated this; being in a town full of strangers in a bar full of people much older than you, huddling in a corner waiting for your big brothers. There was nothing like not belonging while being surrounded by drunk, adult strangers.
Usually, the adults would stare at you like you were an alien for a moment or two, then ignore you. Young teens weren’t common in bars, but it wasn’t interesting enough to keep them from their good times.
This time, something was different. A man near the bar had been staring at you ever since you walked in the door. You had even gone to the other side of the bar to avoid him, but he followed. He hadn’t approached you, but he wouldn’t stop staring. Since he’d yet to go near you, you didn’t see a reason to bother Sam and Dean about it.
But he was starting to freak you out, so you found yourself trying to locate Sam or Dean in the crowded bar.
“Hey.”
You were so distracted looking for your brothers that you hadn’t seen the man approaching.
“Name’s Greg,” he greeted.
“Hi,” you muttered, still glancing around for Sam and Dean.
“What’s a sweetheart like you doing here alone?” Greg asked in a sickeningly sweet voice.
“‘M not—“ You were squirming in your seat now, and Sam and Dean were nowhere to be seen. “—not alone.”
“Now don’t be nervous.” Greg took the seat next to you and scooted it closer so that his knee was touching yours. You tried to scoot back, but you chair was already against the wall. You couldn’t go back, and Greg was angled in such a way that if you got up, he was blocking any easy exit.
“I have to find my brothers,” you said, deciding to risk it and stand up, attempting to squirm past the man.
Your whole body stiffened as though someone had dropped an ice cube down your back. Greg, still sitting in his own chair, and grabbed your leg right above your knee when you stood. His fingers were curled, gripping you much too tightly.
“Hey now,” he said, trying to keep up the sweet tone but sounding annoyed. “No need to rush off.” His fingers slackened their grip, but once he let go he stood, towering over you much too closely. And then the hand that was on your knee was on your shoulder, his fingers digging into the sensitive skin near your neck.
“I-I have to—“ your voice caught in your throat when his grip tightened painfully.
“No you don’t,” he all but commanded. “Just stay right here with me, nobody’s gonna miss you.” He shifted forward until all you could see was him. Your back was up against the wall; you had nowhere to go.
“Please don’t—“
“Hey!”
As soon as Greg had appeared, he was gone, and in his place stood the men you’d been so desperate to find.
Dean was shoving Greg toward the exit, and Sam was right there with him until you called out for him.
Sam turned hesitantly, leaving Dean to deal with the creep as he rushed to you and began to examine you.
“Did he hurt you?” Sam demanded.
You shook your head even as you rubbed your sore shoulder. This didn’t go unnoticed by Sam, who pulled aside your sleeve just enough to see the bruises already forming near your neck. His jaw ticked, and he turned to go after Greg, but you grabbed onto his sleeve to keep him near you.
“Don’t go,” you pleaded, and he relented immediately. The moment his arms wrapped around your shoulders, you all but melted into him. The adrenaline that had been pumping through your veins since the moment the man laid his hands on you now felt like a foreign substance pulsing in you, clogging your lungs and burning your eyes and making your knees weak. Your big brother held your weight up effortlessly, rubbing your back and breathing with exaggerated slowness as an example for you to slow your own ragged, racing breaths.
“You’re ok, you’re ok,” he breathed over and over again. “You’re safe now, I’ve got you.”
“Hey.” Dean’s voice had you peaking out from the safety of Sam’s arms. He was standing next to you now, his knuckles suspiciously bruised and bloodied. “Hey, you ok sweetheart?”
You nodded weakly, still resting against Sam. Dean pulled his jacket off and draped it against your shaking shoulders, and the familiar weight and scent washed over you and seemed to abate the adrenaline in your system, at least a little. You took a slow, deep breath that matched Sam’s.
“Let’s get you to the Impala, ok?” Sam suggested gently. You nodded, and Sam kept his arm around your shoulder as the brothers ushered you out. There wasn’t a moment when you weren’t completely surrounded by their protective presence.
Sam guided you into the back of the Impala before joining Dean in the front seats.
Dean glanced back at you every few seconds in the rearview mirror.
“How’s it going back there?”
“‘M ok,” you mumbled, and Dean’s eyebrows curved downward as his mouth retreated into a thin line.
“Ok,” he sighed, and you knew he didn’t believe you.
It didn’t take long to reach the motel, and once the three of you were settled inside Sam spoke again.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
You shook your head quickly, bringing your legs up to your chest and hugging your knees.
“I’m fine,” you said shakily. “He just—he got a little pushy…and grabby.”
“Grabby?” Dean gritted his teeth. “I knew I should’ve hit him harder.”
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” you sighed.
“Ok, ok.” Dean rubbed his face. “I’m sorry.”
“This isn’t your fault,” you said quickly. “It’s not—it’s not that big of a deal.”
“Yes it is,” Dean insisted. “And it’s not going to happen again. Either me or Sam is gonna be with you next time, we’re not gonna leave you alone again, ok?”
You nodded. “Ok, that…that sounds good. In case there’s another time.”
“There’s not gonna be another time,” Sam said, pulling you into his arms. “We’re gonna be there. Always.”
Taglist:
@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale
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jiubilant · 1 day
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what do you think little aduri’s first impression of avrusa and sinderion was…
"And this," says Sinderion, leaning with a grin across the shoulder-carriage bench, "is Asplenium regelliam."
The toddler on Avrusa's copious lap stares, cross-eyed and scholarly, at the sprig of green tickling her nose. Then she squishes her face with a thoughtful gurgle.
"Yes, indeed," says Sinderion with utmost solemnity, "it's named for the estimable Chivius Regelliam, whose work has proven invaluable to we who crawl through hedgerows in his wake. Very good."
"Don't listen to him, sprout," says Avrusa, raising her eyebrows. "Never crawled through a hedgerow in his life. I did all the field work." She bounces her new charge, winning a giggle, then peers with mock severity into her face. "What's A. regelliam in the vernacular?"
Little Aduri gives her a rapt look. Then she reaches up to pull Avrusa's lip.
"Ouch," says Avrusa, amused. "Nirnroot, that's right—ouch."
The shoulder-carriage jostles through the City of Gems on bright and crowded streets, bobbing around foot-traffic like a boat. It has windows. Avrusa tries not to look at them. Outside, the city brims with light and noise: the rattle of pushcarts, the sizzle of frying scrib, the shouts of the chairmen bearing them from her father's squalid palace to the rooms they've rented over the market-square. Not cheap. Nor is the chairmen's fee—but the child can't walk, Avrusa reasons, and Sinderion will be two hundred and ninety next week.
And her father, she thinks, bitter as wormwood, has willed the sprout some pocket-change.
Sinderion, replacing the nirnroot in his bottomless bag, looks sidelong at her. Then—with that awkward, punctilious insight of his—he takes her hand.
"I'm all right," Avrusa rasps, then clears her throat. "Will be." She shakes her head, struck with amazed grief—how suddenly it comes and goes, like the gusts of ash that had once rolled through Ald'ruhn. "He used to keep such a clean house. More than clean."
Her mentor's hands had been lively, once: scribbling notes, sketching lectures in the air, flicking her fingers when she held a pestle wrong. Now they tremble with the simple strain of squeezing her hand. "Orderly?"
"Yes." She looks with bewilderment at the toddler—her half-sister, for gods' sake, two hundred years younger than herself. "And he—n'chow, Sinderion, he was older than you. I just don't understand—"
The shoulder-carriage bucks. Avrusa finds herself doing several things at once: clutching the toddler to her chest, cursing, kicking out a leg to keep Sinderion's bag from flying into him. It crunches. The ungrateful old twig cries out and swats her knee. "You harridan, my retort!"
"Bother your retort—"
"My flasks!"
"Were you planning to brew elixirs," demands Avrusa, righting herself, "here in the sedan—"
Aduri giggles again. Sinderion's grin reappears, as it always does, like an ancient light sputtering on. "Funny, are we?"
Avrusa sets the squirming toddler on her knee. The sprout is scrawny, she thinks with a frown. She smells sour, milky; she'd screamed and kicked the maid who, an hour or so ago, had shoved her at Avrusa with a desperate smile. Avrusa had understood them both. Part of her, she thinks, had wanted to kick something, too—had wanted it ever since she set out, across countless leagues and second-guesses, to fetch home a child she hadn't known existed—
The toddler puts her hand in her mouth. "Bah."
"That's right," says Sinderion, the old cellar-dweller. "Species Plantarum is our art's most inviolable text."
Their new pupil takes her hand from her mouth, studies it academically, then puts it back. Something in Avrusa's chest moves.
"Excelsior," she says gruffly, and tickles her sister's skinny ribs. "I'll read you some."
Aduri laughs. The sound is bright and sweet as a nirnroot's chime.
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Catch a Grenade.
Yan Nanami x GN Reader.
Synopsis: You should have just left that damn satchel where you found it.
Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, some infantilization, humiliation/manipulation, and violence.
Word Count: 900.
Continuation of Never Let Me Down Again.
*~*~*~*
“Go.” Only one word, said so coldly yet loud enough to hear it above the stomps of Kento’s clad feet making their way down the hall. “I say this only once.”
The only reason he does not tug you is because he will surely accidentally break your wrist or your arm.
You know this from experience, all without words and all with actions.
“Since you have planned so much, you should have planned for other possibilities.” You cannot see his face because you are facing the corner of the living room, your forehead leaning against one of the walls. You cannot see his face, but you know he is furious, from the tone in his voice to the position he forced you into. He put you in the time-out corner, a corner that you have not been put into since the first month you arrived here.
The walls are a dull marigold and smell of spoiled milk. This corner also has a large white spot that is uncovered by the paint, and so you attempt to push your nose against that instead.
In what felt like months ago, you attempted to tear off the paint out of boredom. Kento was angry, but not angry enough to buy more paint to fix it.
“I do so much for you…” He says, and there is the sound of his armchair squeaking slightly. He must be sitting on it, grimacing. There isn’t any other cause to think about, not when this sound has been the only one you had heard for months, aside from Kento’s tones, the television, and your cries. Yeah. That must be it, you think. “God. What the hell were you thinking? I have work tomorrow too…”
You don’t say anything. You close your eyes and breathe in the only piece of air that does not smell so rotten. You can imagine being somewhere else, doing something else, other than being here, and being forced to stand on your tiptoes against a coat of yellow latex. Anything else.
“Answer.” He demands, and you can hear the soft sound of his right foot thumping up and down on the musty carpet floor. “Or do you want to be in more trouble than you already are?”
Out of instinct, out of a want so embedded within you, to survive, you stutter out some hardly audible words.
“You don’t have any logic in you, do you?” He sounds so disappointed, and your mind goes to the image of him having his arms crossed. “I’m right. Aren’t I?”
Your toes hurt already. But it feels like something is holding you up by your neck and forcing you to stay there. An invisible noose made of fear. An invisible weight in your chest too.
“I’m sorry, Kento…” You murmur, sniffling as tears and snot and drool run down your face.
“No, you’re not.” He refutes. You can hear him turn to another page of whatever he is reading.
“Please. I am… I am…” You repeat I am a few more times, feeling humiliated, like just an infant who doesn’t know their place.
A sigh. “Are you? Are you? How do I know you’re not lying, hmm? Again?”
Even the soft carpet underneath your toes feels like a bed of thorns at this point. Everything hurts.
“Please, Kento…! I am…! I am…!”
A whine escapes your lips, like a defeated dog sent off to rest in their crate without a treat: a dog, a mutt, a pet.
“Are you?” Another familiar sound of pages turning. You must have been here for hours at this point, so the thing he is reading must be quite long indeed.
So long.
You can imagine him rubbing his thumb and pointer finger into his brow area in frustration, disappointment, in apathy pretending to be sympathy. “You don’t appreciate what I do for you… Do you?”
You can feel a glare, and the ghost of something squeezing your neck to force more desperate words out of you. “P-Please, I’m-” 
You hear the squeak of Kento’s armchair again.
You feel hands, the same hands that always felt so strong, on your shoulders, and you are turned around with ease. He looks at you, but you don’t look at him. You look at his shirt, his work shirt, still halfway unbuttoned with his tie hanging loosely from the stained collar. You can smell his cologne, although it has almost fully faded away. You can remember tying it before he left for work this morning, he looked so happy that you were behaving so well for him.
You almost scream out thank yous, but then Kento ruins your small moment of happiness again.
“We aren’t done.” You see the book he was reading this whole time, it is thick and red and looks so heavy. The pain on your cheek came so fast that you didn’t even see it move. You stumble back, the back of your head hitting hard against the white spot on the wall. 
You were too focused on the pain, on crying even more, that you didn’t notice the book being raised again.
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simplydannie · 2 days
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Part 1 here
Floyd now understands the true reason behind his kidnapping and the fraud…. Velvet just wants her brother cured. Floyd can’t help that some is pulling the strings…. Lying to her.
Today was the day of the concert.
Velvet and Veneer were to use some prototype made by Crimp for this night…. Floyd wasn’t looking forward to it. As he sat there in the small, enclosed diamond he couldn’t stop but think what he learned a couple of weeks ago…. Veneer was sick.
This is the reason why Velvet was doing it… why she was so desperate… she didn’t want to loose her brother. What Floyd couldn’t get out of his head, is who in the world told them about Trolls? Who gave them that idea?…. His thoughts were cut short as her the sounds of a small stifled cry.
Floyd turned to see Velvet sitting on her vanity…. She was fully dressed already…tears coming down her face. He had been witnessing along with her that Veneer was slowly declining…
She didn’t know what else to do… somehow the Troll wasn’t helping… Veneer looked thinner…His voice softer… Velvet was slowly seeing her brother whither away to this stupid sickness. She had done everything they said, everything they asked for… yet there were still no answers…. Veneer still wasn’t better… were they lying to her?
“….Velvet…” Floyd said softly. He could see Velvet glance at him with anger in her eyes through her vanity.
“What Troll!” She demanded… she quickly wiped her tears away and resumed her usual demeanor. Floyd really had to choose his words carefully…
“…. Maybe there’s a way we Trolls could help your brother… without really sucking our talent or anything like that.” He said. This caught her attention… she was silent…. She was listening.
“Maybe where I’m from or any Troll for that matter, we could find a cure? There’s so much out there Velvet, I could help you. I hate seeing Veneer decline just as much as you do.” He admitted. There was silence between them for a few moments….
“I can’t….. I can’t risk it.” She finally said.
“Risk what?” Floyd asked.
“Loosing all this.” She replied.
“Velvet there’s more to life than luxury and-“ She cut him off.
“No! You don’t get it! If they see Veneer can’t keep his end… if he can’t keep up, they’ll remove him! They’ll take him away from me!” She said. A terrified look filled her eyes…She glanced at Floyd…Velvet bit her lip…. She had said too much.
“Who? Velvet, who is threatening you guys?!” Before Floyd could get any response, Veneer walked out the bathroom fully dressed.
“… I look stupid.” He said in a monotone voice, disapproval in his eyes. Again in the flip of a switch Velvet adapted her usual attitude.
“Oh shut up you look fine. Let’s kill this show!” She said. Veneer looked himself over in the mirror, he began to feel less and less himself… Floyd saw this… something slowly started to change in Velvet. She then started slowly changing her brother.
“Remember, everyone wants to be you. You’re the star, not them!” She lifted Floyd off from where he stood. She took a few spritz before placing him inside Veneers chest piece. Veneer was hesitant… he knew this was wrong, but he also knew that he couldn’t let his sister down…. She knew what was best for him….right?
“…ya okay. Let’s do this!” He finally said.
The crowd cheered and screamed as the lights dimmed.
“WHATS UP MOUNT RAGEOUS!” Velvet screamed into the mic. The crowd roared with excitement as Velvet and Veneer took center stage.
“WHOSE READY TO LIVE IT UP TONIGHT!” She screamed again. A burst of energy through the crowd. Floyd could make out all the young faces; waiting for anticipation for the idols to take the stage. He glanced sideways at Veneer….
…..He had a distant look in his eyes…. Floyd could feel him swaying back and forth…
“Veneer?” He said. The young Mount Rageoun glanced at him…. Blood began to trickle down his nose.
“Oh gosh! Veneer!” Floyd exclaimed banging on the diamond.
“I’m fine.” Veneer said wiping the blood away. Floyd desperately tried getting Velvets attention by calling her name, banging on the glass. “I’m fine.” Veneer said again.
The lights started to become a blur to him… the sound of Velvet and the crowd grow slow and muffled…. Blood came down his nose again…he could see Velvet turn to look at him… horror in her eyes… he didn’t know what she said….his eyes then rolled behind his head… he fainted right there on the stage….
“Veneer!” Velvets scream echoed across the arena.
… the crowd gasped and grew silent.
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Fic Prompt #2
Anonymous asked:  For the prompts if you are still taking them: Aylin x Isobel + watching the sunrise.
I have to say I am way too slow and rusty and annoyingly nitpicky with these ficlets. But that's why we are here! And I have about 10 more to go, so thanks to everyone who sent some prompts in.
Fandom: Baldur’s Gate 3 Characters: Dame Aylin/Isobel Thorm Length: ~1900 words No warnings, just some post-reunion comfort and fluff.
---
The first night on the road out of what was once her home, then her shadow-laced purgatory, and now little more than a mosaic of ancient battlefields and assorted tragedies ready to be reclaimed by nature, Isobel Thorm does not manage much sleep.
It is not the tension of her little alliance's precarious position, paired with the strenuous demands of her twilit vigil - not anymore. But the unease is relentless, set deep in her bones and in her gut. It seems to care little for her accumulated exhaustion, for the unlikely joy of their victory, or for the utterly unexpected wonder of having her angel returned to her.
After another restless hour slowly crawls by, even the delight of listening to the familiar sounds of Aylin in a deep, much needed sleep - slow, steady breaths, the occasional unintelligible murmur and soft snore, the rustling of her tossing and turning and stubbornly entangling herself in more and more blankets - fades into frustration.
So Isobel carefully slips out from under a warm, heavy arm and extracts her legs from a mess of kicked-at covers, only just managing not to trip. She retrieves her rumpled robes with some effort, fishing them out of a hastily discarded pile in the dark of the graciously donated tent, and throws them over herself before stepping out.
The rest of the camp is quiet, as even their fully elven compatriots are still engrossed in their nightly meditations. The fire has died down to embers. It is a warm summer night, but Isobel still suppresses a shiver.
It takes but a few steps to find a crumbling, moss-covered stone pillar to lean against. With the feeling of something taking at least part of the weight that seems to have descended upon her, Isobel stands watching the Moon and Her Tears, basking in the familiar light. But it is not as comforting as it should be, as she wants it to be. It hews far too close to that balcony at the inn, perhaps, and to all the twilit days and nights spent gazing upwards, in desperation-tinged prayers to keep the shadows at bay.
All too soon the face of her goddess completes its descent, sinks into branches and out of sight. Taking its place is the grey of pre-dawn, slowly staining the sky just above the treeline crowning the little hollow they have made camp in.
"Isobel?"
The voice is sleep-rough and tinged with concern. Judging by the way Aylin is still pulling on a very wrinkled tunic, she has wasted no time at all between awakening alone and launching into a search. The sight makes Isobel feel a slight twinge of guilt.
Isobel steps out from behind her rather disappointing shelter, only to be immediately caught with an arm around her waist and pressed against a broad shoulder in a comforting, comfortable gesture that needed no thought at all. 
"Did I wake you, my love?" She says quietly, arms tight around Aylin in turn, looking up at her. "I'm sorry, my sneaking skills are not quite up to par--"
"No," Aylin cuts the apology off, shaking her head, dismissing clinging remnants of sleep, and, judging by the shadows lurking around her eyes, something darker, too. "You have done nothing of the sort. Do not worry."
Isobel pointedly does not release her gaze, does not allow for the easy dismissal. Aylin sighs and looks away, restlessly surveying the campfire remnants, the darkened trees, the ground at their feet - clearly displeased to find nothing worthy of her focus. Not breaking their embrace, Isobel reaches up to rub slow, gentle circles against Aylin's stomach, and gives her time.
"It is simply… difficult to sleep without you near." The confession feels like Aylin is drawing out word after heavy, resisting word, and each one tastes bitterer than the last. "The silence, and the stillness. It is…" her lips curl in distaste, "vexing."
Isobel lets the understatement slide. Feeling another rush of guilt that she knows very well is misplaced, she chooses to attempt lightening the mood instead.
"I suppose neither of us have much luck with sleep tonight. Well, perhaps we can look on the bright side - it means we are both awake for the sunrise."
The moment the idea dawns on Aylin is easy to pinpoint, as simple relish lights up her entire being - doubly so when she summons her wings with the smallest yet most eager of movements, shaking out glistening white feathers in anticipation.
"Would my beloved care for a better vantage point?" Aylin's smirk as she extends a gallant hand is a long-lost delight, and the beaming grin when Isobel takes it without a moment of hesitation feels like a warm, curative balm applied directly to her heart.
They have flown together before, of course. Stolen nights, being whisked off of her balcony and returned by morning - Isobel used to be quite well-practised at this. An arm below her knees, and another around her back and chest, while she winds her own arms around Aylin's neck and peppers kisses down her jaw, or combs fingers through her hair. All of it familiar, comforting, safe. All of it things she thought she would never get to experience again.
Her trust in Aylin is absolute, of course. But Isobel still finds herself tightening her hold and burying her face between Aylin's shoulder and neck for the first few moments, as those magnificent wings spread and make a few tentative, testing flutters.
She feels the whoosh and the sudden drop in her stomach, and the takeoff is, perhaps, a bit jerkier than she remembers. But it feels like all the clinging shadows fall off of them both, left far, far below, as gripping and as greedy as they are - for they cannot possibly keep up with the mighty beats of her beloved's wings.
Higher and higher and higher Aylin takes them as Isobel finally dares to truly look; higher even than the very top of Moonrise Towers, Ketheric's great grasp towards the heavens, had ever reached.
Finally, Aylin stops her ascent, ostensibly to let them enjoy the view that stretches out below and all around them. And it is spectacular, truly, there can be no doubt - but there is another sight Isobel wishes to take in and bask in first.
Her darling is of gleaming countenance, glorious and radiant, the first traces of sun glistening on her golden scars only serving to highlight the handsome, cherished lines of her face. But it is the charming tilt of her head, the softness in her eyes and the proud curl of her lip, the way her thumb rubs soothing circles into Isobel's shoulder while holding her aloft, that Isobel loves the most. She presses closer against the warm, solid chest, where that noble, bruised heart beats that Isobel vows to protect, to cradle in her hands with utmost gentleness and care, for as long as she is able.
"Truly wondrous to behold." The smirk on Aylin's face has faded into something softer, and her voice is unusually quiet in its awe, tinged with wistfulness. "To be welcomed home like this, as if I were one of Lathander's own."
There is an undercurrent of dissatisfaction, of something that might be bitterness there that Isobel notes and stores away for later. But she cannot deny the thought is appropriate - a blessing from the Morninglord himself, for a new beginning.
A dawn of their own, set alight the moment their eyes met across that throne room, the same way they had over a hundred years ago. When the Moonmaiden's newly arrived knightly emissary looked up after swearing fealty to the lord of the land, and when Isobel, dutiful at her father's right-hand side, knew her life was to be irrevocably changed by this woman's presence in it.
Then her mind rushes forward and catches on the word home. Aylin's favoured mode of expression is poetic and colourful, yes, but her embellishments and verbal flourishes are never meaningless or thoughtlessly done. She has come home, to Isobel, whose own home is lost to her in ways she has yet to fully take in. Where home might end up being for either, or both of them - that is something they will have to discover. But the task feels so much simpler now that they can do it together.
It feels a tad absurd to Isobel to feel so safe, when so much evil is still at large, and when there is so little between her and a certainly deadly drop. But held in arms she knows will never let her go is the safest she has felt in a long, long while.
The both of them stay quiet for a while after that, and indulge in the magnificence and unlikely miracle of it all. It is the first sunrise either has seen in a century, after all, and they get to witness it together.
And as the tendrils of gold unfurl over the land beneath them, driving away wisps of early morning mist from the winding banks of the Chionthar, rising above the impressive span of the Wood of Sharp Teeth, and rolling, roiling, spilling over to where the shadows once reigned - there it is, Aylin's dream, clung to for a century: dawn undoing a nightmare.
The sun climbs higher and higher, and Aylin gets tired. It is subtle, the strain: a slight downturn of the corner of her lip, pulling down the golden line that runs to join it; her brows furrowing, almost as if to squint at the bright light; the slightest tightening of arms and tremble of tension in her shoulders. Staying aloft in place like this is certainly taxing at the best of times. Gliding, yes - Aylin has told her of impressive distances travelled with ease by catching the air currents just so. But she has not flown in a hundred years. 
Isobel doesn't know many of the details of the past century yet, and is not quite sure she ever will. But she knows Aylin's pride is not something that needs more wounding.
"My angel, perhaps it is time to return? It's… a bit chilly up here." Her words and the accompanying shiver are not altogether false. More importantly, the excuse works as intended, and after one last sweep to take in the view, Aylin shifts to take them back down without a word.
The landing, too, needs just a bit more practice. It is touching and heartbreaking at the same time, the way Aylin is obviously relearning tenderness and gentleness in all she does. Still, Isobel stays happily ensconced in her beloved's arms even when both of her feet are back on solid ground, any trace of the troubling, haunting restlessness that plagued her night long forgotten.
"Thank you," she beams up at Aylin, brings a hand up to caress her cheek, and feels her heart clench at the way Aylin leans into the touch immediately. "I've missed this." I've missed you. But it catches in her throat, for she has had so little time to miss anything at all, and Aylin has had nothing but.
"You need never miss it again," Aylin is solemn and ardent in that particular way of hers, when every simple word sounds like a sacred vow. Isobel chooses not to reply. Instead, she stands on tiptoes and pulls Aylin into a kiss, warm and sunlit.
The camp slowly comes alive behind them, the mounting sounds of a soon-to-be-busy morning drifting over. Isobel takes Aylin's hand and briefly raises it to her lips, then leads them both to face the day.
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Random thought: Jaskier carefully maintains his appearence and puts lots of thought into buying fashionable, interesting clothes. However, Geralt is much more important to him than clothes, so he doesn't hesitate to ruin his clothes for Geralt (for example, using a doublet to stop a bleeding or tearing up a shirt for bandages). He always follows it up with a comment about how that particular piece of clothing was getting out of fashion and needed replacing. Geralt doesn't think too much about it, but once he does, he realises that the clothes Jaskier's sacrificing are definitely not just some old rags.
Now I need a 5+1 fic with 5 times Jaskier ruins his clothes to save Geralt and the witcher doesn't realise that Jaskier actually liked the clothes but loves Geralt more + 1 time he does.
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sunarc · 4 months
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Dilf Toji fucks you nice and slow when you’re done putting Megumi down for bed. He wants to thank you for being so good to him and his son. As a single dad it gets hard so when you came into the picture offering your services it was hard to deny such a genuine offer. You’re so good to Megumi, gentle, kind and patient. Toji can’t help the growing bulge in his pants when he sees you being such a strong mother figure. He has to show you his gratitude. The best way he can do that is by having you in a mating press so he can fuck you nice and deep. 
“You like that?” his voice is a soft hum. 
You feel dizzy. His cock feels so deep. He’s stretching you out more than ever before. You call out his name in a soft whimper.
“Yeah? I’m right here doll don't worry I’m not going anywhere” he groans.
Toji’s obsessed with the way you look taking his cock. Your hole looks so perfect clenching, barely able to fit all of him. You look so full, Toji can’t help but imagine how full you would look with his cum drooling out of you. He has to see it. He’s determined to fuck you full of his cum. His cock plunges in and out of you creating a pattern. Your moans fall past your lips making a tune Toji never wants to forget. 
“That’s it, good girl, say my name” you sound so pretty to him. “Tell me who fucks you this good, say it , tell me no one can make you shake like this, no one can fill this pussy up the way i can”
He’s never felt himself lose control like this before. There’s something about you, something that leaves him desperate for more. He craves you, desires you every waking second. The way your lips part letting pleads and moans drip off your tongue has him losing his mind. He can’t get enough of you. He knows he should be quiet but the way your cunt feels squeezing him so tight he thinks he just might lose his mind. “That feel good baby? Yeah I know” he coos “I’m gonna fuck you so full” his pace is picking up speed. 
His mind is practically blank thinking of how he wants to fill you to the brim with his cum. No that’s not enough he needs to give you every last drop he has. 
“You need my cum don’t you” he’s desperate to hear you say it. He’s practically begging to hear you asking for his cum. Tell him how much you want his babies. He can make you a mommy. Don’t you want him to make you a mommy?
“Our baby is gonna be so beautiful” he whispers. He isn’t sure if you can hear him but he doesn’t mind as long as you’re still losing your mind calling out his name. 
“That’s right” he growls “Say my name while I fuck a baby into you”
His hand push your thighs further down so he can reach deeper. The way he drags his cock past you slick walls has you shaking. Your words come out slurred. 
“It’s too big” you whine as he goes deeper
“No no you can take it.” he bites he lips continuing his long deep strokes. He knows you can take it. Your eyes roll back when he begins grinding his hips into you. He knows he’s hit the spot he’s been searching for. 
“There she is” he chuckles. 
You can barely contain the moans now. Your body is shaking uncontrollably. 
“Please” you gasp “S-slow down, I’m gonna make a mess” you cry.
Toji loves the sound of that. He thrust pick up speed, fucking into you even harder. 
“That’s it, just like that, make a mess on my cock.”
He’s desperately chasing after his own orgasm. He wants to cum with you. His thrust are sloppy. He’s moaning your name pleading for you to cum for him. 
“Cum-fuck Now” he demands. 
You can’t help the juices the splatter against his abs as he fucks his load into you. The two of you are a moaning mess. You ramble incoherent words paired with his name. His eyes are glued on the sticky mess between the two of you. The squelching sounds of his cock fucking his cum back in fill the room. 
“What a pretty sight this is. I hope it’s a girl” he moans “She’ll have your eyes” 
You can barely give him a reply to focused on the way his cock is still plunging in and out. 
“It’s too much” you slur.
“No baby it’s not enough” he groans “I gotta make sure this tummy is full of my cum. One more just one more okay”
Toji has plans on fucking way more than just one more load into you. He has to fuck you full until he’s sure of it you’ll be the one carrying Megumi’s little sister.
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ozzgin · 1 month
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Omg bro yk whats been on my mind for do long?? A demon king trying to court a hero reader. Like the hero has already fought and defeated the king but somehow he comes back and he's desperately trying to get the hero to join him (in more ways than one). He wants the reader to be his spouse and leader of his army against the corrupt human race and the reader (now fallen from stardom due to the evil kings defeat) just wants him gone and to be left alone. Idk if this makes sense but I need to see SOMEONE write abt it before I lose my last marble.
-Doll
This is giving me Dragon Quest vibes, haha. Not a trope I'm too familiar with, but it sounds interesting nonetheless. I shall do my best! Sorry for the delay, I hope it's close to what you imagined. :)
Yandere! Demon King x Hero! Reader
As it goes with villains, they always find a way to return. This time, the Demon King has a different plan in mind. You were prepared for anything, from evil schemes to ancient conjured weapons...except for a wedding ring cordially placed before you. Do you say yes?
Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance, 🔥proposal (literally)
[Part 2]
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You still remember everything so fondly. How you crawled out of that enormous crater, body battered and weak, as everyone watched in horror and held their breaths. Finally, you raised your fist victoriously. The Demon King had been, at last, defeated. The people cheered and cried and pulled you up under thundering waves of applause. Peace was no longer just a dream.
A sweet, innocent memory, even more so given its fleeting nature. The genuine smiles of gratitude quickly turned into crooked grins asking for favors. Before you knew it, you became some sort of political accessory to convince the masses. Posing for photos, shaking hands, being interviewed with bizarrely planned questions reeking of propaganda. You suddenly felt burdened, heavy, disappointed. This was not the kind of fame you envisioned for yourself.
Thus, you gradually vanished from the limelight, keeping your distance from everyone else and spending most days in solitude. Better than having to look into those unscrupulous, opportunistic eyes measuring up your worth. You had fulfilled your job and purpose.
This morning you're woken up by the sound of your belongings rattling in their shelves. The wooden frame of your bed is creaking, and you struggle to get up. An earthquake? A wave of nausea flushes over you. You recognize this feeling all too well, though you never expected to deal with it again. This is a disaster alright, yet the forces of nature have nothing to do with it.
You rush outside, swinging the door open and nearly tripping in your hurry to confirm your suspicions: the demonic creature is approaching your humble adobe with heavy steps, as the ground crumbles and shatters underneath. The Demon King himself, in flesh and blood. Although the blood splattering his armor is most likely not his. Same for the visceral remains threading his weapon. Regardless, your jaw tightens nervously, and you stand back, in a defensive pose. "You're a stubborn one", you say smugly, trying to maintain your composure. "Can't say I'm a fan of dying, that is correct." A ragged, monstrous voice erupts from the tall, armored figure.
"What brings you back?" You demand. The surroundings are too peaceful for him to have tampered with the city. Did he stop by to formally announce his destruction? "I have an offer that might interest you." The Dark Overlord has closed the distance between you, now looming above your much smaller body. You shiver. "I don't barter with Demons!" You conclude, turning around, prepared to leave. "Even when your precious people are on the line?" The horned beast warns with a grin. "If there's nothing better to do as a Ruler of Realms than killing petty humans..." You swiftly retort, going back into your house and slamming the door shut.
He stands for a moment, speechless. "Y-your Majesty? Should I take care of the humans, or (Y/N)?" Only now he notices his scaly butler, bowing to his side with claws resting over the weapon. The Demon King raises a hand, shooing the servant away. The annihilation of the human race can wait. There are more important matters to deal with presently. He'd expected your rejection, naturally, but not in such fashion. The indifference, the flat voice, the empty eyes devoid of emotion. Have the city dwellers tampered with his hero? He expected to see your fierce rage and in return he was met with a hollow shell.
Bright blue flames erupt from the openings of his armor, resulting in a menacing show of lights. He's known it for the longest time, of course. Humans are rotten to their very core. Vile, deceitful creatures that have slithered their way up, exuding undeserved arrogance. He's been trying to show you this very fact, yet you were blinded by naive faith. Your unwavering, honest heart that won him over has turned out to be your early demise. Not anymore. His vengefulness knows no bounds when it comes to traitors.
The sudden spike in temperature alerts you. Was it your rudeness that angered the Demon? You don't care anymore. Whatever happens to the city is out of your hands. And yet...you're buckling the straps of your old suit made for battle. Sword in hand, you gaze at your reflection. What could the Beast want? The fortified city no longer holds the value of its olden days. Just like you've left your hero days behind. Without much contemplation, you run out and head for the main gates. The path is paved with ash and rubble and your grip on the weapon tightens. Regret immediately wells up in your chest, ready to burst out. Is it too late? The entrance is engulfed in fire, charred corpses toppling against the ruins of the walls.
You reach the town hall - or rather, what remains of it - and face the Demon King. Has he gotten stronger since your last encounter? You hold your breath as the horned monster turns towards you. "I've tried to tell you, again and again. Time after time." He sighs, defeated. "Between the two of us, I'd say you were the stubborn one all along." His voice is softer than what you would've expected from someone that had just massacred an entire settlement. There's not a single scratch or sign of struggle. Was he merely holding back during your last fight? One thing is certain: you're his final obstacle. You raise your sword, determined. Hot sweat trickles down your face as the flames surround you. "Well, at least you've convinced yourself now, I hope. There's nothing left for you here." The Demon King lowers himself, extending a fist towards you. A spell? Secret weapon? Your leg muscles contract in anticipation.
His fingers open and stretch out, slowly. In his palm, a barely noticeable ring. Given the ridiculous size difference, you assume this is better fitting for a human. You stare at it in confusion, discerning the wedding vows carved in the noble metal. "What's the meaning of this?" You mutter, glancing at the Beast now resting on one knee before you. "What? Is it not your human custom?" He looks away for a moment, clicking his tongue. "That useless butler. He told me- Forget it! You are to return with me to my Kingdom. As my spouse."
Of all the things you've prepared yourself for...Your brows furrow and your mouth hangs open in shock.
What is your answer? The Demon King will not leave empty-handed.
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arminsumi · 4 months
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★ Satoru's undercut
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★ Synopsis : He fears the hairdresser like it's the dentist. One day, he accidentally gets an undercut style. He would have thrown a tantrum if it weren't for your positive response — because all he really cares about is that you enjoy his haircut.
★ Content : soft fluff, romantic tension, some mutual pining??
★ Library ★ reblog for a cake slice! 🍰
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"This will ruin my life..."
"It will not ruin your life."
"I'm gonna die!"
"You're not gonna die."
"Yes, I'm gonna die! They're gonna cut my head off."
"They're not gonna cut your head off."
Satoru had a haircut appointment which you were accompanying him to as per his desperate demand request. Suguru was there also, helping Shoko with something technical on her phone. He laughed when Satoru was whining to you.
The four of you were on the train; Suguru and Shoko stood tightly packed with their backs facing other people as if they were the group shield. And Satoru sat next to you, clinging to your arm as if he were a kid on his way to the dentist.
"Don't laugh. You know I feel the same about hairdressers as people feel about dentists!" he pouted.
"Satoru, you're so weird." you said.
“I'm not!”
You shook your head at him. Satoru grumbled.
"No one understands me!" he said dramatically.
Suguru commented, "I do understand why you dislike hairdressers, Satoru; most of them don't cut your hair how you want."
Shoko nodded and chimed in, "— yup, and you usually leave with a fake smile and say "oh wowww... I love it!" but you actually hate it." then she went back to frowning at her phone with Suguru.
“My hair is important, I can't afford to have a bad haircut." Satoru said.
"Haha, you make it sound like if you have a bad haircut it could cost you millions." you laughed.
Satoru sat up straighter and spoke seriously, "It may as well cost me millions!"
You didn't understand why Satoru was being so dramatic.
****
The hairdresser looked at you, Shoko and Suguru and then wondered why so many people were accompanying this grown man to his haircut, as if he were about to get a root canal for the first time.
Suguru whispered into her ear, and she blushed at his alluring charm like anyone would.
"He's scared of bad haircuts... so please do your best, he has a girl to impress. See that one sitting there?” Suguru pointed to you, “Yeah, that's the one."
He accidentally flustered her, and he smirked about it when he returned to you and Shoko.
"Suguru, your head looks as big as a bubble about ready to pop." you joked, noticing his smug demeanor as he took a waiting seat with you.
"I think I just flustered the hairdresser on accident." he said.
Shoko chuckled, "Is it ever an accident? I think you do it on purpose — oh, Y/n, I think Satoru is trying to get your attention. Give him some comfort."
Satoru recoiled when the cold blade of the scissors touched his neck, and looked distressed when the hairdresser touched his hair.
You knew he was highly sensitive to touch, especially his hair — he hated people touching his hair (reason X for hating hairdressers). The only person who was allowed to touch his hair was you. Suguru and Shoko needed a "valid reason" for touching Satoru's hair.
But you could comb your fingers through his hair any time, any place for no reason and Satoru would go limp with a smile on his face, completely melting for the act of affection.
Sometimes when it was just you and him alone together in his apartment, especially during his sleepless nights, Satoru would lay his tired head on your lap and ask you to play with his hair. Each stroke of your hand mellowed him out. He especially loved the feeling of your fingers running through his hair when it was fluffy and long.
So really, he feared not the hairdresser or even the bad haircut, but the fact that it might be too short or not fluffy enough for you to enjoy. It had to be just right. He had to maintain his fluffy hair for you.
He wanted to make sure that when you saw him at every party and get-together, you'd think "Wow, Satoru's hair looks so good.". He wanted you to compliment his hair and make him feel good and blushy.
And most of all, he just wanted to please your eyes. He wanted you to be starstruck when you looked at him.
So, a good haircut was critical.
****
Satoru's panic calmed after you took the empty seat next to him. He watched in admiration as you struck up a friendly conversation with the hairdresser. She turned out to be kind. She was an apprentice (picture nervous Satoru stiffening his shoulders when he learned this) and her mother owned the establishment next door.
Satoru was mostly quiet and focused on his reflection in the mirror. He squinted in suspicion when the lady brought out a hair buzzer.
But then you distracted Satoru by asking about what the four of you were doing after this. He stuttered a bit, half-looking at the hair buzzer and jumping a little when it turned on.
You talked so much that Satoru was completely distracted, and the lady could work. Though, it was hard, because Satoru didn't really specify what he wanted... so she winged it.
She thought hey, this guy would look good with an undercut. So, she cut an undercut for Satoru, and looked at you and smirked. His girlfriend will appreciate it, she thought as she looked at you and Satoru talking with hearts in your eyes.
You weren't his girlfriend. But you may as well have been. The two of you were anyways soulmates since kindergarten. Sure, you went away for five years to work abroad, but the link between you and Satoru wasn't broken by the distance.
****
Satoru gasped and nearly fainted when he saw how short his hair had been buzzed at the bottom. His neck felt exposed and suddenly it felt more drafty.
"What the—"
"— oh, you look hot, Satoru." You said.
He immediately shut up and went red in the face.
"Thanks, yeah it looks... yeah." Satoru hesitantly complimented the hairdresser's work.
She beamed proudly and wrapped up the haircutting session. Satoru took off the black dressing gown and stood up and shimmied the white hair off his pants.
"The cat is shedding." you joked, making Satoru grin with sealed lips.
You picked a white strand of his hair off the back of his shirt when he stood in line to pay at the checkout. He didn't notice. Such a cute boy.
Satoru was just grumbling to himself about how he'd need a scarf or turtleneck to compensate for his "practically naked" hairstyle now.
You stared at his undercut and felt your heartbeat get a bit frantic.
Then you kept staring as you left the barber shop.
Satoru wrapped an arm around your shoulders out of habit, as if he were your boyfriend, so the hairdresser felt sure that you two were dating and said something as you two left that really made you and Satoru blush;
"Your girlfriend loves it." she winked.
"I'm not his—"
"She's not my—"
"She sure does! Thanks for everything, see ya." Shoko cut off you and Satoru from responding and shoved the two of you out the door.
****
That comment lingered in the back of yours and Satoru's minds for the rest of the day.
On the train home, you grazed your fingers over Satoru's undercut and it elicited the funniest reaction out of him; he shivered like a cat that had just been scratched in a sweet spot.
"Haha, does that feel good?" you asked.
"It does. But my neck feels naked." Satoru shrugged.
Oh my god, do that again, he thought. It felt so good.
"Aw, then Y/n should wrap her arms around your neck." Suguru said in a flirtatious murmur.
Shoko laughed and propped a cigarette between her lips.
The four of you got off the train, you parted ways. Suguru and Shoko lived in different places and had to wait for their respective trains to take them home. So, you said your goodbyes and went with Satoru.
When you and Satoru moved out of your university housing, you both decided to live on the same street. You can say it was for X reasons, like oh it's a good neighborhood or oh the prices are great or oh the apartment walls aren't thin... but let's be honest; you and Satoru just didn't want to live too far from each other. You were inseparable, even cry-babies whenever the two of you were separated.
Satoru was always clinging or touching you in some way – hanging off your shoulders, resting his chin on the top of your head, draping an arm around you, holding your hand, snuggling into your neck. The closeness brought him more comfort than his own bed. He even claimed once that he could fall asleep on you more readily than on his bed.
Sometimes he was just shy of kissing you when you two met up, or when he knocked on your apartment door some mornings. His lips would graze over yours by accident in some circumstances, and though the two of you would laugh it off, there was an unmistakable spark in the air between you and him.
****
“Do you like it?” Satoru asked.
“I love it. You look really good.” You replied.
Satoru smiled to himself, hiding his face in your lap.
The TV was playing the most recent episode of that trashy romance soap opera – the episode where the two love interests kissed in the rain. Satoru stared hard at their lips connecting, and thought of why he hasn’t attempted to kiss you again. He didn’t want to ruin anything, so he kept his confession to himself even if it was obvious that he liked you.
You noticed he went a bit silent as you ran your fingers through his hair. He made a soft, long groan when your fingertips tickled up the back of his neck and over his prickly undercut.
“You sound like a cat.” You laughed.
His eyes were closed, brows relaxed into a sleepy arch. Whenever he got drowsy in your lap, his lips would part and show his two front teeth.
****
After getting an undercut hairstyle, Satoru was living in heaven with how much attention you gave his hair. Every day you’d find an excuse to play with his hair.
It made his heart beat harder and his mind go blank whenever you touched his neck and hair. He’d get shivers and close his eyes each time you did it, and would even stop talking mid-sentence.
In time it grew out. He refused to go back to the hairdresser, and instead insisted that you cut his hair for him. At first, he attempted to do it himself, but then he wimped out as soon as he held the scissors to his hair.
So, after he practically begged you on his knees and voiced his fear for the hairdresser, you agreed.
Cutting Satoru’s hair was a whole event. You invited Suguru and Shoko over to your apartment, and the four of you were laughing in the cramped bathroom together.
You had no idea what you were doing, and the online tutorials didn’t help much.
Satoru was dramatic when he thought you were cutting it too short or jagged, and he was so very picky that it drove you nuts to the point of putting the scissors down and leaving. But then he hugged your legs and apologized cutely, so you came back. Suguru and Shoko had to get it on camera because it was pure comedy.
“Alright, fairy princess. How did I do?” you asked Satoru.
He checked himself out in the mirror. His jawline and shorter hair drove you a bit wild, it was hard to contain yourself.
“It’s okay.” He replied cheekily.
“Just “okay”?! I put my soul into this!”
He grinned. “I’m just teasing.” He said, “I like it. Now let’s test it out.”
You looked confused. “Test it out?”
“Play with my hair.” He explained, “And tell me you like how it feels or else I’ll cry.” He added dramatically.
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© arminsumi
I do not permit the copying/reposting/translation/plagiarism of my works. Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.
This is fictional work.
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katskitoshi · 1 year
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"A FAVOR FOR A FAVOR," with GENSHIN IMPACT.
synopsis: he helps you with something and it's only fair you pay him back, right? (mondstadt vers.) (liyue vers.)
characters: dom! aether, venti, albedo, diluc, and keaya x gn! sub! reader
includes: (nsfw themes) aether's a menace, sweat kink, darcyphillia, rough sex, cumming inside, venti's a menace, fucking in a cathedral, wall sex, clothed sex, size kink, albedo's a menace, spanking, hot/cold play, orgasm denial, fingering, thigh grinding, outdoor sex, diluc's a menace, mister kink, begging kink, slapping, spit kink, deepthroating, blowjob, lmk if i missed smthg.
aether, the outlander.
aether is always doing favors for people, but when it's with you, it's never a chore. you needed help clearing out a domain, and you offered to do something to compensate him sometime. and now that he's finally alone with you, he gets the chance to finally use that favor you owe him.
-- "fuck, you're so hot, [name]." he smiles as his delicate, yet scarred, fingers trace across your tear-covered face. he lays above you, sitting on your torso, pinning your hands down as he admires your beauty. even through through pain and battle, you manage to stay as perfect as ever.
aether was thanked profusely for helping you with this domain, and the challenge was a little hard, resulting in a bit of ripped clothing and a bunch of sweat dripping down your body, while he was only left with a major problem in his pants.
and he just couldn't resist himself. plus, you owed him a favor after all. and you both wanted it, so what's the harm?
his smile is almost maniacal as he drags his tongue across your tears and sweat dripping down your face. the tears from the minutes of torment on your delicate nipples and hole. "you're disgusting aether," you gag despite being turned on. "yes, but you love it, darling."
he had to be quick to fuck you, because you automatically get kicked out the domain after 16 minutes. around 6 minutes have passed already, leaving 10 more minutes of torture to continue.
aether leans down and licks your lips, the salty taste of tears and sweat coming onto your own tastebuds. the kiss is quick, rushed, but still desperate. he finally gets off your stomach, "on all fours." he demands.
this commanding voice he has turns you on to unimaginable extents, and you do as he says. after all, the clock is running and the both of you've still yet to cum.
he pulls his pants down just enough to spring in growing cock out. it leaks milky white precum, and it looks a flushed red, just like his face. you're already prepped, his torture on your hole proof enough. he lines himself up and thrusts in quickly, the strength of it propelling you forwards.
your face smushed into the hard domain floors, and your hips were harshly grabbed by the blonde fucking you. "a-aether slow down!" you wail, using one hand to try to push his hips back, but it's far from enough to stop his brutish thrusts against you.
"can't, darling. there's only --fuck-- 4 minutes left and we have to cum and collect our rewards, remember?" he uses this as an excuse to fuck you harder, his nails digging into your hips and pulling you further back into him. his thrust get faster somehow, and you're used like a fucktoy in his hands.
"aether, i-i think i'm c-cumingg~!" you wail, feeling the high of orgasm quickly approaching. aether can tell, he's about too to, and he only thrusts faster to make the approaching high all the more satisfying. "fuck! me too!"
with a particularly deep thrust, spurts of aether's hot load paint your insides white.
you and aether both moan loudly, the sound echoing throughout the domain. you collapse on the domain floor, aether's cum dripping out of you.
you both pant. he slaps your ass, "get your clothes on and lets get our rewards and i'll take you back to mondstadt so we can finish, 'kay?" you nod, tears still slipping from your eyes. he helps you up, your legs still wobbly from your endeavors.
wait- it finally hit you. he said he can finish when he gets back, right? here, he was bound to 16 minutes, who knows what he can do with endless time on his hands? well, i guess you'll have to be the lucky traveler to find out.
venti, the windborne "bard".
you needed help with getting atop a mountain, and venti was conveniently there for you to make a little wind rift to boost you up. it was a favor, one you'd have to soon repay. although he could have used the nice view of your ass as a reward, he needed something more.
-- "v-venti! you're gonna get us caught!" you quietly wail as he fingers you faster inside a closet at the church of favonius. a service in worship to lord barbatos was going on not too far away, the same lord barbatos who was toying with you.
venti curls his fingers in a particular way that has you release a high pitched moan, quickly covering your mouth in embarrassment. he chuckles, thrusting even faster and curling his fingers even deeper into the spot that makes your vision white.
"for someone so scared of being caught," he places a kiss on your neck, licking the area over, "you sure do make a lot of noise. but let's see how loud you can get, yeah?"
your mind regrets even allowing him to get as far as leading you away from the church but your body is happy it made the decision of letting him drag you away from a holy service in order to make some unholy deeds happen. in most situations, it's mind over body. but for venti, your body's desire outweighs whatever logical thoughts you had.
he removes his fingers and licks them clean, much to your disappointment, resulting in a whine, "don't worry, [name]. this will be much better than what my fingers can do." he chuckles again, removing his pants and jerking his cock to full size. your eyes widen in surprise as you notice his large size despite his small stature.
"venti, there's no way that can fit. you aren't seriously gonna put it in me, right? venti? venti-" you panicked at first, scared of his initial size. he was huge! but you stopped panicking when he finally thrusted inside, stretching you open.
he ignores your concerns, only focused on the feeling of your wrapped around his cock. "you're so cute windblume~ remember, i'm doing this because you owe me a favor. consider this my compensation for helping you that day! plus, i'm sure that even if you hadn't owed me this we still would have found ourselves doing this at some point."
a high moan escapes you lips as you claw at venti's back, careful not to rip his delicate clothing. he continues to thrust into until he's balls deep inside you. pulling out until only the tip is in, he thrusts into hard, fast, and deep. you shake in his arms, quietly moaning out his name in hopes he'd slow down. but there's a slim chance he'll do it.
after all, he's the god of freedom in his own church and you're a consenting traveler who's willing to be a god's plaything.
albedo, the kreideprinz.
albedo has always been one for "if you give, you take." he's a generous soul, but he still must be repaid if he does you a favor. and since he gave you warmth in the freezing cold of dragonspine, it's only right that he takes something in return, correct? and who knows, maybe what he takes could benefit the both of you on this cold dragonspine night.
-- "tell me dear, are you feeling warmer now?" albedo breathes down your neck, one hand toying with your hard nipples and the other using two fingers to loosen you for his cock. you could feel his hard on against your ass, and it felt big.
in his camp, you could feel the warmth of a nearby fire which warmed you up instantly, but it suddenly felt too hot. "i feel too hot, 'bedo." you whine as you feel him pull your nipple a bit too hard.
he chuckles, "you told me you wanted to be warmer, so i made you warmer." he pulls your face close to his, kissing you and only adding to the heat forming between your legs
after striking a nerve deep inside you with his fingers, you moaned out loudly, almost shamelessly arching your back against him. "'bedo, too hot! i think i'm gonna cum!" you start grinding against his fingers and back onto his clothed dick.
"you are? really?" he questions condescendingly. you throw your head back further onto his shoulder as he speeds up his fingers. "cumming! i'm cumming!" and right before you cum onto albedo's pretty fingers, he pulls out, forcing you to not reach your orgasm.
the tears stream down your face switch from pleasure to pain. "albedo, please! wh-why'd you pull out?" you whine, grinding against him in hopes of received some sort of pleasuring friction.
albedo doesn't like this. he removes his hand from you nipple has it join his wet fingers on your hips to stop you from grinding. "i had to pull out because you said you were too hot. i would hate to make you too hot, dear."
you don't even think about what you're doing, only wanting to reach the high that was taken away from you. you try to pry off albedo's hands off your hips, pulling and hitting him. "'bedo, please! just keep fingering me! i'll suck you off afterwards or let you fuck me however you want, just continue please!" despite your fruitless efforts, you continue to try and grind against him.
he stares at you coldly, almost as harsh as the frozen winds that got you in this situation. "that's not very nice, now is it, dear?" he pushes you off him and pats his lap. shit. you just got yourself in more trouble than a single orgasm was worth.
you bend over his lap, mentally preparing yourself for whats to come. "m'sorry 'bedo," he shushes you in return, sliding is cold pointer finger drown your back and onto your ass. he rubs it gently, almost like he wasn't about to ruin you. he gives one harsh smack, demanding you count. and you do, until he reaches 12 and he starts to the knead the sore skin of your ass.
"archons, you're pathetic. i can feel you even through my pants. remember, if give you something, i will take in return. so i'll give you this punishment and i'll take you as i please. it's stupid how you think you have a say in this matter, dear."
diluc, the darkside of dawn.
diluc was a fair man. willing to help to an extent even with nothing in return. but when it came to sweet little you, in need of saving from some hilichurls, he was willing to help in a heartbeat without even needing compensation. but when you offer to do as he pleases, he was more than willing to lose his fairness all in the favor of finally taking you.
-- "m-mister diluc! what if someone from the adventurer's guild sees us? we're in public!" diluc only shushes you with a slow but desperate kiss. it leaves you wanting more, and you only wonder if it's your fault for offering to pay him back in such an unholy way. especially in the middle of windrise when you were supposed to be on a picnic? how shameful.
you whine into his kiss, tangling your hands in his hair and pulling him closer to your lips. diluc only thrusts deeper inside you, kissing you more desperately as you moan into his lips.
he loves this feeling. you being putting in his hands. he loves the control, -- the kind, fair man he's painted himself as is starting fade away as he feels you clench around him, moan into his lips, and pull him closer like a lover.
he relishes in your warm embrace, finally pulling away from your lips to kiss at your pebbled nipples. you moan- a sweet, yet loud out escaping from your lips. he kisses your nipples, licking across your chest before he works his way to your neck to leave hickies.
"thank you, thank you thank you, thank you, thank you!" you babble mindlessly, removing your hands from his hair and to the blanket underneath you, gripping it tightly.
he goes back to your lips, kissing you deeply as he keeps his steady pace of thrusting into you. the kiss is short, and he pulls away to ask you a question. "what are you thanking me for?" he asks. tears stream down your face.
yes, you're greatly indebted to diluc for saving you but you're already sore and you've barely been fucked. "i-" he slaps you across your face, annoyed with your stalling.
"remember, [name]. you're the one who wanted to pay me back. can you not handle your own decision?"
kaeya, the calvary captain.
kaeya isn't really one to help someone out unless it's commanded of him. but for you, his darling subordinate, he'll do anything. but you just can't get something for nothing while dealing with him. with his help clearing out some of your paperwork, you now owe him, and he's sure to not let your forget.
-- "poor slut can't take anymore?" he taunts. you're on your knees in front of your boss sucking him off like some common whore. you're not, you're only giving him whats due. with kaeya, there's not even a point in trying to change his mind. if he wants his cock down your throat, he'll get his cock down your throat.
but luckily you're more willing, and he'll only push you down further on his surprisingly huge dick. "just like that, slut." he groans, leaning his head back with a groan and pushing your head down further. "juustt like that."
you choke on his cock, the spit and precum being barely enough lubrication to make his cock slide easily in your throat. tears stream down your face and kaeya's eye meet yours. he only smiles, pushing your head down slightly further as a tease.
it felt good, the burn of the throat feeling like nothing compared to the satisfaction of pleasing your boss. the more you gag, the more your throat clenches around him, and you can tell kaeya's absolutely losing it.
he moves your head up and down his cock swiftly, pulling you off suddenly and jerking his cock to his release. and when it finally came, warm spurts of white cum ended up all over your face. he pants heavily and looks down at his creation.
before him kneels a desperate, panting, cum-covered slut for him and him alone to use. he uses him thumb to smear some cum over your lips and force you to taste it. the salty taste makes you gag, but it still tastes good. "open." and you open your mouth obediently. he spits in your mouth, "swallow." and you do obediently.
kaeya chuckles at your ruined face and he can only think ow much he can ruin your body. you're still in his debt, afterall.
"now that i've ruined your pretty little mouth, how about i ruin something else?"
(liyue vers.)
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imperihoe-writes · 7 months
Text
After Hours
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Simon 'Ghost' Riley / fem!Reader
Summary:  It's always good to let off some steam during particularly demanding missions, but this time Ghost needs to give the Reader some extra attention to get her out of work mode. 
Content:  unprotected sex, cowgirl, oral, fingering, mate press ↳ call-sign for the reader is Wasp, no other name mentions
Word Count:  2k
Notes: An idea I had a little while ago, and since I'm having a long weekend... I thought I'd write some filth ✊🏻😔 I imagine Wasp to take on a similar role as Q in James Bond. NOT FOR MINORS.
(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.゚ ♡
"Fuckin' hell, look at you," Ghost grunted as he palmed the ass cheeks pressed on his lap, fingers digging into soft flesh none too gently, just how they both liked it. 
Wasp breathed heavily above him, tight shirt clinging to her stomach and chest as she circled her hips and allowed Ghost to slide deeper into her inch by inch.
Sweat made dark curls stick to her nape and temples, the hot and dry air wafting in through the office window bringing no relief. They'd been at it for a little while, with Ghost's mask hitched up over his mouth and nose, soft lips and sharp teeth closing around the fabric obscuring her boobs, biting into one of the sensitive nipples. 
They both groaned as her rhythm stuttered and Wasp clenched around Ghost's cock, her hands on his tactical vest and shoulders pulling him closer. Her thighs shook around his waist, tired but desperate all the same. 
She tried to let go, to just be in the moment with the man that had started to haunt most of her waking hours on the field and off, but something wasn‘t clicking that night. 
Wasp couldn't stop thinking about the third leg of the mission, wondered if her colleague pulling through the night shift was doing everything they had discussed, how long it would take them to contact her if anything went wrong, and did she leave her phone on loud? Maybe she should check in with them just in case-
"You still with me, luv?" 
It was hard to tell with him sometimes, but Ghost sounded amused.
"Yeah," she breathed out, moving her hips again but winced a little at the drag in her core, how the glide wasn't as smooth anymore. All the slickness that had practically been pouring out of her when she spotted the bulky frame of her favourite Lieutenant hovering in the door seemed to have dried up sometime between then and now. 
Way to fucking go, Wasp. 
The tremors in her thighs had gotten worse, and she was hardly able to push herself up and down anymore. When was the last time she had slept again? She could have sworn it had been yesterday, or perhaps the morning before that-
Big hands stilled her hips, Ghost's cargo pants and metal zipper pressing into the sensitive flesh of her pussy as he shifted. They rarely talked when they fucked, a silent agreement to leave shit behind for the precious minutes they were able to steal here and there. His mouth found her cheek and jaw as Ghost circled his thumbs over her hipbones. 
Riding him was one of her guilty pleasures, simply because of the fact that the Englishman often turned into such a needy panting mess below her. But she wouldn't be able to like this, and they had run out of lube last week.
Her phone screen flashed brightly once, and her eyes immediately darted towards it, anxious. So it was on silent after all. Wasp could have sworn she hadn't turned off the volume, but with the slight fuzziness that always accompanied lack of sleep, she couldn't be too sure. 
But maybe it was an agent in the field messaging her off-the-clock or her team mate had run into trouble after all-
Ghost slid his calloused hands underneath her thighs, lifting her off of him with ease. His still-hard dick slid out of her slowly, and she moaned a little at the hot wetness of his crown as he kept fucking just the tip back into her, pre-cum easing the way but not quite enough.
Frustration at her body's inability to perform for him made her clamp up even more and Wasp sighed in irritation.
Ghost's half-lidded eyes roamed over her face in the dark, and she saw him open his scarred lips to say something when her phone lit up on the desk again. He saw her gaze flicker over to it, and laughed softly, mockingly.
"No, I don't think so," he said, voice dark.
Suddenly, her world tilted and Ghost was above her, heavy body pressing hers into the soft leather of the couch she'd been fucking him on. He pulled off his mask entirely, blonde curls hanging low over his eyes as he stared down at her, legs spread open around his waist and flushed.
He straightened up a little more, and Wasp could see sweat running down his neck as Ghost slowly unclasped his tactical vest before letting it fall to the ground with soft clinking noises. His shirt followed suit, and she had to bite her lip hard to hold back any embarrassing sounds of pleasure at the sight of him. 
I'm not a teenage girl fawning over a movie star, she reminded herself, but it was hard to hold onto that thought when Ghost looked like an evil god hovering over her, ready to steal her away in the middle of the night.
His hands slid under the hem of her shirt, pulling it up until her breasts and hard nipples were exposed, dark eyes gleaming at the lack of a bra. 
Ghost leaned down to capture the same one he had bitten into earlier in his mouth, tongue running over the sensitive skin until she panted. He supported her lower back as she arched into him, eyes closed now and breathing in his musky scent.
Ghost sucked her nipple for a moment, leaving a wet trail as his mouth moved lower and over her ribs and soft stomach. He knelt in front of the low couch, pulling Wasp insistently closer by the hips again until she closed her thighs around his head and rested them on his shoulders with a shudder.
"Simon," she pleaded, tired but horny beyond anything she'd felt in ages. 
He smirked into the skin of her thigh, then buried his face between her legs completely, licking a slow wet trail from her entrance to her clit. Wasp convulsed a little at the sensation, mouth opening, but before she had the chance to say anything more, Ghost had sucked her clit into that talented mouth, tonguing it.
A high-pitched sound escaped her throat, and fingernails dug into the smooth leather beneath her as Ghost licked and sucked, his mouth coated from her newly gushing juices and his spit. Thick fingers buried themselves inside her pussy, stretching and curling as he pumped them in and out.
Her orgasm tore through her unexpectedly, hot waves and tingles accumulating in her legs and belly as she came, twitching and panting underneath him.
Ghost was slow to stop, overstimulating her with a glint in his eyes. He stared at her from between her thighs, pale lashes brushing his cheekbones. 
Withdrawing only a little, he wiped his mouth with a quirk of his lips, but she was already propping herself up further on her elbows and leaned down to kiss him with all the fucked-out bliss she felt. His smile faded as he kissed her back urgently, huge body enveloping her as Wasp pulled him up and over.
His cock throbbed between them as he came to rest near her glistening folds, and Ghost groaned from the slick slide, long fingers covering both himself and her pussy with enough pressure to send shocks of pleasure through her sensitive clit whenever his thick head brushed over it.
Suddenly, Ghost was kissing her again, tongue playing with hers as they both panted and then he grabbed the underside of her knees firmly, pushing them back and back. Towards her torso, until her ankles were somewhere over his shoulders and everything on display for his hungry gaze. 
Folded in half as she was, there was little more that Wasp could do than take it. He didn't even need to use his hands to guide himself, Ghost was precise and patient enough to nudge her relaxed entrance with his cock on the first try, and then he slid back in.
Wasp's eyes rolled into the back of her head as her breath hitched. He was a big man all over, but something about this position made him feel even thicker and longer than usual. There was no telling where Ghost began and she ended, his cock so deep and hot inside of her that it made her see stars. 
He didn't give her much time to adjust, but that suited Wasp just fine. His hips snapped up into her, wet sounds between them as Ghost pushed her knees into her chest and simply took his pleasure, used her body how he wanted. He split her open over and over again, withdrawing almost completely before driving back down into her pussy, one knee supporting himself on the couch with the other foot still firmly on the ground.
Wasp clawed into the leather, moaning for real this time until she worried that somebody might hear. Ghost bit into the skin next to her knee as his hips jerked and waist flexed, the throbbing cock inside dragging over her spongy walls.
"Hold it," he commanded her, and without thinking, Wasp slid one of her own hands into place behind her right knee, holding on for dear life as Ghost slid his thumb into the small space between them, circling her clit with so much pressure that she arched into him. He reached places that no other man ever had inside of her, the sensation almost painful but addicting. Her pussy spasmed around him as he continued to circle and rub her, his hot breath hitting her neck, pretty face screwed up in pleasure at the way Wasp tightened around him again and again. 
Her second climax was slower to build, but just as intense as the first. She had to slap her other hand over her mouth to muffle the high keening noise in her throat, Ghost groaning softly over and over as his thrusts became jerky and impossibly deeper.
It only took him a few seconds longer, then she felt him throb heavily and withdraw in haste, just as the first spurts of hot semen shot out of him and over her stomach. Ghost pressed himself closer, crushing her a little under his weight as he chased through his orgasm, dick trapped between them as it slid through his own release and her juices.
They both panted deeply, sweaty and satisfied. The faint glow of the desert moon illuminated his face in a way that made her blush. Gently releasing her leg, Ghost pulled her knees and thighs around his waist before flipping them around with a deep sigh. 
He was still wearing his cargo pants and they chaved her a little, but Wasp didn't care enough to complain. His big, heavy hand came to rest on her hair and she snuggled closer to him, uncaring about the mess between them as her eyes fell shut and their breathing evened out.
On the desk, her phone lit up once more with the third message in a row, a small soap emoji glowing next to the group chat notifications.
They still have tickets for the Barbie premiere!
Anyone still awake? 
Okay, I booked like six seats so you daft cunts better show up tomorrow.
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My first tumblr work for COD! I hope you liked it, I‘ll be updating the masterlist whenever I post something new! ✨
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emchant3d · 8 months
Text
It’s the fourth time this week Eddie’s been late without a phone call.
Sure, his job has him working weird hours - Steve gets it. But he also knows his schedule and he knows the days Eddie works at the bar til close and he knows the days he’s supposed to be home before dark, and he hasn’t had a closing shift once this week. 
Yet he came home near ten tonight, and Steve had been worried and nervous and yes, sure, a little - a lot - insecure about it, and maybe he’d lashed out first, or maybe Eddie had, Steve doesn’t know, but he knows they’re standing in the living room shouting at one another and it’s all coming to a head and he can’t stop himself, can’t keep from getting loud and angry and–
"Do you even want to fucking be here?" he yells.
"Not when you're acting like this!" Eddie says, and Steve's throat goes tight like there's a fist wrapped around it. 
Not when he's acting like this, he thinks. Not when he's being too needy. Too pushy. Too demanding.
Something in his brain feels like it rewires. Their relationship flips on its head, and suddenly fear is coiling in Steve's stomach, not anger. 
He'll lose Eddie if he keeps pushing like this. If he demands too much of his time, pulls him away from what he'd rather be doing, makes himself too much work, he'll lose him. Eddie always said he wasn't going anywhere. That he loves Steve, wants to be with him, will never get tired of him. Steve was a fucking idiot to take that at face value.
He feels sick to his stomach. He wants to apologize, wants to tell Eddie to forget all about what he said, wants to show how sorry he is, but between one moment and the next he's feeling like a guest in his own home, and he's very familiar with how it feels to be unwelcome.
So instead he shakes his head. Eddie wants to be left alone, probably. Doesn't want to see Steve when he's mad at him. Doesn't want to deal with him. He'll make himself scarce.
"I'm staying in the guest room tonight," he says stiffly, and turns away, only faltering a little when Eddie mumbles 'what the fuck ever' behind him. He flinches when Eddie slams the front door and closes the spare room so quietly it barely even clicks.
– Eddie gets home late.
Like, late-late. Steve hears the front door open as he's staring at the clock on the bedside table, the bright red numbers burning into his vision. Why did they even put a fucking clock in here, he thinks. It's the guest room. Why did he insist on furnishing this room like someone might live in it? Like this was a home people would be in and out of, like their family would come and stay with them long enough to need an alarm clock on the bedside table?
Desperate, a voice in his head hisses at him, desperate and needy and full of wishful thinking that someone would want to stay around sad little Steve Harrington long enough to need anything--
Eddie's coming down the hallway. He's trying to be quiet, but he forgot to take his shoes off at the door and his Reeboks squeak a little against the hardwood. It's a familiar sound. Comforting, usually. It's how he knows his honey's made it home safe when he's out late, that tell-tale squeak and the little stumbles when he's tipsy and making his way through their home after a long gig.
There was no gig tonight, though, and Eddie's footsteps are steady and even despite the soft sound of rubber on wood. He isn't drunk, Steve doesn't think - and is that better or worse? That he left after a fight and didn't even go somewhere to drink it off. Where has he been, if not their usual bar to think about what they'd spat at one another, trying to think of solutions, of apologies?
And is Steve really owed an apology? He was overbearing. He was pushy. He was demanding and authoritative and too fucking much all over again, and Eddie lashed out in response, and does Steve deserve an apology after all that? He's been going around in circles with himself all evening about it, arguing in his own head, saying yes I deserve one because my feelings were hurt and no I don't deserve one because I lashed out first and how does he answer this for himself? He doesn't know.
He knows he'd do just about anything to make the empty feeling in his chest go away, though. Knows that he'd shove his hurt away and eat his words and apologize to Eddie and never, ever push again if it meant he knew where they stood. If it meant Eddie would forgive him and never storm out like that again, if it meant Steve knew he wouldn't be left alone like this to wonder if Eddie was coming back.
And he feels so dramatic - he can hear Robin's voice already, telling him it was just a fight, that there's no reason to get this worked up about it, but Steve can't help it. Slammed doors and loneliness are the soundtrack to his childhood and he can't help the panic he feels when someone he loves leaves.
"Do you want to be here?" he'd asked, like a fucking idiot, and Eddie hadn't said yes. Steve swallows around the lump that's taken up permanent residence in his throat. Reaches to swipe a hand over his face, rubbed raw, eyes burning with tears he won't let fall because what right does he have to cry? He brought this on himself. He always brings it on himself.
Eddie's feet are still squeaking their way slowly down the hallway, he's trying not to wake Steve - or is he just trying not to be noticed? Impossible, if Eddie Munson is in a room Steve is going to notice, how can he not? He's been yanked into that gravitational pull and there's no escape for him, not anymore, he's a moon circling around the solar system and Eddie is the sun, burning bright and pulling focus and what is Steve to do in the face of that?
He keeps his eyes fixed on the clock. Watches the display change when a minute's passed. Feels his heartbeat stutter when Eddie's shuffling, squeaking steps pause outside the guest room.
They keep a hall light on at night. It's on a dimmer, turned down way low, but neither of them do well with complete darkness. Too many nightmares, too many shadows haunting and hunting the both of them. Steve can see the muted glow of it from beneath the door.
He can also see when Eddie comes to a stop because his feet block that light. Two shadows in the doorframe, obscuring the soft haze of warm orange that creeps in a half-moon over the carpet, and Steve stops breathing. There's a soft shifting noise, fabric over wood, a gentle thunk when Eddie leans against the guest room door, and Steve almost calls out to him. Almost says I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, please don't leave again, please don't leave me, but the words stick in his throat. Ball's in Eddie's court, as it should be when Steve fucked up so bad, when he tried to ruin it all, when he made Eddie so mad that he left when he promised Steve he would never do that. Eddie's a good man. Keeps his word. Steve's the problem, Steve is always the goddamn problem, always will be, ruins and stains everything he fucking touches–
The shadow disappears. Steve squeezes his eyes shut so tight he sees lights popping behind his lids. Those shuffling squeaking steps continue their way down the hall. Steve feels like he's going to throw up but he didn't have dinner so there's nothing in his belly but bile and nothing comes up even though his throat is tight and his stomach is fucking rolling.
The bedroom door - their bedroom door - creaks on its hinges. Steve keeps meaning to put some WD-40 on it but he kind of likes that it makes a noise, that when he's asleep it's just loud enough to wake him halfway and tell him to anticipate the warm wash of tobacco and sandalwood that will cloud him when Eddie slips beneath the covers. Lets him know he's about to be grabbed and groped a little bit, sweet little kisses pressed to his shoulder and neck and jawline until he's got a face tucked into the curve of his throat, until he's giving a sleepy smile and winding his arms around a trim waist and dragging Eddie in close, sputtering and laughing tiredly as wild hair gets in his face and mouth before he falls asleep again, wrapped tight around the love of his life.
None of that tonight, apparently - and he doesn't blame him. No, he hears the bedroom door creak and it feels like a punishment that he deserves and his eyes burn and burn and burn and his face is wet now, he can't help it, and he wipes at it again angrily, takes the soft blanket to his face and why is it so soft why does Steve try so hard when he knows he won't get anything back why does he try to build a home when he's never had one and never will and is going to lose the one he's clawed onto so desperately and tried so hard to keep–
The door creaks again. Steve takes a stuttering breath. Eddie's steps are soft now as they come down the hallway, bare feet on the floor, almost silent as he creeps his way closer. Steve clenches his teeth so hard his jaw aches, anything to hold back the sounds he wants to make - he can't let Eddie hear him. He can't let Eddie know he's crying. That's manipulative, isn't it? Crying in front of the person he hurt? He won't do it, won't be that selfish, but that shadow appears at the base of the door again. Steve can't help the shaky inhale he takes, and it sounds so fucking loud in the quiet of the guest room, choked and echoing. 
"Baby?" Eddie says, voice low and quiet, rapping so gently against the door with one knuckle. "You in there, Stevie?" 
Just the sound of him is enough to send his heart crashing around in his ribcage, fluttering and jumping and making Steve tense. He wants to answer but he can’t get the words to form, his throat feels sealed shut, and he wonders if he should answer even if he were able because what could Eddie possibly have to say right now? It can’t be anything good and Steve doesn’t know if he can take it right now, in this room that makes him feel like a guest in his own home - but isn’t he always a guest? Isn’t that what he’s made to be, a temporary stop in everyone else’s story?
But he’s not ready for Eddie to move past him yet. Not tonight. Let it happen in the morning if it has to happen, let him put this off just a little longer. Just please, not tonight. Not yet.
But Eddie’s never been known for his patience, and the click of the latch has Steve slamming his eyes closed. Too late to roll over and hide his face, but he’s got enough time to duck down and tuck most of his features into a pillow. He tries to let his body relax, to let the tense lines of his muscles uncoil and his shoulders drop and his fists unclench, but he can’t tell if he’s managed it and the ache in his palms from his blunt nails tells him maybe he did, but it won’t help much.
Eddie makes his way across the carpet in silent steps, and the mattress dips with his weight as he sits on the edge of it. Steve’s fingers twitch to reach for him, but he just curls them into the sheets instead and hopes the motion looks absent enough to have happened in his sleep. 
He smells sandalwood and tobacco and feels the warmth from Eddie being so near but it feels like there’s a wall between them, one he can’t cross even if he tries, one he’s barred from so much as touching. 
He works hard to keep his breathing even but it’s hitching now and then despite his best efforts, shaky and too loud in the silent room, but he keeps up the charade even though the end of it all is perched right in front of him. And it’s Eddie who puts an end to it. It was always Eddie who was going to put an end to it.
“I know you’re awake,” he says, and Steve squeezes his eyes tighter like that’ll make it untrue, like he can just drift off in a second if he wills it hard enough. Eddie shifts on the mattress, and Steve curls tighter into himself. “Let’s just hash this out, huh? Get it over with.” Steve bites his tongue so hard he thinks he might taste blood. It’s that simple for Eddie - but it’s always simple, isn’t it? Cut and dry, plain as day, Steve is the only one who can never see it coming, it’s written on the goddamn walls for everyone else.
He risks peeking through his lashes but Eddie’s got his back to him so it doesn’t even matter, not really. Eddie isn’t looking at him and so Steve allows himself to look, takes in the hunch of Eddie’s shoulders, the curve of his spine beneath his thin pajama shirt - he’d changed, when he’d made his way through their creaky bedroom door, took off his clothes and put his pajamas on and kicked off those tennis shoes, they’re probably in a pile at the foot of the bed for Steve to trip over and he will miss tripping over them, he’ll miss it terribly.
He wonders if he’ll need to move. If he’ll have to find a new place and separate out all of their things into his things, if SteveAndEddie’sStuff will become Steve’s stuff and Eddie’s stuff. Or maybe he’ll just start staying in this guest room, maybe that’s why he furnished this room so completely, because somehow he knew he’d end up alone in it.
“I’m sorry,” Eddie says, and Steve inhales sharply.
“Don’t,” he says, and somehow he keeps his voice steady.
“So you are awake,” Eddie says, and he tries to sound teasing, sound playful, but it drops like a stone in this space between them. No room for levity in the dark cloud Steve’s filled this room with. He wishes he could be easygoing and let go gently, but it’s Eddie - in what world could he take losing him graciously?
“Yeah,” he says, and he stares at Eddie’s back as the other raises his head, but he still doesn’t turn to look at Steve, and he wishes he could at least look him in the face when he rips his heart out of his chest.
part 2
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lilithandherharlots · 9 months
Text
Too shy to tell you
miguel o’hara x fem!reader
Miguel hides your heals in hopes of making you forget you ever owned a pair...he confesses about his theft during a hot and heavy night of sex.
Warnings: This might be interpreted as possessive or an unhealthy bond. Though its supposed to be just a very shy and respectful Miguel who let's loose during sex.:]
Authors note: I am not a writer!! This is my first time righting fanfic.. like.. ever!!! So don't attack me. Though honest, constructive criticism is something that I would love to hear. Sorry if there are spelling mistakes. Also, I don't know how to put proper description..... enjoy!!!!
:::
"Miggy?" I call out to my boyfriend who's currently towering over the coffee machine, waiting for it to brew.
"Yes, my love?" He responds with a look over his shoulder.
"Have you seen my black pointed heals? I can't seem to find them."
"No. Have you checked by the door?" He was lying.
He was lying. He was lying, and he didn't feel bad about it. The truth was he had stuffed them in the highest cupboard of the laundry room. He knew you couldn't reach it. He liked it that way. He couldn't let you open it since he had stuffed at least 4 pairs of heals in there.
"No miggy, they aren't here." You say after checking everywhere by the front door.
"Idk what to say, baby... we have to leave soon. Just throw on a different pair and I'll buy you some new ones later."
He was a liar... and he was damn good at it... until he wasn't.
:::
It was 2am. This insanity started hours ago, but Miguel's stamina wouldn't let down. Your soft moans could fuel him till sun rise, and he would love to do this forever. But unlike him, you have limits. Limits to your ability to stay strong, or at least keep yourself up right. But he doesn't really care. Your begs for a break won't succeed with a constantly starving man like him.
"One more round, please baby... please. I need you." His desperate begs caress your tear stained cheeks as he whispers them softly, leaning over you and filling you with sloppy thrust.
"Miguel- please.. It's too much.." You whine as you try to pull away, gripping desperately onto the sheets.
"Last one.... I promise..." he lies.
He said the same thing the last 4 rounds. If he could have it his way he'd continue. But he knew you couldn't keep going for much longer, so he used this opportunity to tell you what he couldn't bring himself to say otherwise.
"I lied..." he confesses. Watching your tits bounce with every rough trust, keeping himself busy while you tried to form a reply. It took you a while, but you managed to let out a soft hum, waiting for him to explain himself further.
"I took them. Your heels.. I fucking hate those things.." he thrust get faster as he says it. Hoping to make your brain foggy enough to not remember his confessions in the morning.
"I like your height, so why do you wear those weird things?" His heart felt lighter as he told you.
"I like that your height forces you to get on your tippy toes every time you want a kiss from me.. and even then, I have to bend over to reach you.... I like that you rely on me to reach those high shelves. Every time you ask me, you grow as red as a rose...."
You can feel his movements speed up. You can barely hear him... your mind fuzzy from pleasure. Lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin felt like white noise at this point. The dim shadow of his frame covering you completely.
"You're so small under me.. your body falls any way I bend it..." At his point, he was just speaking the first thing to cross his mind.
You didn't hear him, and he knew it. Seconds later, you feel his weight shift, the mattress by your head sinking under his heavy hand as he leaned in and whispered.
"Please don't take that away from me."
His words were demanding. He felt exactly what he said. Even though your eyes were shut tight, you knew his eyes were locked on you. His breath heavy, as if he just confessed a dirty secret. He kinda did...
"Promise me.... Promise me you won't wear them and I'll help you cum."
As tired as you were. You wanted it. You needed it. You needed him. So you give in.
"F-fine... I promise."
"You promise what?" He smirked hearing your whiney voice.
"I promise I won't wear the heels!!"
The pleasure he got from you saying that was immense. He shifted his weight once more as he changed your position like a marionette doll. Spreading your legs apart. His hands wrapped around your thighs, and his claws dug into your skin. The stinging pain of it was a wake-up call, causing you to gasp for air.
This position caused him to go deeper. The sticky mess from your previous rounds was being pushed out of your aching hole. The sound of his hips hitting your ass grew louder with every precise thrust. They got louder and louder until they stopped. Your thighs had clenched closed as you hit that high you were chasing. And you took him with you. Tightening around his pulsing cock in a way that made him fill you to the brim once more.
He watched your body shake. Your hips jerking forward. He would usually take that as his sign to keep going, but your fucked out face was telling him you couldn't take another thrust.
"You did great my love..... my little angel~" He cooed gentle praises as he rubbed your claw marked thighs.
"I'll buy you the cutest flats."
:::
A thing he didn't know.. is that you lied, too. His secret cupboard was emptied, and your heal collection was restored... and yes.. he pouted in silence.
The end
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18+ mdni. thx
“please.” was the only word you could manage to get out while spencer’s hand was dipping under the waistband of your shorts.
he had you in his lap on the couch. his other hand held a book open with his thumb. it was a paperback, the cover was dark green. maybe? you hadn’t looked at it too closely. your eyes were preoccupied, staring at his through the lenses of his reading glasses. watching them quickly dart across the paper. his breath was slow and stable, his eyebrows furrowed slightly as he flipped the pages.
“spencer, please.” you whined again as his hand moved farther down into your bottoms. “please what, honey?” he responded, calmly. “what is it?”
“just-.” you hesitated. you felt safe and comfortable with him, but sometimes it was difficult to vocalize what you wanted, especially in moments these.
“come on, tell me.” he spoke softly, in contradiction to the demand. he leaned down to place a soft kiss on your cheek, almost as a plea to get you to speak. “what do you need?” he asked again, while two of his fingers slowly pressed against your entrance through the thin fabric of your underwear. clearly, he knew what you needed, but he wanted to hear you say it. it’s hard not to give him what he wants.
“your hands, need your hands.” you answered, as you started rolling your hips down onto him, desperate for some kind of friction, quietly whimpering into the crook of his neck. you knew how needy you looked, and sounded, but you also knew spencer liked having you like this. loved it, really. the mix between sweetness and unspoken control he had on you was so perfect and balanced.
he started to gently rub back and forth along your still clothed core. you could feel the wetness beginning to collect on his fingertips through the fabric. “oh?” he hummed, turning away from his book to look at you for the first time since you had sat down. “but i’m reading right now, angel.” his voice was low and stern, but still tender. “i can help you, but you need to stay quiet.” he pressed harder against your heat, earning a few small moans from you in return. “i know it’s hard, but you wouldn’t want to distract me from my book, hm?”
you started nodding your head before his sentence was even complete. “no, i’ll- i can be quiet.” your voice got more silent with each word.
“i know you can, you’re so good for me.” spencer began pushing your underwear to the side. “always so good.”
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satoruhour · 8 months
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a/n:a repost from my old blog ♡ / contains one sex joke / 0.9k
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“satoru, come to bed, it’s late,” yawning, you pat the space beside you. he’s doing his nightly skincare routine, patting his face gently with the retinol serum he just bought.
“ya sure you don’t want to try it out?” gojo offers out the dropper, a hairband cutely pushed up to prevent his bangs from interfering.
“i don’t like slimey stuff on my face.” and you cringe, realising your mistake too late.
“and yet you give me your face to cu—”
“shut the fuck up,” you severely miss him, pillow landing on the floor beside him. he didn’t even bother to activate his technique, laughing out loud at your failed attempt.
gojo never did switch it on when he was with you. not when he decided that he’d give his all to you, not even he asked you to move in with him on a desperate full of nightmares, not when you first said i love you.
gojo satoru was soft around you, a sight that many would like to see yet only disclosing it to you. the you who got him falling when you’d hang out with his students, giving as much pointers as you could on cursed energy. that was when he decided, he’s sure. but again, there were countless other times where gojo recalls falling deeper and deeper in love with you. he smiles at that, capping the skin care bottle before quite literally jumping onto the bed.
“argh... satoru, what the hell? you’re heavy!” his weight was crushing you, emphasised more when he leans down to plant kisses on your features. the feigned anger turns to giggling and shielding hands which he easily seizes between his fingers.
“s-stop! ’toru!” your smile is like the first few hues of dusk. it makes him feel all warm and mushy inside, something the strongest normally wouldn’t have the luxury of feeling. satoru says, fuck it, because even i deserve love, even i deserve to be held. he repeats those words you said to him the first time he broke down in front of you, and he does it all the time, now.
gojo is brought back to reality when you cup his cheeks gently, not minding the slimey stuff as you caress his skin. your hands accommodate his smile, cheeks filling up with how he’s grinning down at you and you feel dizzy with the immense love you have for him.
“you’re insanely beautiful, satoru,” you say it like it wouldn’t boost his ego, but you can’t care much when that much is true, noticing how much his hair resembles starlight and how his azure eyes catch the moonlight so perfectly.
gojo could say the same about you.
he sucks in a breath when he hears the compliment, the familiar cocky smirk and corny line lingering on his lips — he figured it’s just different when the words come from you.
“say it again.”
“hm? you’re beautiful, terribly b—” your mouth parts in surprise when the other lowers himself to your side, which prompts you to lie on your lone shoulder.
“no, my love, i meant my name.” gojo pulls you closer, lighting your skin with flames.
“oh! okay! uhm, sa— toru?” you giggle, the name falling weirdly from your lips now that you were demanded to say it. you try again, “satoru.”
your lover smiles, scooting closer, “again.”
“satoru.” the syllables leaving your lips makes him feel dizzy and giddy. while he enjoys being told his voice sounds like silk and syrup, he finds that it fits you better, bringing his face to rest only inches from yours.
“again.”
“satoru,” you whisper, a shy smile overtaking your lips. soon, they’re captured by gojo’s, moving tenderly against yours. you’re certain you see the sky painted in many different colours before your eyes close, the mere thought of gojo sending you reeling and cheeks flushing.
gojo’s kisses are slow tonight, savouring every part of your mouth before he slips his tongue in, entwining with yours as he continues to make you fall harder. it works. breathlessly, you smile into the kiss to hopefully get a bit of air, feeling the reply of a grin on your lips when his irises open up to look at yours.
“love you.” you murmur, ghosting along his lips before he smashes his lips against yours again, albeit clumsily that you two let out collective laughs.
people only ever call him gojo satoru, the strongest. he’s never found much identity, always a pawn for the higher-ups to play with, but when sa-to-ru falls from your lips? god, he can compare it to being caught in cupid’s arms. you give meaning to his name — satoru, satoru, satoru, you whisper, knowing that it meant enlighten, and he’s certain that’s all you do whenever you’re around.
you’re always lighting up his life, always loving him with no restraint.
“angel?” gojo whispers in between kisses. you respond sleepily, tracing incoherent patterns along his chest. the words are caught in his throat when you fingers go over the 悟 of his name, three syllables packaged into a single character. he didn’t expect you to remember, but it breathes some life back into him when you do it over his heart. he can’t remember the last time he let someone trace his name so intimately.
“your first name is beautiful, satoru, just like you,” you peck his lips. “now rest, you have a long day tomorrow.”
“i love you too,” the other replies a little late. his heart clenches up at the sight of you, caged and safe in his arms that he isn’t sure what to do with his hands. “i love you. i love you. i love you so much.”
with one last lingering kiss, you both succumb to slumber in peace, with gojo satoru’s first name in the palm of your hand, and his last name aching to take its place in front of your own.
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sixosix · 6 months
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(OFFICIALLY) SWEPT OFF YOUR FEET
i. summary in which everyone knew you were in a relationship, except for you.
ii. warnings wc 1.5k, profanity, reader will be angry: couple fight scene but not really, alhaitham is kinda dumb here, but he loves you and you love him and that's all that matters, ending is kinda lame... ft. tighnari and cyno
iii. written for my big sibling @earthtooz hope u like this one earf ily
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“Hey, Alhaitham?”
He hums noncommittally.
You nestle further in his arm that’s draped lazily over your shoulder, his other hand and his attention occupied by a book. He doesn’t respond again, but he does glance at you for a moment while you shift, adjusting his arm more comfortably.
“Tighnari sent me a letter the other day.”
“Hm.”
“And it was real sweet, you know. He sent over fruits and told me you have your share in my package. He didn’t want to send them to you because he said the fruits would have expired by the time you’d read the letter.” Alhaitham doesn’t deny it. “But I read something extremely strange in the letter that had me dropping the fruits out of pure shock.”
Alhaitham still doesn’t reply. But you know him well enough to know that he’s no longer reading—just keeping appearances.
“Did you read it?”
“...No.”
Obviously. “Ah, well. Let me quote it, as I feel the need to share it with you as well.” You sit up straight and push Alhaitham’s book away from his line of view. “He said, ‘For the insufferable, lovely couple. It’s been a while since you two have visited. How are you and Alhaitham doing? Write back soon.’ And then he taped a flower.”
Alhaitham’s mouth twitches into a half-smile. “You look miffed.”
You scowl. “Alhaitham, of course I’m miffed! Since when were we a lovely couple? And why are you not surprised? Were you the one to prank them?”
“No one’s trying to fool anyone,” he says smoothly, picking up his book once again. As if he just hasn’t caused your crisis. “Tighnari is simply being a good friend and looking for something to nag us about.”
“Alhaitham, since when were we a couple?” you demanded again, shaking his arm. “Did I miss something? Did I wake up one day and forget about being in a relationship with you?”
“Haven’t we always been in one?”
“No, we have not?”
Alhaitham casts you a glance. “You sound unsure.”
“Because you seem so sure of yourself for no reason,” you fume, itching with the urge to hurl the book at his face. “I didn’t even know you were even into me like that!”
“I let you kiss me on the cheek every night before you leave my house. Sometimes, you don’t even leave my house, so we sleep on the same bed.” As if that explains anything. And did he fling out these reasons to Tighnari, too?
“Well, I do it because I’ve been doing it since we were, like, six. And you never told me to stop. Plus, it’s just a cheek kiss—that’s way different from an actual kiss actual couples do,” you say, getting increasingly infuriated with each word that’s coming out your mouth. Why do you have to explain how relationships work to Alhaitham? Surely he’s read a guide about love in the millions of books he’s touched?
“I don’t see why you wouldn’t start kissing me the way couples do, then.”
Oh, this bitch. “So you knew that I liked you?” Your voice wavers, and you feel a little pathetic. “And that’s what prompted you to start spreading lies to everyone? Is this some joke to you?”
Immediately, his expression is swept off of amusement. “Y/N,” he says as you feel your lips tremble. “Y/N, that’s not—”
“Shut up,” you say. “How long has this been going on? Since when have I been outside of the biggest inside joke, huh?”
“It’s not like that. I thought—”
“Oh, you thought, didn’t you? Yet you didn’t think I don’t want my feelings to be played like—like—” You can’t even bring yourself to say this. You know that Alhaitham can be mean when he wants to be, but making a joke out of the feelings you’ve desperately hidden for years?
“I need to leave.” You’re not sure why you feel the need to announce it. Was it because you rarely even leave his place? Each step feels wrong. You don’t want to be mad at Alhaitham to this extent but you’re hurt.
You ignore Alhaitham’s hurried, “Where are you going?” because you don’t have an answer to that. Wherever you go, you always end up in Alhaitham’s arms.
You forcefully push the door open and march off, head spinning, humiliated. You hear Alhaitham’s steps fall into place after yours. It’s pissing you off even more that Alhaitham doesn’t even look the slightest bit frazzled, as if you impulsively sprinting off is just a walk in the block for him.
Then you spot Cyno in the middle of a street. He catches your wrist before you can avoid him.
He blinks, mildly surprised to see it’s just you and not some food stall thief. “Y/N.” Cyno tilts his head slightly to acknowledge the man a few feet away from you. “Alhaitham. Is something the matter?”
“It’s nothing!” You don’t question why or how Cyno is here, shoving him aside—which proved to be a little difficult given how he’s pretty strong for such a tiny man.
“You’re crying,” Cyno points out as you try to push him away as if you aren’t aware of how your face feels uncomfortably hot and how tears are sliding off your cheeks.
“It’s a marital dispute,” Alhaitham says, directly behind you.
His voice makes you scowl. So infuriatingly sexy, and you’re mad at it. “We’re not married!”
Cyno nods, serious. “Yes, I only heard about the engagement.” At your stunned silence and Alhaitham’s reluctant stillness, Cyno clears his throat and steps aside. “I suppose I’ll leave you two to it. I don’t know how relationships work.”
You groan as Cyno walks off, “Great, so even Cyno thinks we’re a couple. Who’s next, Lesser Lord Kusanali?”
Alhaitham looks away. “Well—”
“Oh, fuck off.”
Your wrist seems keen on being dragged around by men today, it seems. Alhaitham firmly tugs at your arm, pulling you close to his chest, his gaze intensely searching yours. But all he would be able to see is your scowl. And all you can see is his handsome face.
“Y/N,” Alhaitham says, your name in his voice a sweet murmur. “I’m sorry I upset you. I didn’t think you would react that way.”
“What, you think I’d just roll with it?” you spit with dripping bitterness.
“Yes.” You're taken aback as you gaze at him and find his expression to be entirely genuine and open. “We fell into a friendship so easily. I fell in love with you the same way: naturally. I thought…” And then his usually blank face twists into something unpleasant. “Forgive me.”
“Alhaitham, you idiot. You bastard. Do you have any idea how relationships work?”
“No. All I know is how to be with you.” He wipes a tear off your cheek. “But it appears I’m not even doing that right.”
“Fuck you.” You bat his hand away. His face falls. “You don’t get to act all sweet to me like that. I spent years thinking you would never see me that way, and you get to decide one morning that we’re in a relationship, just like that?”
“You’ve liked me for years?” Alhaitham’s eyes are a bit wide, totally missing the point.
“Alhaitham.”
“I ask you out every dinner. And you say yes each time.”
“I didn’t think you meant it like that!”
“I did mean it like that,” Alhaitham says, and again with that ‘so sure of myself’ personality. You hate it. You love it. “And I meant everything I’ve ever said to you like that. I didn’t tell anyone anything; they just assumed on their own, and only then did I realize how it did seem that way. It was my selfishness that didn’t try to deny their assumptions.”
Alhaitham’s usually so difficult to speak to, especially when it comes to expressing his true emotions. You often find yourself filling the silence, and he seems content with it. However, he appears desperate at this moment, as though you’re planning on leaving if he doesn’t give you a reason to stay.
You are too weak. “So you like me.”
“I do.”
“…And you want to… be in a relationship with me.” Alhaitham nods. You're beginning to feel flustered as the realization sets in that the man you've always dreamt of is holding you intimately in the middle of nowhere, and also confessing that he feels the same way. “Ask me out properly, then.”
Alhaitham looks at you incredulously. Did he think it was over?
“Do it, Alhaitham. Woo me. Win me over. Sweep me off my feet.”
“...Y/N,” he hesitates, his face tinted pink, vaguely embarrassed. “Go out with me. In that way.”
It sounds demanding and clumsy, but it’s perfectly Alhaitham, so your heart beats out of your chest and your face splits into a grin all the same.
You wrap your arms around his neck. “If you’re gonna be my boyfriend, you’re going to do it right, you hear me? You won’t just let me do anything. And you will start—officially—tomorrow by telling everyone that we are not engaged nor married.”
Alhaitham dips his head down, your chin trapped by his fingers. “We will be, eventually, though. And I can just start now. Officially.”
Your confusion doesn’t last for even a second when his lips meet yours in a kiss. You’ve been wooed. Won over. Swept off your feet.
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earth i hope u know it took me months to find a good plot for your man this was a feat in itself. also i copy pasted your tags love u.
also if u caught the title while it was called swept over your feet shut up…. Please. this didnt have a title originally 🙁
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