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eluxcastar · 3 months

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Hello Riri! :]

I'm in my platonic harbingers with a child reader era, and you're one of the few people I follow who writes platonic stuff on an occasion. So here's my request!

Here's the small storyline I have. Reader is the child of a god (you're free to decide what they are the god of, if you want) who is extremely well known around Tevyat, and puts on a very intimidating and serious presence. Yet one unfortunate day, the readers parent dies, so now they have to take on their legacy at a too young of age. Making them grow up out of their childhood much faster and pressuring them into becoming exactly like their parent. Cold, intimidating, and serious.

And out of all the mortals the reader has met, the harbingers are who they find comfort in. They could be lecturing some other mortal one minute, and the next minute, they see one of the harbingers. They're grabbing them by the hands, bouncing on their tip toes with a bright smile.

(Hope you're having a good day! And please don't overwork yourself<3)

Fatui harbingers with a child god

── ୨୧：fatui harbingers & reader

୨୧﹑synopsis :: child reader taking over as archon and basically immediately proving why child rulers are a bad idea but it's ok because it's cute and endearing

୨୧﹑genre :: fluff

୨୧﹑content :: gn reader, god reader, signora might be ooc tbh I struggled to think for her, not proofread

୨୧﹑words :: 3k

this has been in my inbox for some time, even though I've really wanted to do it for ages. I'm sorry honey it took me a while to get to it. the description of their parent at least to me was giving mr zhongli when he was morax and I immediately thought of the ramifications of him faking his death in the rite of descension which makes me wanna write something else BUT THAT'S FOR LATER

I meant to post this four and a half hours ago but suddenly it was like twice the length I thought it would be and uh yeah that was not the plan but enjoy the food served hot and fresh

There has hardly been a moment of grief since you were orphaned, and the people are turning to you for their next overseer. You, small, fragile, and ill-prepared, are the one they wish to see take up the pillar left in your father's wake. You weren't ready, and maybe you never would've been, embraced by the caring side of your well and truly mellowed-out father and cherished by the people as the child of the nation.

Your transition from people's treasure to people's guide was jarring, and you're still not used to it. You move with what pleases and hide what brings deep frowns and disappointed eyes. The people no longer want a child but a god. They want their pride, once a god who had walked by their side for millennia, now the passing generation of a god as the mantle shifts to his blood.

It's hard not to notice what they make you, now the spitting image of your father, though you can only parrot his earned wisdom and show a brave face to keep the nation from despair.

You have but a single ally—the Tsaritsa—someone whose messengers approached you to ask for your father's gnosis and who gladly agreed to offer you an invitation to Snezhnaya at your request to speak to her personally, quite honestly not knowing how to say that you frankly didn't know what to do with the gnosis. Though you could keep it, you're unsure how to harness its power, wield it, or even control it. Your father was strong, you're not.

She is an intimidating presence but gentle. She knew of your father for as long as she had been an archon—though they weren't on good terms toward the end—perhaps you could understand her more than he would. He was the original archon in his seat, but you are an inheritor like her. In her lands, you are the careful balance of both a god and a child, spoken to with the grace of a higher power but the softness that is befitting to a young child.

It is as you are.

Tartaglia is the first to seek a test of your strength, though you wish not to hurt him and convince him to wait. So long as the answer is someday, he allows you to let him down easily and settles at indulging your requests to join the snowball fight you noticed him having. You want to join in, fidgeting and with your gaze flickering between the smiling children and your feet. You push away your every want to join them and play as well, but remind yourself of the people who would scorn you. It's unfitting for a god to behave like an immature child, you remind yourself, but every hope of remaining steadfast to that is gone as Tartaglia notices you watching.

His offer is merely that—an offer. He speaks with a snowball forming in his hands as he approaches, his thick coat engulfing his form and the red scarf bundled around his neck to keep him warm. You have to look up to meet his eyes, playful and perhaps a little mischievous. Tartaglia holds the snowball out to you as if it were his peace offering.

"You look like you want to join the fun. Care to throw a snowball or two with us?"

"May I?"

And with that, you take his offering.

Pantalone's musings and the intentions of his gifts are not beyond you. He means to win you over and perhaps spoil you a little. It is coddling, and you notice it. He wants what he wants, and he will get it out of you, but it is also not beyond him to recognise that you are...naïve, endearingly. Pantalone can lavish you in fine silks all he wants, but you have received many offerings, so they don't particularly sway you as he had hoped, and he moves on. Your true weakness lies in children's toys, the many things you have been denied since you have been forced to steel yourself. The smile that twitches at the corners of your lips as he presents you with the first is enough to confirm it.

Toys are made for children; though you try to deny it, you are still a child at heart. Gifting a child a toy they will try to pretend they don't cherish but will protect with their life is perhaps the quickest way to earn their favour. He watches as you fiddle with the arms of the plush cat when you think nobody is looking, asking it questions and then responding to yourself in an all-too-dedicated voice you put on for this cat.

"Oh, Mr Cat, would you like some borscht too? It's very good."

"Yes, please, I would love to try some!"

Pantalone admittedly can't deny that you come with your own charms.

Signora spoils you what many of your aids have tried to before you, the chance to fix your hair, marvel at a pretty lady and wish you were half as sophisticated as her. She is your role model, second only to the Tsaritsa. She is beautiful and elegant and willing to teach you her ways as long as you continue to show up as cute as you are. Fix your posture a bit, head up, and walk everywhere with purpose, even if there isn't one. She has mastered the art, and you want it. Pantalone has his own appeal, a sophisticated man who learned through blood, sweat and tears, but there is something so distinct about Signora that makes you run to her at your first problem of presentation.

Like your mother, she will take you by the hand, lead you to a mirror, straighten your back, tilt your head up by the chin, and tell you to look at yourself now. Each time, you stare dumbly in awe of her reflection standing behind you, observing you like something precious, and it fills you with the confidence you need to heed her advice. It doesn't occur to you that Signora looks at you that way only because she thinks you're cute in your efforts, but too much like a child who got into their mother's perfume to be taken seriously.

"How others see you is important. Do you think they want to see their god with their back slouched and head hung? Hold your gaze above the people."

"It's-- well, different. I think I just look tense."

Sandrone has also come to realise that your weakness lies in toys, though she will not admit to aiding and abetting Pantalone's endeavours to find you a plushie. Instead, she shows you Katheryne. You have seen Katheryne before; you are sure of that, and that is only confirmed as Sandrone informs you that she exists in every branch of the Adventurers' Guild, including the one in your homeland. Katheryne is your access to knowledge, and the Northland Bank is your connection to Snezhnaya. Sandrone offers you comfort, the path that will lead you back to where help is and where you can go when you become overwhelmed by responsibility.

She likes your company, a reluctant admission that does not come cheap as she bargains your silence with the knowledge that she's aware of your liking for your cat toy. The embarrassment that overwhelms you is palpable until she offers you her workshop to play when your quarters are so overcrowded by your aids. You couldn't come to Snezhnaya alone for your safety, and it leaves you stranded without a moment of peace at times.

"Really?...and I can just, stay here? For as long as I want?"

"Isn't that what was offered to you?"

"Well...yes, thank you."

Scaramouche, whom you meet adjacent to Sandrone, is ill-tempered in the presence of others but a tad nicer when it comes to you. He does not drop his rough-around-the-edges personality to melt his heart out of his chest for you, but you manage to strike the perfect cord in his to gain liberties others cannot, having him share sweets with you. You learned at one point he really doesn't like them, leading you to wonder why they suddenly appeared ready and available for you to stuff your pockets full and snack on them when nobody's looking. You earn his favour through endearment and talk to him like he's normal because he is.

He is the child of a god, though in a different capacity to you. He was not loved quite so dearly by his mother and cannot share with you the pain of losing someone who treasured you. He was merely abandoned. There is the vague part of you that shuns the idea his softness is pity, sympathy even, as you're stuck stumbling through the world alone. It is all too familiar to him, and if candy will make you smile at him so cheerfully and hug him so tightly, then candy is a simple trade-off.

"Are you sure you don't want any? These are yours."

"Sickly sweet things make me feel like my teeth are fusing together. You can have them."

Pulcinella reminds you of home, the trinkets gathered on a whim that he keeps, the years showing through the rooms dedicated to him as you notice things your father told you of in stories. These are stories that Pulcinella will start off on without prompting, indulging your curiosity before you even lowered your guard enough to show it and casually enough that you slowly ask more. Every item holds a story: what it is, how he obtained it, why he kept it, who it was for. You see many such things around what used to be your house, but you don't know all of the stories, treasuring the ones you remember.

Pulcinella doesn't recall every story either, as some of your pointing and questioning is met with remarks of how long it has been. It is the only thing you feel you share with him, a living space filled to the brim with memories. Many of your trinkets don't belong to you, but his do, and it's nice to hear someone tell you stories again as he lets you pick from the collection of sweets in your pockets to eat when it suits your fancy.

"What about this? It reminds me of a lumenstone, the ones from the chasm."

"It is, and it came from Liyue when I asked that one of my subordinates bring it back for me. You must have a fine eye for these things."

"Not really, only lumenstone and noctilucous jade glow like this."

Arlecchino's offering to you is company, and plenty of it. Children who are so far removed from the stretch of news beyond the issues of the Steambird they manage to get their hands on that they wouldn't know your face from a haggler on the street. Father brought a guest to play with, and that's what matters as they induct you into their games, teach you the rules, and regard you exactly as they regard every other child their age. You are given the choice to simply become nobody, and you love it. Though you were once only a child, you were still the child of a god, and everyone knew it. Now, you elicit excitement only because someone new enters their lives, someone to learn about and befriend, merely a guest their father brought them.

Despite her sharp exterior, she is sweeter to you than you expected. You thought Arlecchino might be scarier, meaner, harsher, but she softens when she speaks to you. It is not with the cutthroat demeanour she holds speaking to the Harbingers and lacks a degree of the stern attitude she fronts to the children. You are not the average child, and it's necessary to treat you with some degree of respect, but you notice she's gentler with you than others, and it almost makes you feel special.

Columbina has sung you to sleep many times during your stay; her voice is sweet and more than enough to calm you. You let her hold your cat plush and dance with you in the hallways with the excuse you need knowledge of these things should you aspire toward being an archon, even if spinning around until you fall on the floor from dizziness and burst out laughing is a tad non-traditional. Columbina can see things others can't notice more than the human eye is capable of, and you'd rather not know what that's like. Something in the way she speaks tells you that it's hardly adjacent to anything human, closer to you, but still quite far off. It's interesting to hear the strange things humans have no business knowing.

Your hand is grasped in Columbina's, her fingers holding you tenderly. Her eyes are partly obscured beneath the lattice of a mask she wears. You're not sure if you could really call it a mask. She steps back, tugging you with her, and spins you in time with the steps she takes, each accompanied by a shift that forces you to keep up with where she moves, her other hand on your shoulder. It is the closest you will get to proper dancing, though merely a fool's waltz. You can't dance; being spun down a hallway while you struggle to match her movements feels much like you imagine a waltz would.

"It's not really proper dancing if we have no pattern to it."

"There is no such thing as proper dancing. If you'd prefer it, I could sing."

Dottore is someone you did not expect to be so open to the idea of you, and your assumptions were proven correct by his apprehension to engage with you. He is curt with you at best and avoidant at worst. You are a child filled with the yearning to touch everything that doesn't belong to you, desperate to hear too much about the things that don't concern you. You are young, needy, and with no concept of what is beyond you. Dottore's unique abundance of knowledge is appealing to you, however. He knows things your father did, many of which he didn't tell you, but Dottore will, so long as it gets you to sit still and stop interrupting him. You may be convinced you have pocketed your unnecessary emotions away, but he has seen you, and that is an insulting lie.

Your wants are written on your face plain as day, so long as people pay enough attention to you to care what you feel. He does not especially care, not for the child of a god, but it helps to know what you want to stick your nose in most. It helps to know how you benefit from him, and on luckier days, you might even catch him in a better mood when he is willing to indulge your interest in his knowledge. Your capacity to understand, let alone remember, hardly worries him.

"So you have clones of yourself? And they just...work for you?"

"Not exact clones—segments. They have wills of their own and use them as they see fit."

Capitano is strong, a man of few words, and he does not abhor your presence quite so strongly, nor does he indulge your more childish desires. What you get from Capitano is respect, the highest honour you can get from his book in your eyes, and it comes from your perseverance. You're running around working so hard when you're so young, and you deserve a break sometimes. You deserve a quiet place to curl up in the corner with that cat he's caught you hiding under where no one can bother you, and maybe with a few sweets you always seem to have these days. That corner still does not exist, though he will find you one if you want it.

You show no signs of slowing down, are energetic and eager and are far too committed to the act of being something you're not to listen to him when he tells you to rest. Gods must all be fickle. The most he can do for you is make sure you're safe and happy as you will be in your position, maybe wipe your hands of powdered sugar when you find pastries at the market you want and recklessly eat them without thinking of how you'll clean up short of wiping the remnants on your clothes, but you'll never do that as you are.

Pierro once made you nervous. He is a stern, serious man who never smiles. Pierro is steadfast in loyalty and never wavers, which is precisely what you have begun to aspire to be now that that is what has been asked of you. You could never hope to replicate the kind of dedication he has, and perhaps that is part of what sways you. Though you have become so comfortable behaving childishly around some people, you fear you may never be around him, whether because you fear his disapproval or yearn for his approval. Despite that, he is arguably who you trail around behind most, quiet, observing, trying to figure out how to copy and apply what he has to yourself.

It settles the quick realisation he reminds you most of what the people saw in your father. Someone like him is someone people envision fostering a nation to prosperity, and you fight your own subconscious to keep all of your slipping habits, making sure he never sees you sneaking candy, hiding your cat plush from him, refusing Tartaglia's every offer to play games around him. You're not sure why you think that will make him like you more, having long ago gained his favour, unable to notice the faint smiles and the conscious effort to make you believe he doesn't notice you out the window barreling snowballs at Tartaglia.

You are still a child at heart; he is just about the last person you can hope to hide that from.

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itsthewritergal · 5 months

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Please can I hold you? - Bucky.Barnes x Reader

Hello my loves,

I'm trying to be better this year at writing.

Summary: Y/N leaves, and Bucky tries his hardest to fix it.

TW: Kissing, trauma, family trauma, shouting, swearing, (let me know if I've missed some)

January 1st, it was supposed to be their year. They had promised each other that this was it, Bucky and Y/N. Bucky had promised no more long missions away from Y/N, Y/N had promised that she would move in with Bucky so they could finally spend more time together. A good year was what they wanted, what they deserved, what they needed. But here they were screaming at each other over Bucky not kissing Y/N at midnight. Y/N had explained to Bucky multiple times that she was at the edge, she couldn’t cope anymore with arguing, and whilst Bucky never admitted it, he hated it just as much, if not more than Y/N. Yet here they were.

“And another thing, I didn’t even want to go to Nat’s stupid New Year’s eve party” Bucky screamed ‘I wanted to be at home with you’ was the bit he failed to include in his insult.

“You told me you wanted to be with people you loved on New Year’s Eve, I thought it would be fun” She shouted back “You think it was fun for me? Because it fucking wasn’t. All I wanted to do was come home, the whole night, but you wanted to keep drinking” She seethed, Bucky wanted to tell her it wasn’t true. He didn’t want to drink, but he stupidly got caught up in the party.

“Now you’re going to get at me for drinking? Like you don’t do it every single weekend” He shouted, “Thor never brings that fucking mead, I deserved to have a nice night” He was being mean intentionally, but he couldn’t stop.

“I never said you didn’t Buck” She said her voice suddenly quieter, Bucky should have noticed it was because she was getting upset but he didn’t.

“Do you have any idea how hard I’ve been working? I just wanted one nice night” Bucky should have stopped himself, he knows he should stop but he couldn’t. He was angry at himself for not putting his foot down and saying he wanted to spend time with just Y/N.

“One nice night?” Y/N parroted “The nights we have aren’t nice? Is that what you’re saying?”

“No! You’re twisting my words” Bucky snapped, he spoke with insecurity but it came across as anger and Y/N didn’t like that

“Because I’m the bad guy right? James Bucky Barnes can’t put a foot wrong, but I can. That’s all I do right?” Y/N said, her fears coming to the surface. The insecurity was all from her messed up childhood, Bucky knew that from their late night chats, when they’d lay next to each other and confess everything, but he didn’t realise that the fear was seeping into their relationship.

“That’s not what this is about” Bucky said realising suddenly how far he had taken the fight, and how distraught Y/N was becoming

“Isn’t it?” Y/N snapped, her eyes locked onto Bucky as a target.

“You’re making this worse than it needs to be” Bucky said, unknowingly adding more fuel to the fire

“Yeah that’s me isn’t it? Making everything worse. Don’t worry Buck, I get it” She snapped turning away from Bucky

“Where the hell are you going?” He called after her

“Downstairs Buck, I need some space away from you right now” She stormed out of their bedroom and down the stairs. Bucky sat down on their bed with his head in his hands, he had just fucked everything up.

Taking a deep breath Bucky decided to set an alarm for 10 minutes, and once it had gone off he would go and speak to Y/N calmly about his feelings. That was how they were going to fix it. He knew he had messed up but he would fix it.

Y/N stood in their hallway, and listened to Bucky close their bedroom door. She knew she had blown things out of proportion, she had made things worse. The little voice in her head told her she had messed things up seriously this time. There was no coming back from this. Bucky hated her, she knew that much. The thought along was enough to almost break her, pulling on her trainers she left the house silently, following the little voice down the streets. She twisted and turned around the streets she used to love walking with Bucky, but now they just felt like they were taunting her as she remembered the kisses they had shared at the bus stop, and the stray cat they had wanted to adopt by the street corner. She couldn’t cope with it, so she began to run.

The wind blew in her ears, the kind of fierce that stopped her from having to think, it was dark and the street lamps did little to ease her discomfort. She was on her way home, in the desperate hope that Bucky was asleep, or at Steve’s or Sam’s. She had no idea of the time, having left her phone at home in Bucky’s jacket pocket most likely, but she sent a silent prayer to the sky that it was late enough that Bucky wouldn’t still be around. She couldn’t face him, not after everything she had done. Her mother was right, she wasn’t made for relationships, she would always mess them up, and now she had screwed up the only good thing she had going for her. This was it. She was done. Y/N didn’t notice the way her hands shivered a little with the cold biting wind, with her furious mood and growing insecurity she had forgotten a coat. As she turned onto her and Bucky’s street the tears started again, this really was the end. Her and Bucky were about to be done, finished, ended.

So much for their year. She mused to herself silently, revelling in the cruel twist of fate, her mother was right.

Pushing the handle of the door down quietly, in the hope to not wake Bucky if he was in, Y/N creaked the door open. She took a shaky step into the house, listening out for Bucky. When she was satisfied that there was no sound of him she closed the door behind her and took off her shoes.

“Y/N?” Bucky’s shaky voice called out, she froze. “Baby?” He said coming into the hall, Y/N put her hand back on the door handle, she was ready to run again, this was not a conversation she was ready to have.

“Don’t you dare ever scare me like that again” He said wrapping his arms around her tensed body, Y/N kept herself tensed, she was ready to run if she needed.

“I know you’re scared, I know you think you’ve messed this all up but I swear to you this whole argument is on me” he said refusing to let her out of his embrace,

“Bucky stop” she said quietly

“I’m sorry” He said dropping his arms, she looked up at him with red eyes “Could you come and sit down in the lounge for me?” He asked

“I should go”

“No” Bucky said “You’re going to come and sit down and we are going to talk about this, because we are bigger than your insecurities and we are going to fix this” he said,

“Oh,” Y/N said “oh” She repeated once the words had settled into her head “You aren’t breaking up with me?”

“Come on doll, come sit down for me?” He said

“Ok” She said, following Bucky through their house.

Y/N settled herself into an armchair, where she could curl her legs up underneath herself. Bucky opted for the sofa opposite her, picking up on the fact that she didn’t want to touch him just yet.

“Before we start, the next time you need to get away you tell me where you’re going. I was terrified doll, I know the kind of people that are out there and if you need space, please let me come with you. I promise I won’t walk beside you or speak to you but I need to know you are safe.” Bucky said “Please?”

“I’m sorry Buck” She said,

“No apologies. We have to make mistakes to fix them for the future yeah?” He said

“I don think I can do this Bucky. All your friends hate me, I invited you to a party you didn’t want to be at, I asked you to cut down your missions. Everything I do, makes me the issue in this relationship” She said,

“That’s not true, everyone loves you—”

“No they don’t, they put up with me”

“No, no, Y/N. Please don’t do this. I know you’re spiralling, I know that you’ve always been made to believe that its your fault. But I swear to you this one is on me. I wanted to spend New Years Eve with just you. I wanted to kiss you at midnight, but I fucked up. I got drunk and neglected you. You should have been my priority at midnight, not that stupid drink”

“I should’ve let you have fun” Y/N said

“No, I should have kissed you” Bucky said, his tone was final and Y/N didn’t want to argue anymore.

“I didn’t deserve it”

“You don’t have to earn love” Bucky said, moving to the carpeted space in front of Y/N’s armchair, taking Y/N’s hands in his he pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles “I love you, I want to spend my life with you and I will spend every single moment apologising to you for the way I acted”

“I’m sorry for saying all those mean things Buck” Y/N said “I didn’t mean them I just wanted to make myself the bad person so you could hate me. I wanted you to hate me”

“Why did you want that?” Bucky asked after pressing another kiss to her hand

“So you’d end things, so my fears could come true. It’s sadistic, but I guess I’m always just waiting for the end so I just wanted it to happen. Like ripping a bandage off”

“Oh Y/N” Bucky said gently “You never have to be scared of me leaving. We will always work through our issues, you’re my life. You’re my world, this is it for me.”

“So you’re not waiting for me to fuck up so you can leave?”

“No, I’m not” Bucky said

“I’m sorry” she whispered

“No more apologies” Bucky whispered “Please let me hold you baby? We can talk more in the morning I promise. But right now I just need to hold you”

“You never need to ask”

#bucky barnes #bucky angst #bucky #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #itsthewritergal #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x fluff #bucky x reader angst #bucky x you

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whalesforhands · 13 days

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what’s yours is mine (4/?)

previous masterlist next

pairing: geto suguru x reader x gojo satoru

You don’t know a lot of things, and you readily admit that. What you do know, is that the friends you’ve made aren’t something you will ever regret. Until your physical body weakens and becomes nothing, you’re more than happy to give your all until you wither away.

What’s yours can be theirs, too. They’re your friends, after-all. (Omegaverse AU)

“What elementary?” That stare again. The one he unintentionally uses whenever he wants something, demands something. It’s heavy and uncomfortable, makes you want to beg him to not be upset at you, makes you want to apologise for your wrongdoings.

If you even had any, that is.

“Geh!” A hand slaps over those intimidating blue, palm all too eager to hide away those glimmering orbs as the sound snaps you out of your faraway thoughts.

That must hurt.

“Anyone ever taught ya how to not be demanding?” Suguru’s upset, his cheeks puffed up in anger and frowning at the friend that was sitting cross-legged upon the tatami mats and complaining about how much it hurt.

“It’s just a question!” And that was enough to turn the once intimidating gaze into one of narrowed sulk, drooping shoulders and falling backwards, making a point to let his body flop to the ground. “Hmph!”

Pouting. Gojo Satoru is pouting once more as your fluffy socks pad over to crouch near his head, fluffing up his fluffier white hair and patting at his soft cheeks to test the waters.

He lets you.

“I think Satoru’s mad.” It’s not so much so as a thought, but a way to signal to Suguru that there was going to be an onslaught of whining if something wasn’t done soon.

“Hmph!”

“Y’er not very cute now, Satoru.” Geto Suguru, at the age of 5, had learned just how much the rich kid has been spoiled; by both you and the people around him.

“Satoru is cute.” It’s what you say to him as you pushed your new black-haired friend on the swing-set, with the creak of metal and the kick-up of snow by his boots. “And he’s really honest.”

“So I like hanging around him.”

“Am I cute?” It’s a question that has got him parroting his own version back at you, a wonder that prompts him to prod at your mind.

“No,” He can feel your palms lightly pressing against his shoulders, fingers grazing against the soft fabric of his sweater as your voice is muffled by the scarf he had given to you on this cold day when you sneezed one too many times. “You’re pretty, Suguru.”

And that has the little boy thinking about what to say next. He’s never heard any of the kids at his old neighbourhood say that before, yet he knows you’re not the type to lie. Is there a purpose to your words? A lying undertone that he couldn’t see through?

He doesn’t know how to reply, so he settles on a truth that at the very least, is true to him.

“You’re prettier.”

“Hmph!” Yet again, Suguru has been snubbed despite his attempt to liven up his pouting friend. Insulting his adorableness won't work either, it seems.

You poke at his cheek as he continues to glower and gloom, his petulant expression never faltering even as you squish the chub of his face.

He’s very soft.

“Suguru said he was sorry.” He didn’t exactly say it outright, but you offer it as a way to dissuade Satoru from his irritation anyway, still nudging at his cheek as snowy eyelashes flutter open momentarily, before snapping close upon meeting your sad frown.

“Hmph!”

A losing battle.

“I’m… Sorry too?” It’s all you can hope that it works. If an apology from you is even something he wants, anyway.

“Whaddya even apologizing for, dummy?” It’s a mumbled grunt, barely missed if it wasn’t for your odd patience when it came to listening to him.

Why? Because he’s mad and he’s in your house. So technically you played a part in this, in managing to make your cherished friend lay on the lightly tattered tatami mats of your bedroom floor and pouting like nobody’s business. That’s why.

“Let’s feed him.” Suguru offers, squatting down on the boy’s other side and mimicking your action of prodding at his cheek, all whilst staring down at the boy who had lost his will to play. “He’s weak to stuffing his face.”

That’s too good of an idea to pass up on.

“I want biscuits and the cake Kimi-chan brought!”

Now you’ve realized the ulterior motive behind your ‘cute’ Satoru’s tantrum. How sneaky of him.

So when your head peers into the fridge, tiptoeing upon your little stool to really survey the field of cool air and white chill, you have to face the biggest conundrum you have met in your so far, 5 years of living.

“We’re out of snacks.”

“What?!” A startled pop-up of spiky white smacks into flowing black as his eyes narrow and his lips curl into a pout. “Already?!”

“Mhm.” You take one last look just in case. “I think we ate everything Mama made—“ Your eyes fall onto the plastic cake knife that still sat on one of the fridge shelves, abandoned in favour of spoons. “And finished all the cake.”

Evidenced by the crumbs on your floor and the 3 spoons stained with leftover frosting lying on the ground.

“No wayyyy! We have to watch Digimon with no snacks…!” A true conundrum as he holds his head and falls to the ground without the grace he was taught to embrace.

“I like Pokemon better.”

“Me too.”

He chooses to pretend not to hear it. Nobody would ever be able to convince him to pick that over his beloved Digimon.

“And we ate everything at Suguru’s house yesterday…!” A sound of defeat as he curls his knees up towards his chest, bottom lip stuck out and eyes staring at the ground in disappointment.

Truly the biggest challenge you 3 have had to face together. The second being what to watch on television.

(Personally, the astrology channel that plays every morning at 9 is a particular favourite of yours.)

“It’s fine, isn’t it?” Suguru’s licking his fingers clean of the remnant cream, his brows furrowing at the now lukewarm sweetness. “We can just go to your house for more.”

Satoru’s… House? Come to think of it, even you have never been there. Mama doesn’t allow that. She says that you’re too young, that you can when you’re a bit older, when you know Satoru a little bit better.

(But you know him plenty now, right? Even made a new friend along the way since you last time you asked her.)

“My house?” A proud click of his tongue and a smirk on his face as his head finally perks up for the first time from his whining. “Then ya gotta pay a toll of 50 strawberry cakes.”

“My mama would call you a scammer.” Suguru’s deadpan reply.

50… If Mama can make only 2 cakes a day… And if you helped her, would you even be able to meet Satoru’s demand? Is it even humanly possible? You think you heard the pretty lady on television talk about this expert baker who— You can feel someone waving their hand in front of your face to try to steer your mind back into the real world.

“But Satoru, aren’t you on a sweets ban?” It’s a sudden realization as you phase back into reality, nodding at Suguru now that he managed to successfully get you back. There’s a vague memory of him grumbling about it the very first time you met, the sway of blue firefly sleeves and the glow of his enchanting eyes.

“You’ve been letting him eat sweets when he’s not allowed to?” Suguru looks largely disapproving, a cocked brow and tilted head, as he watches the way your eyes are still glazed over and faraway from this conversation.

“I-It’s only temporary!” It’s a spluttered way of defending himself as his fists lightly punch at Suguru’s shoulder. “The old hag said I could have more af-after I—“

“But if you have guests over, wouldn’t they allow snacks?” It’s another offhand thought you had, not truly tuning into the chatter of your friends as a thoughtful finger is place on your lip, and you’re settling yourself down on the floor with them.

Silence.

You have to blink at them. Did you say something wrong? Mama always stocked snacks in case of a guest, and partially for yourself; so it just came naturally to you. Was it not a good idea after-all…?

——

So the first time you’re at Satoru’s house, you spend a good amount of time wondering why he needed such a big, scary looking metal gate as the unfamiliar man who drove the both of you here talks to the tiny speakerphone.

(It actually wasn’t that hard for Geto-mama to help convince your Mama to let you come. Cause it’s safer when Suguru is around too, right? You think that’s why you were allowed.)

“How many toilets do you think he has?” A genuine question as you gape at the sheer length of the seemingly never-ending fences. With a minka house that size, there’s bound to be more needed… But what do you need so many bathrooms for, anyway?

“Pfft,” A snort beside you and a squeeze of your hand. “Bet he uses one for showering, one for taking a dump and one for wiping.”

Suguru might be right, actually. What else would having that many bathrooms do?

“(name)-sama, Suguru-sama,” The intercom flashes with the image of an unfamiliar man as the metal gates start to open, automatic and creaking and honestly quite daunting as they part to reveal a well-dressed man in shiny shoes. “The Gojo estate welcomes you.”

He’s tall. Very tall. Almost as if he spanned at least a hundred feet up as he takes a bow, his head kept down and his face neutral.

“Young Master Gojo has been expecting the both of you.”

Takahashi-san; that was his name. The dignified Takahashi-san who didn’t smile, who didn’t allow his facial features to twitch even an inch out of place. Stone-faced Takahashi-san who was tall and moved with such quiet, purposeful steps, yet adjusted the stretch of his legs to allow you both to keep up with him as he lead you both around the engawa.

He reminds you of a really tall, really kind rock. If rocks could be kind, anyway.

“He looks fancy.” It’s your quiet whisper to no one in particular as you squeeze Suguru’s palm. It’s a wonder, honestly. Takahashi-san looks really out of place with the black and white suit, compared the varying browns and whites of the infrastructure and the greens of the estate’s seemingly endless garden.

And you think that it’s kind of intimidating.

“Do you think Satoru would wear that too?” Suguru humours you, a chuckle and swinging your intertwined hands together as he ensures his fingers are looped through yours.

You giggle, at ease now that you realize you’re not alone. Mama was right. “Maybe he has one of those gigantic closets like in—“

“We have arrived at the Young Master’s room.” A gloved hand fancily motions towards the fancier wooden lattice doors— Satoru had a really nice house. “Please do not hesitate to call for me if anything is needed.”

Even the wooden floorboards of the veranda don’t creak at all when you walk on them, the traditional tatami of Satoru’s room replaced with a soft Digimon carpet— It honestly blows your mind at just how clean his home was, completely juxtaposing how sloppy your usual Satoru could be.

“Surprise attack!” And you see a flash of blue and white before you’re both tackled to the ground, just barely missing landing front-first on those shiny wooden floorboards you admire so much as you resign to fate on the extreme softness of the carpet you did end up on.

Amazing.

“You’re finally here!” He’s settling his weight on the both of you, holding you both down so that he can reign supreme from above, a catlike mischief on his face when he realises his plan was a success.

“Let’s play! Let’s play!” Because he claims that treats taste better when you’re tired. “Oh, my house is wayyyyy bigger, so let’s do hide and seek!”

“That’s—“ You have to swallow a grunt of pain from the feel of his knee digging into your side as you whimper. “Great…”

“Get off, you heavy snowman!”

——

You don’t know this lady either. Which, honestly, figures. You don’t exactly live here.

“You’re not meant to be here—“ Her words start off snappy, quick. As if it were reprimanding tone that commanded dominance; before devolving into a tone of confusion and softer frustration. “Child…?”

She clears her throat, the ornaments in her hair twinkling a jingle that makes you want to stare agape.

“State your purpose.”

If it wasn’t for the almost scary tone she donned.

“Satoru’s trying to hunt me down.” You say it like it was the most obvious thing ever in response, almost as if you were reporting back from a mission. “So I’m tryna find a good hiding spot.”

You can’t see her face clearly, or see her at all with how the shoji doors hid her from your view. But her room was brightly lit, casting her standing silhouette onto the fabric screens of the sliding doors—

It should be impossible for a shadow to look so elegant.

“You must be his…” She lets herself trail off, as if the word was never on the tip of her tongue, far too unfamiliar and foreign on her lips. “Friend.”

She clears her throat once more as the shadow produces a fan from her draping kimono sleeve.

“Tell me, child,” You can see the sway of her clothes, her silhouette moving with poised grace and practiced elegance that made you await with bated breath for her every move.

It’s mesmerizing to just watch her.

You remember to breathe when you hear her falter, picking up on the shaky inhale in and the slight stutter of the paper fan that failed to match her once rhythmic pace. “How is… Satoru doing?”

You blink once, twice. Can see the dance of her sleeves as the fan waves and the jingle of the beads upon the ornate kanzashi tune into your ears. That’s a confusing question for you. A weird one, even.

She lives here, doesn’t she? Why doesn’t she just ask him herself? Plus, you’re not Satoru.

“I think you have to ask him that yourself.”

The fanning stops abruptly, and your head perks up at what you think is a muffled choke, watching as you see her silhouette start to tremble, before a quiet laugh bursts out. It’s elegant, refined— Yet so uncontrolled and lacking in all the proper was she once held.

Yet it didn’t detriment her overwhelming aura at all.

“Hahaha! I should, shouldn’t I?” The fan snaps close, angry, frustrated— Yet soft and repentant. “You’re a smart one, child.” Her voice is tender, almost pitiful in their tone.

“He will be fine with someone like you around.”

(What does that even mean?)

“Thanks.” You think the conversation is over, think you should leave when you notice she’s gone quiet, can see the silhouette of her shoulders slumping with a palm pressed to her forehead.

You can’t seem to smell anything.

She must be going through something, so you best leave her to it. Mama always told you to never involve yourself too much with strangers.

“Take care of yourself.” It’s all you can offer to the now solemn stranger.

A desolate chuckle, and the fluttering open of the paper fan once more as she seemingly regains her bearings.

“You too, child.”

Yet, she itches at your brain even long after you’ve been unceremoniously caught and dragged by the hand back to Satoru’s room the moment you’ve been found. You can’t ask that directly— Who even asks about a random lady they came across in someone’s house? So your brain goes for the next best thing.

“What’s your family like, Satoru?”

A genuine curiosity— It’s fine if it’s strange. You don’t have the most normal one either… Do you? You don’t really know.

You think your Mama loved your father, at least for one day. At the very least. She doesn’t love him like she loves you.

(That’s what she tells you, anyway.)

So you find yourself parroting that question again when they look at you as if you had something loose in your brain.

“What?” Satoru looks… Appalled. All furrowed brows and jutted out lip, scrunched up nose and tilted head. “What does mochi gotta do with any of that?”

You only blink back at him as Suguru plops a mochi into your open palm. “I just… Felt like it.”

A scrutinizing gaze from him as Suguru watches you both.

“All I know is that my Papa married just ‘cause my Mama was a hair or somethin’.” You see him stuff another mouthful of mochi into his mouth. “And cwause she’s—“ A swallow as he pats off the sugary dust on his lips. “An Alpha.”

Not for love. Definitely not.

(And why would anybody want to marry a hair?)

“Mmm…” Your brain feels like it was starting to steam from overwork. None of this makes any sense at all. “I don’t get it.”

Your honest proclamation.

“I say you don’t think too hard about this kinda thing.” Suguru’s patting your arm as he licks cream off of the corner of his lip. “Satoru doesn’t make any sense half the time, anyway.”

“Hey! Yes I do!” A harrumph and crossed arms as he sticks his nose into the air in contempt. “I know that my family only meets with other Alphas so that everyone stays Alpha, ya know?” He swipes sugar off of his cheek as Suguru grimaces, still speaking with his mouth full as he tries to make his point. “So I’m gonna be an Alpha too!”

No idea what that means. Though, Satoru had always been the type to tell you about things you never really understood quite yet. So you can only offer a pat on his back when he starts to choke on the sticky snack, hurriedly downing his milk as you choose not to dwell on it.

It’s not important to you now, anyway.

“Okay,” You smile as your eyes flicker from the mochi still in your hand up to the remaining 5 left on the serving plate. “Can Suguru and I finish the whole plate?”

“Wha— No! I want more too!”

——

And you go through those cycle of seasons once more, and in a blink of an eye— Elementary had begun.

“I can’t believe they don’t let you grow your hair out, Suguru…” Your voice is teetering on a soft cry, your arms hugging around his neck and resting on the backpack behind him as you press against the crook of his neck.

It’s a bit of an awkward hug, with how broad and stiff the bags were— They got in the way.

“Well… My mama said that’s just how public schools are.” He’s patting at your back, trying to soothe you now since there weren’t any other kids around—

The perks that come with coming early so that Mama could get to work on time.

It was hard, feigning confidence and bravery in front of your her when the sun had barely started to rise. Smiling at her even past those school gates you were too nervous to pass, waving her goodbye as you try not to show that you wanted to cry— You didn’t think you would make it through if you didn’t run into your beloved friend halfway through.

His hair is… Shorter now. Ear-length at best and not at all as flowy and silky and pretty as it once was when it was longer.

It felt freeing; the relief of knowing that he was assigned to be in the same class as you were, to know that you won’t be separated even when you’re in school with at least one of your dear friends.

Your only friends, so far. So you cling on, harder and needier— Enough for you to fulfill Satoru’s daily touch quota even if he wasn’t here with the both of you… And to sate your own selfish need for Suguru.

It’s strange, really. Since when did you crave touching them so much? Even through warm summers when the heat got unbearable, you remember laying with them on the floor to mope and complain about the humidity, hands intertwined together despite the sweat and uncomfortable, sticky feeling.

Even through colder falls where you 3 end up huddled together under Suguru’s blanket to read the newest issue of a manga, a small fight ensuing between all of you to decide who gets to hold the pages open— Due to the different reading capabilities; until the responsibility falls on you when the boys inevitably almost tear the pages apart.

(Manga is a treasure you need to be gentle with!)

So you’re used to their touch. Used to feeling their warmth so much that you don’t even want to pull away even when you hear the telltale sliding open of the classroom door, a running start-up that you both missed as the hug continues—

Before 2 becomes 3 upon the polished, and definitely less fancier wooden floors of your classroom.

“Guess who!”

And there was chatter. A lot of it. Whispers under stiff breaths, blushes on red cheeks and eyes that kept sticking to him as he simply… Sat next to you, his finger poking at the bandaid upon your cheek from his tackle as you paste another one onto Suguru’s arm.

“That’s him, right?”

“Look at his eyes, that’s gotta be that kid…”

“My daddy said that his family’s got bad people connections.”

“No way…!”

“Did you hear? My momma told me that—“

Yet, he ignores everything, everyone else around him as his eyes lock themselves with yours, his arm wound around yours as he tugs you closer.

“Aren’t ya happy to see me?” A V-sign and a bright grin as he nudges your shoulder, so you make a decision as you meet knowing purple that signaled the same thought.

If he doesn’t acknowledge it, you wouldn’t either. An unsaid promise that will hold strong.

“Yea.”

("How did you even manage to find out? We didn't even tell ya." Suguru leans onto the desk, looking past the you who was sat between them and at the all too proud boy.

"I got Kimi-chan to investigate!"

"Stalker."

"Mn."

"Hey!")

So when lunch rolls about and Satoru is staring down at the last thing on his tray; a bowl of seaweed and tofu-laden miso soup and poking at the floating cubes of white… He starts complaining.

“Cheap stuff doesn’t taste so bad.” Though, you think the ¥250 your Mama pays per day for this to be a lot. That’s at least 5 stickers from the candy shop.

“Well sorry it’s cheap, mister rich kid?” Suguru’s not gonna budge, tone sarcastic and his eyes closing as he finishes off the rest of his rice as he lets the rich boy steal another gulp of his strawberry milk.

Not even bothering to touch his tofu.

But you understand, noticing that he didn’t like bland food. Things that were neither sweet, salty nor sour. Tastes that didn’t amount or replicate anything— He didn’t like things that tasted like nothing.

So when he’s wiping his mouth of a milk moustache, he’s back to scooping tofu up and dumping it back in his bowl. Again and again, staring at it before… His gaze turns towards you. A glance at his spoon, and back— A repeat of his actions once more and—

A knowing grin.

“Say aaaah!”

“Aaaaaaahm.”

“Don’t make her eat your food for you, Satoru.” A scolding sigh when Suguru’s chopsticks pick up the cucumber that you absolutely did not want to touch.

“Hypocrite! Y’er eating the cucumbers for her!”

——

School is fun, even if it’s only the 3 of you. Even if you don’t have other friends to talk to.

“My dad’s an Alpha!” Tachibana… Something was his name. You don’t exactly remember it. A loud boy. You think you’ve heard the teacher muttering something about rambutans before.

“Ehhh? That’s so cool!”

“My mama told me that my cousin’s elder sister is an Alpha!”

“You guys have Alphas? Lucky…”

Yet they only approach, hover around your table like flies the moment only Satoru is gone, scrutinizing both you and Suguru as you try to read together.

“Hey, (last name)!” A slam of a grimy hand onto your table. “What’re your parents?”

You blink up at him, his face all smug and abhorrent— Prideful and spurning your discomfort.

“I don’t know.” Your voice is small, quiet. Like you didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to respond. Yet it tries to be firm. You can’t be strong all the time, but Mama told you that acting like you are will always work in your favour. He’s not intimidating per se— Simply uncomfortable to talk to. You’re sure nobody would like it when people get into their faces like this.

And it’s all too soon that Suguru drops his elbow onto said boy’s hand, smile ever so polite and put together despite the twitch of his knitted brows—

His sign of anger.

The victim didn’t even have enough time to scream, face turning white as a sheet when he starts to hear literal cracks, eyes forced wide open and fear evident when—

No words are needed. Not when Gojo Satoru is the one that slides open the door, huddling various flavours of sweet bread in his hands as his face stays blank.

It makes anyone back off immediately, kids gasping as they run back to their seats and avoid him like the plague as chairs screech against the floor in their hurry to act as if they weren’t near his territory.

You won’t question it.

So when you’re walking back, it hits you that it’s something that you never thought about before, never cared enough about. It’s for the sake of knowledge, for the purpose of knowing.

(“Is she even paying attention ‘nymore?” Small hands clap in front of your face as Suguru practically has to drag you back before you inevitably try to cross the street at a green light.

“Not at all.”)

“Mama.” You’re staring at her as she reads through a newspaper, another crinkle of thin paper, and clicking of a pen with a flicker of her eyes towards yours as she hums in acknowledgment.

“Which one are you?” Your finger gently lands upon the dark print, pointing towards the headline once you recognize the word.

‘Betas in demand! Employers looking to seek stable—‘

She pauses. “Where… Did you hear about this?” A valid question. You’ve never really cared about it till now despite all the news channels she’s watched with you’ve and all the newspapers you’ve helped her pick up from the front door… It didn’t make any sense for you to suddenly inquire about this.

“Tachibana-san was telling everyone how his Papa was an alpha.” You look back down towards the word. “And everyone in class started talking about that kind of thing too.”

Not a lie. At least, not a complete one.

“…I see.” She drawls off into silence, letting it hang over your heads with only your loud wonderment to fill the room.

You watch as she clears her throat, fiddling with the collar of her shirt and a hand briefly rubbing at the side of her neck.

You know what that means. Mama is nervous.

“Mama is…” You hear her pen click close. “An omega.” Her fingers start to trace the scarred over bite, her eyes meeting yours momentarily before going back to the newspaper.

Oh. Cool. But…

“Is that good?” A tilt of your head and a blink up at your pretty Mama as she blinks back at you. You feel her hand on your head, a brief rustle of your hair just as her pen clicks open.

“Alphas are usually at the top of the ladder.” A circle is drawn around the first symbol as she takes a breath in. “They are… Strong-minded people. You’ll see many people talk about them.”

“Like Tachibana-san?”

“Mhm.”

You blink up at her in silence as your hands settle down on your lap. That’s great and all, but you still don’t really get it.

Mama looks to the side, fingers drumming against the table before a solution prods her mind. “Suguru’s mama is an Alpha.”

Ohhhhh. She’s nice. Alphas are nice. You kind of get it.

“Betas are in the middle.” She taps against the the second symbol to continue, the head of her pen clicking open and close with an unsteady rhythm. “You’ll see a lot of them around.” You can see the way her hands are starting to tremble a little more, before she folds her hands over each other, a strained smile on her face.

“Kimiko-san is a Beta.” You didn’t know that either. She’s nice too. Betas are nice people too.

“And Omegas…” The one that your Mama said she was, right? You’ve been waiting for her to talk about herself, memorized that last symbol to a T. Kind of excited about this, maybe a little too much as you feel your toes clench and your eyes glimmer… Though you don’t really get why she chose to do her own last.

(Because your Mama should always be number 1!)

Yet it all comes to a halt the moment you smell something sour, helplessly watching in unsteady silence as she starts to rub at the skin upon her neck a little more roughly, pinching and pulling and digging her nails into her own flesh as she keeps her gaze stuck onto the newspaper below her.

You can sense how the air feels tenser, thicker. It felt like a stubborn lump in your throat, felt like it was going to crawl up your spine and envelop you whole as you watched her chew on her bottom lip.

“Mama…?”

A deep breath in, a fervent scratching against the marred side of her neck. You can see her trembling, see your Mama’s hand practically turn white with how hard she was gripping the pen. Is she—

“People say that they’re better off not existing.”

previous masterlist next

#jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #satosugu x reader

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jigeuminunbich · 2 months

Text

new look | lee jeno

synopsis in which you become acquainted with your boyfriend’s new haircut

genre nonidol!au, fem!reader, established relationship, and fluff

warnings reader is a bit bratty, pet names (baby, pretty), and a man having the audacity to cut his hair instead of growing it out :((

word count less than 1k

a/n wrote this as a love letter to the legendary jullet (jeno mullet) BUT also an appreciation of his short cut because i think he’s rocking it right now. though nothing, and i mean not one thing, can touch the hot sauce jullet (r.i.p bby)

Trust, Jeno knew the weight of this situation. Your attachment to his hair was no secret between the two of you. You loved it. Threading your fingers in the hairs around the nape of his neck, continuously running your hands through his raven locks, attentively fixing the lengthy strands that fell into place in front of his sight. Sure, in your lonesome together, your hands were always on Jeno but your number one comfort place was having a hand constantly glued to his hair.

“___, baby, please open the door,” Jeno pleaded, gently laughing against the wood of your bedroom door. Of course there was a way he could finesse the knob himself but he found your unnecessary, yet completely anticipated temper tantrum— cute.

“No!”

“Baby,” Jeno bit back laughter, pressing his freshly exposed forehead to the door.

“How could you do this to me?!” Though muffled, he heard your dramatic query. His shielded laughter pushed its way past his lips, leaving you to hear his harmonious snickering as you stood on the opposite side of the threshold.

“What was that, pretty?” Jeno’s smile stretched, expecting his question would pressure you to let him in. The stretch of his lips could only double when he heard the lock click— stepping a few paces back for your reappearance just before your exasperated face was peeking through the minor crack you purposefully left in the door.

“I said,” you began. “How could you do this to me?” You whined, the sight of your boyfriend promptly making you upset all over again.

Jeno chuckled at your state, taking you the least bit seriously. “You’re being dramatic,” he countered.

Before you could hide from him again, Jeno wedged his hand between the door and the sill. Obviously, you were no match against his strength so you gave up control over the door without a fight.

“Thank you, finally.” Jeno smiled triumphantly, his tone dripping in sarcasm as he stepped into your shared bedroom where you had been hiding yourself for the past half hour upon witnessing his new haircut.

You presented yourself as less than ecstatic to see him, to say the least. By the time Jeno had entered, you were already shrouding yourself with your comforter to avoid him once more.

A sigh left Jeno while he wondered to himself how long you two were going to play this game. “Pretty, you can’t still be upset…” slowly, Jeno crept over to the edge of the bed to sit next to your hidden form.

He heard you huff from underneath the blankets before you quickly flipped it off your head. “Well I am.” And your head was covered again.

“You don’t like it?” Jeno probed you, of course he knew what your answer was but playing with you was just so much fun.

Like a game of catch-a-mole, your head peaked from beneath the covers like before to deliver him a quick qip but this time your boyfriend was time enough, catching the comforter with his hand to keep your pouty face in view.

“Jeno,” you cried.

“___,” Jeno mocked your whiny tone, maneuvering up the bed to hover over you. Though you feigned discontent with your boyfriend, you’d be stupid to ignore the kiss he pressed to your lips. You allowed your lips to mesh, it was swift, but effective in turning your once rigid form into something like jelly.

He pulled back, his handsome face still peering down over your own.

“Jeno,” you parroted yourself, this time your voice was softer as you reached a hand up to gently brush against his newly chopped fringe.

“Yes, pretty?”

You sighed at the usage of your nickname, it was twisted that he knew exactly how to use it to his advantage. Wordlessly, your opposite hand came to grip at the front of Jeno’s shirt, effectively pulling him down on top of you. He followed through, giggling as he situated his weight comfortably overtop of you.

This new position allowed you to adjust yourself along the crook of Jeno’s neck. “I don’t hate it,” you reluctantly whispered into his skin.

Shocked, Jeno changed the angle to where your faces were nearly touching. “No?” He whisper-shouted.

“No.” You giggled at the sight of his wide, stunned eyes, your hand still roaming the expanse of his cut.

Jeno smiled at this, bringing his lips back to your own and inevitably closing the gap between you. This time you gave more of yourself to him, arching your front into his. Sighing when you felt his hand place itself along your side.

He cut the kiss short once again, your faces still close as ever.

“I happen to like it. It suits you,” you admitted shamefully, it was disappointing to yourself that you had caused all this uproar to finalize that the change, though drastic and sudden, wasn’t all that bad.

It framed his face and highlighted his sculpted features. Lord knows he was still as handsome as ever, and this new cut gave you more opportunity to marvel at him. Though your fingers had less to work with, you were still able to play in it nonetheless.

“Thank you, baby.” Freshly flustered with your change in tune, Jeno pressed a peck to your nose, garnering a giggle from you.

“No problem.”

With your situation finally reaching a resolution, Jeno situated himself to lay on his side, holding onto you while his head was placed on your chest. Giving you the perfect opportunity to let your fingers linger in his hair like you’ve become accustomed to.

“More than my mullet?” Jeno mused.

“Don’t push it.”

#nct dream x reader #jeno x reader #lee jeno x reader #nct x reader #nct x y/n #nct dream x y/n

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gatorbites-imagines · 1 year

Note

hii can i pretty please request the 141 + the other guys (könig, alejandro, graves, whatever lol) w/ a reader who just kinda repeats the phrases or last could words they say? kinda like a parrot lmao

i'm autistic and it's one of the things i do 💀

Cod Boys

Headcanons

couldnt think of a gif to add, so heres a tiger.

I have a lot of Echolalia (repeating noises or words you hear) too, so same. I added Horangi too, cuz I love that guy and there isn’t anything about him in the x reader tags.

John Price

Price honestly finds it endearing, he thinks its cute that you repeat things he says, especially if you weren’t British and were to copy his accent. I could imagine him growing so used to it he doesn’t even realize you do it anymore.

He wouldn’t be annoyed by it either as its just part of who you are, and he’s just happy you feel safe letting yourself verbally stim around him. He also finds its fun to know what media you’ve been watching, or if you’ve been paying attention to what he’s said.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Gaz would just find it quirky, he might even find it charming in a way. He knows its not something where you choose who or what you repeat, but he still likes that its him you repeat stuff from.

You both end up walking around and repeating the same things, you because you repeat stuff because that’s just how you are, and Gaz because he’s been around you long along to start to develop the same habit, but only when it comes to you.

Simon “Ghost” Riley

He is also autistic, but where you copy noises or words, he’s the silent staring kind. He doesn’t speak a lot as we know, so he’s a little surprised the first time you repeat what he says, especially when you don’t even seem to realize you’re doing it.

Ghost ends up developing Echolalia as well, but only copies stuff you say or things like animal noises, and only when it’s the two of you alone together as he masks around other people.

John “Soap” MacTavish

Soap loves it when you copy or repeat stuff he says or noises he makes, it finds it cute and special as its something just so you, at least in your group. He would never look down on you for it either, as its not something you can really control.

He has tried to make you repeat the dumbest stuff and there’s no stopping him, and if he succeeds, he just starts snickering. Soap laughing is what makes you realize you must have said something funny, which only makes him laugh even more.

Alejandro Vargas

Alejandro starts calling you bird or parrot as a nickname, especially if you are the type to copy animal noises. He finds it funny when you mimic Spanish words if you aren’t a native Spanish speaker.

He’s honestly impressed with how well you can say stuff in Spanish if it isn’t a language you speak. It just becomes a thing he finds comfort in, since it means your there, alive, and well. So if you were to go quiet for longer periods of time, he might worry a bit.

Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra

Rudy doesn’t speak as much as everyone else, so he finds it a little endearing that you repeat the stuff he says as it means you were at least subconsciously paying attention to him and what he said.

I could imagine Rudy liking to just sit together in mostly silence, so when he does speak there’s pretty much a 100% chance you’ll mimic whatever he said, which he finds nice as it helps him feel some kind of normalcy, since you are there with him.

Phillip Graves

He would think you were mocking him in the beginning, until he realizes it’s something you do with everybody and you might not even realize you are doing it unless someone points it out. He never says anything about it, since its just part of who you are.

Graves will rip someone a new asshole if they were rude to you about it though, he may be an ass to most people, but you are one of his so he watches out for you. He doesn’t show it but he cares, in his own way.

König

König doesn’t speak a whole lot outside of missions, so you’d most likely copy him during missions or similar. This ends up with you two repeating copy over and over, over the comms. It becomes almost a little game, which helps put you both at ease during stressful times.

If you copy his German hed find is sweet, as it helps him feel a little more at ease since he’s most likely far away from his home country. So even if you don’t speak German, it helps him come out of his shell a little.

Kim "Horangi" Hong-Jin

Horangi would think you were making fun or him or mocking him, but seeing as you just do it as regularly as you do and don’t realize he doesn’t pick a fight like he might have, if anybody else did it.

He ends up growing to like that you do it, and he will throw hands with anyone who tries to make you uncomfortable about it or insults you for it. He starts speaking more Korean around you, just wanting you to repeat words in his mother tongue even if you don’t understand it.

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morallyinept · 7 months

Text

Thrash Metal - A Dieter Bravo One Shot

Summary: When you arrive home, Dieter has a surprise for you.

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub.)

Word Count: 5.4k-ish

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️🌶️ “You tell me I’m doing well, and then, you try to kill me.”

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Explicit - Oral F receiving/fingering/anal play/squirting/lots of spit & saliva/masturbation/mild dirty talk.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

Author’s Note: Dieter, what dat tongue do? 👅 Alright, he's heeeeere. Tongue pierced Dieter. Woot.

Tagging @for-a-longlongtime @sp00kymulderr @ravensmadreads @whatsnewalycat @agentjackdaniels @chronically-ghosted because of stud-gate this week 😜

Has Frankie found a contender for title of 🐱👑??

MASTERLIST | DIETER BRAVO MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

“D, has something happened to your teeth?”

You narrow your gaze at him as you regard him standing before you, and there’s something... off.

He shakes his head. But keeps his mouth closed.

“Oh shit, you’ve not lost a tooth have you? Let me see.”

He shakes his head again; that fluff on his crown swaying, and steps back from your reach deliberately.

“Uhm-uhm.” His lips are rolled tight against each other.

“Dieter, what's up with you? What’s wrong with your mouth?” You say, trying not to smirk at his odd behaviour. But then again, that’s a fucking understatement where Dieter Bravo is concerned.

You’ve been back all of five minutes, jet-lagged to hell and needing a shower, and already there’s some quirky drama unfolding before your eyes.

Attempting - and failing at - nonchalance, he had greeted you with a seemingly forced smile as you stepped in the bedroom with consternation brewing around your temples, but his rapid eye blinking betrayed the subtle nervous energy lingering beneath the surface. It stopped you in your tracks as you lugged your case in.

You knew immeadiately something was up.

And as you try to engage in conversation now, his attempts at passive behaviour are punctuated by occasional fidgets, a breakdance of twitches that hint at a hidden unease, an untold secret.

The same look a dog gives you when they’ve shit all over the floor.

“Are you high?” You question speculatively. Ask a stupid question and ye shall receive a stupid answer, right?

The bedroom echoes with a delicate, yet rabid symphony of Dieter's astute nervous ticks - a restless tap of the foot, a darting glance toward the window and back through red, tired eyes; a momentary pause as he tries to control the involuntary movements. Fingers cracking silver metal bands against one another.

Despite his efforts to appear at ease, there's an undeniable undercurrent of tension, like a tightly wound spring threatening to unravel. A constant hungover spiral in his eyes.

Then Dieter shrugs with a lazy eyebrow cock and sheepish smile. Busted. He’s probably been high all fucking weekend.

You giggle. “What have you been up to?”

You cast your eye about the bedroom, nothing too telling or untoward to witness. The bed is unmade, nothing new there, and there’s no evidence of any bodily fluids in lumpy puddles that you can obviously spy.

When you ask the question, the room becomes a stage where he struggles to perform the role of casual indifference anymore; a two and fro between concealing and revealing the subtle nuances of his nervous twitches.

Do you even want to know?

But then, he beckons you over, with his two fingers and a smile that keeps his lips sealed shut like gummy glue.

He’s not said a word to you. Not even greeted you when you came in, despite you calling out to him repeatedly like a parrot. Just standing silently in the bedroom waiting for you.

An oversized sweatshirt, with the sleeves bunched around the elbows, hangs off of him. Baggy Harem pants sit lazily on his paunchy waist, with a pattern that makes you dizzier the more you look at it.

Hard to believe sometimes, that this man is an Emmy nominated actor, and not some vagabond that’s crawled in off the street looking to warm up.

He looks wildly uncouth, like he’s just rolled out of bed, and probably has, you deduce. You've learned that Dieter, although a fully grown man, doesn't do much when you're not around.

Almost like he's lost his inner compass and twirls in stuck circles of bad decisions, waiting for you to come back and set his navigational dial right again. You're his magnetic pole.

His hands are knotted behind his back and channelling an innocent little boy, rocking back and forth on his heels, who’s just done something suspiciously naughty. Like throw up in your Louboutins again.

Dieter doesn't answer your questions. He just offers nods or shakes of his head, with puzzling mmm’s or uhm’s being tossed at you, as you regale him with ranty anecdotes about your flight back from hell.

But you soon catch on that all is not well in the Bravo mansion as he remains suspiciously tight lipped.

“You’re being weird, why are you being weird?” You narrow, as you reach him.

You don’t want to panic or suspect the worst, but he’a giving you little recourse as it prickles at your scalp.

Past experience tells you that each time you leave, you come back to some sort of carnage. The man can't help it; anarchy sticks to him like Peter Pan's shadow. And Dieter has never been truly ready to grow up and vacate Neverland.

You feel his arms wrap around your lower back, his chest presses taught against yours as he pulls you in. Stacked shoulders mountain over you as one of your hands peak the summit, squeezing gently. You reach under the hem of his bobbling sweater with your other and rub his soft tummy affectionately.

“What did you do this time?” You probe looking into his chocolate browns. They’re a little tired and bloodshot. Puffy, with aging skin dried out a little up this close.

Dieter waggles his eyebrows and then leans in for a welcome kiss.

You avoid it, swerving, as he grazes your cheek; his breathy chortle ebbs out from behind his teeth clamped shut.

“I’m on to you, Mister. Something’s incredibly awry here.”

Smirking, he growls at your playful resistence, grabbing your chin and planting one on you, and your resolve instantly melts down your legs.

You moan gently as he places his lips on yours, delicately at first. As you inhale, he smells like Rasinettes, peculiarly. Dieter plants soft, little pecks that morph into hungry nips, and they soon have you wrestling for the deep trench of his mouth.

God, you've missed this quirky doof.

You slip your tongue in; your hands in the nape of his neck. Fingers curling around the unruly fluff there, matted with styling product that’s probably days old.

He whines into your mouth, clutching onto you tightly with a strength that lights fireworks inside your chest.

His warm tongue slithers against yours, and you gasp when you feel something cool and hard run across it suddenly.

You baulk, breaking the kiss.

"Is that... what I think it is?” You question, bewildered and instantly smirking.

You watch as the pale, pink flush of his lips shifts into the apples of his cheeks, lighting them up a neon magenta. Glowing, like a sleazy, back alley strip joint.

He didn’t… no way.

“Show me,” you cajole, your fingers trying to pull on his bottom lip eagerly.

Dieter slowly protrudes his tongue out at you; it's so long it reaches the end of his chin with ease. Towards the bottom of his tongue, nestled in the pink, wet velvet, lies a silver metal ball.

You start laughing. You can’t help it. It kind of just rolls up the back of your throat and out into his sheepish face.

Then he laughs, his hands rubbing up and down your back. His nails cragg down against the fibres of your top, your spine, and entice your nipples to wake up and pebble in response.

You can see your reflection in it; a cleverly crafted, hidden secret which you can’t stop staring at, despite your animated heckling.

He sucks his tongue back in and you shake your head incredulously.

“Are you having a midlife crisis?” You ask, trying to compose yourself.

He shrugs as though it’s no big deal. “I was high.”

You notice his speech is a little slurred. The foreign invasion in his mouth is somewhat difficult to navigate around basic colloquialism it seems.

Dieter with a lisp is inherently cute, you decide. You can feel your skin coming alive with goose bumps as a wave of delightful shivers dances along the hairs on your arms.

Eager neurons fire, creating a wave of exhilaration. It's a visceral experience, a fusion of giddy butterflies and a magnetic pull towards the rogue source of your body amping up - that darned piercing.

Every heartbeat seems synchronised with the rhythm of your sudden enthusiasm for it, orchestrating a melody of hedonistic anticipation that resonates within your sweat glands as you feel it trickle across the back of your neck and under your arms.

Your clit is standing at full attention.

Your mind is polluted with lewd imagery on a static screen, and you want to pause them all and zoom in so you can get off to them. The bedroom suddenly feels stifling.

“Let me see that again.” You sway.

Smirking at you, Dieter’s tongue rolls out of his mouth once more and you examine it closely.

The slight dip and rise of the barbell certainly hints at some drugged up rebellion. You can only imagine the state he must have been in to embark on such a perilous, and stupid, endeavour. His agent will be pissed.

But you’re not surprised in the slightest that he’d try something wild like this. It’s almost as bold as the kiss print tattoo on his ass cheek. Fucking idiot.

“It’s coming out, it fucking kills, babe. I swear, I’ve chipped a tooth already.” The rhythmic clinks of the stud against his gnashers creates a distinct soundtrack to his words.

“Can you see?” He opens wide and points to his back molars. “Ack ere,” he mouths.

“No, no chip.” You confirm. Nothing but pink gums and filled molars.

“You sure?” He sucks in around his cheeks ungraciously, like he’s got wadding in his mouth from a horrific visit to the dentist, and is trying not to drool from numbed out lips.

“D. Why did you do this?” You ask, pecking at his scruff and nuzzling into him.

He shrugs. “I woke up with it three days ago... Went out. I don't remember. Can’t eat solids. I bit down on it and almost shit myself. Hurts too much.”

You can't help but titter again. “Then why didn’t you just take it out?”

And despite his inert melancholy, and some possible resentment about it, he shifts. His stance and his facial expression mould into something all too wildly familiar.

And you feel it too as he tunes into that x-rated channel hopping in your mutual, debauched hive mind to pick something he knows you'll both enjoy.

“Because,” he says with that shit eating grin getting wider “I heard it can be fun.”

As he speaks, the metallic gleam of the tongue stud catches the light, accentuating his confident, brash words with a hint of flippant audacity.

Yeah, baby. You know you want me.

Each subtle movement from the sly smile to the now thoughtful pause, draws attention to the unconventional accessory that whispers a sordid tale of some narcotic imposed masochism. Chaotic alignment in all its glory, punctured right through that fleshy muscle that clicks in his mouth at you.

Calling you out, persuading you to join the darkside, because your partner now has a tongue stud. Fuck.

“Fun you say?” You query with another smirk brewing.

“Yeah,” he tightens his grip around you and pulls you closer, fingers slipping down onto your ass. You can already feel what kind of fun hardening between his legs.

“For you, I mean.” Dieter clarifies.

You swallow and grin, and the room sways as you register the whiplash from such an impulse. Anticipation wraps around your veins like a tightly coiled spring, ready to release a burst of energy at the slightest trigger.

Your senses heighten, capturing every nuance in the air that crackles like electric. Time seems to stretch, elongating moments as you eagerly conjure and play out every scenario that can, and will more than likely go down.

And you can see he’s pulling it apart too. Mentally jacking off to the sights it envokes.

Your imaginations play like a vivid movie collection, building suspense with each scene of that infernal tongue, sheathed with a metal counterpart added into your foreplay.

It's a crescendo of excitement, a cacaphony of heightened awareness and the sweet agony of expectation that makes your cunt clench wildly.

“Are you telling me you mutilated yourself so you could eat me out with a tongue stud?” You put to him.

“Don’t act like you’re not intrigued, babe.” He sucks back the fluid pooling in his mouth again with a wispy slurp.

“Oh, you can colour me fucking intrigued, D.”

“I thought so.” He croons with that razor grin coming for you like a chainsaw.

He slips his tongue back into your mouth and your own vies for the stud, sliding over it smoothly, and waking something carnal with lacquer claws inside you.

Tongues flicking and sliding over one another, you can taste the herbal, ashy remnants of a probable joint on his. You suck on his tongue feverishly; each of you braying with one another to choke the other on those twisty muscles.

“Ah Jesus.” He whimpers.

“Did I hurt you?” You ask, pulling back.

You cup his cheek, fingers reaching to fiddle with his earring glinting in his lobe, affectionately.

He’s always had a flair for flouting the conventional. A man of his advancing age with tattoos and piercings has a great appeal. You often admire his body art with curious fingertips, or a swirling tongue that traces the patterns, making his skin shiver.

“No, that actually feels better. Do it again.” Dieter prompts.

You run your tongue gently around the circumference of the stud in his mouth as you kiss him once again.

“Mmm,” he sighs into your cheeks. “Yeah, like that.” His grip on you becomes tighter, desperate.

You suck gently on his bottom lip and he crushes your head in his giant hands, guiding you backwards, clumsily, to the uncouthly made bed.

His tongue licks deep to get more of that sensual relief from the aching pang, as your breathing muffles around his mouth.

“Fuck, you’re making me so hard,” he whines. You reach down and give him a gentle squeeze over his jazzy pants and another grunt tumbles out of him.

“You need something, D?” You tease, stroking the obvious tenting. There’s already a wet patch blooming into the material.

He catches his breath, his lips shiny from your kiss and nods his head quickly and excitedly. “But you first.” He smirks.

Your breath becomes a frantic, rhythmic cadence, syncing with the anticipation pulsating through you. The warmth between your thighs radiates, burning you up.

Dieter reaches for your jeans and tugs them down as you sit backwards on the bed. You jostle with your panties, almost comically as you fumble around your desperateness - the elastic getting caught round your toes.

You roll them up and chuck them at him. Catching them, he brings them to his nose and sniffs in deep, emitting a low growl. You watch, as he brazenly stuffs them into the front of his pants, wrapping the flimsy silk of them around his cock.

He jerks himself, once, twice, three times with them before climbing in between your now spread wide legs.

“What a welcome home,” you grin as he smooches up your inner thigh.

He eyes your cunt, sopping and glistening at him. “Touch yourself,” he mutters.

He sucks the saliva down his throat again and it makes you giggle rambunctiously at the sound.

“It’s.” Kiss. “Not.” Kiss. “Funny.” Kiss.

“It’s a little funny.” You titter as his dark eyes flick up at you, hungrily.

Your fingers find their way, slipping into your folds as Dieter hums out in praise as he continues kissing up your thigh.

“How good does that pussy feel?”

“So good.” You moan as you slip over your clit and feel the delicious pang of sweetly mixed pleasure that aches. "I'm so wet for you, Dieter."

“Yeah, you’re soaking.” He agrees, gawping at it, lips dragging closer. "All because of this?"

You watch, in breathless awe, as he rolls his tongue out again; the gleam of the stud flashing at you, and then disappearing from sight as he lowers his head.

You hitch your breath in anticipation, your own fingers removed from your apex, and waiting eagerly for the moment.

You can feel his breath, so warm and moist against you already. So fucking close, but he lingers.

You feel him blow gently and you shudder with the alternating warmth and coolness against you.

“D! Don’t tease me,” you gasp.

“What?” He muses innocently as you feel his breath waft against your lips again. The very slight, tiniest probe of his tongue is felt at the bottom of your slit.

“Oh my God.” You whine.

You hear him laugh, snuffling around his breaths with his tongue still hanging out. A throaty wheeze reverberates as he tickles you ever so lightly, barely ghosting over you there.

Another tiny little prod of his tongue and he withdraws quickly. “You taste so good.” He moans, sucking in again with the hypersalivation.

“Please.”

“What, babe? Tell me what you want.”

“You know what I want.”

“I want to hear you tell me. Slut it up for me.”

You roll your eyes and sigh. “You want me to beg?”

“Yah. Pretty much.” He confirms with a smirk. “Beg me to tongue fuck you.” His eyes almost appear jet now. His fingers feel absorb into your skin. “Tell me.” He grizzles.

“I wanna feel your tongue fucking the shit out of my pussy, D.”

“Yeah!”

“Mmhm. I wanna come all over your face, I want to see it dripping down your chin.”

“Oh, that’s amazing, so hot! I love it when you squirt all over me.”

“Wanna see you soaked. Want to smell it in your beard...” You hum. "Fuck I want to taste myself in your mouth, D."

“Drown me in it.”

“Just please... eat me, Dieter!” You wail, reaching forward for his head and shoving it against your cunt in desperation.

He immediately clamps his mouth over your mound, and you feel that tongue delve into your folds. Running his lips over your outer labia, then wiggling that uneashed tongue deeper inside.

You feel the stud, probing against you in a contrasting coolness, despite it being nestled in the warmth of his plush mouth.

“Mmm, God.” You groan, fingering through his scalp; scissoring tufts of his ratty hair between your fingers.

You can feel the soft prickle from the scruff above his lips tickle and graze as he plunders in further, teasing the outer well of your entrance with the pointed tip of his tongue.

You hiss, head becoming slack on your shoulders; a weightless ball with no pivot, as you shudder.

He pushes in, fucks you slowly and deviously. Lapping, you can feel the stud rub deliciously against your honeyed insides.

“Mmm, fuck. I can feel it,” you smile blissfully. “Oh wow!”

“You like it?”

You nod dreamily, with blown pupils like you’re tripping balls. “Feels really good, D… ah yeah.”

He pulls you apart gently with his fingers, spreading you to reveal the shiny layers of glossy skin. Your clit’s raised and swollen out of its hood as he teases across the tip with the point of his tongue.

Then he lets you feel it; lets the ball of the stud roll over it with ease in a slippery stroke.

Your thighs twitch at the sensation. The slight weight of it - swift and fluid as it skates effortlessly in your slick - makes you groan deeply.

You watch it, how it brushes and knocks against you. Watch how he watches you back, knowing that he’s just utterly fucked your shit up.

“Fuck,” you gasp.

“Yeah? Watch me tongue you.” He smirks as he flickers back and forth, looking back at you with those deep browns.

Watching you watch him as he suctions his lips fully over your clit, sucking like a man starved of water in the desert. Then he lets it go, and flicks his tongue and the stud over that hard, buzzing nub again.

“Yeah!” You pant. "Yes, yes!"

Your eyes cloud over, your vision steams around the edges. It feels so good, so tight and bunching as the ball end runs delicious, chaotic circles around you, making your thighs ripple with each stroke.

Dieter pauses momentarily to swipe into your fleshy ribbons; strings of your slick break from his tongue as he pulls back and observes the mess he’s making of you, with your gloss smeared across his greying, prickly cheek.

You reach forward and run your thumb over his lip and suck it off, tasting yourself. He mouths the word fuck at you in stunned awe as you do so.

He’s relentless as you start moaning, your pants becoming strangled in your throat, fists wrenching in the sheets. Hips lifting and pushing further into his face to seek more, more!

God, you fucking need more!

He works you up with his tongue, relentlessly stroking, licking and sucking all over your saturated cunt. The tongue stud adding to the heightened sensations; the giddy thrill and pleasure of it all builds as glittery phosphenes start to blind you.

He knows you’re so close, so easy to shunt over that edge right now with a mere jab in your lower back. And you’ll be free falling, diving head first into an ocean full of electrical waves.

And he’s enjoying your show of moans and whispers of his name so much to deny you of a good push, or two. Hell, maybe even three.

Dieter speeds up, tongue going twenty to the dozen on your clit like it’s battery operated. The metal ball thrumming against you with just the perfect amount of pressure.

He only stops to suck you up; swallow the glassy slick that pools and leaves tracks, and then he’s settling back into that giddy pace of bubbling annihilation.

“God, your fucking tongue, D!” You wail beside yourself. Legs akimbo and up in the air as though they’re resting in stirrups.

He leans on his elbow, head cocked and resting against your thigh. Insipid tongue wiggling all over your clit ferociously.

You start shaking; your hole already contracting, yearning for his cock to squeeze around. Bearing down on an empty space as you clench and tighten; all of your coils about ready to snap.

And the son of a bitch knows it.

Dieter is wild; like a rabid dog drooling all over you. He shakes his head back and forth crazily as his tongue sweeps side to side over that juicy, swollen clit, humming in delight as he suckles and licks it.

He pulls on your labia, sucking and popping it out of his mouth in lewd squelches.

“Look at you, all spread open for me.” Dieter croons with that slick, sticky smile.

He spits on your pussy and you gasp, biting your lip as his eyes flicker up to you darkly.

He runs his saliva with his fingers all over your cunt. He holds eye contact as he leans in again and sucks on your clit; your body jerking wildly in response.

“Oooooooh fuck!” You cry. “Yeah, oh don’t stop…”

The tongue tornado he’s blasting you with now is making you shake and see ultraviolet stars, sewn like sequins into the back of your eyelids.

He stops licking and sucking, and slips his fingers into you; index and middle right up to the base of his rings.

With his other hand, he pinches your clit out of the hood and runs the ball of the stud around it relentlessly as he fucks you with his fingers curling inside of you.

An insidious puppet master controlling his marionette as you dance on your giddy strings before him.

“Holy shit!” You gasp and cream like crazy.

He can feel you contracting around his fingers as he continues the lick job. Your legs shake violently like in the throes of a demonic possession.

“Fuck, fuuuuuuck! D, I'm coming!”

With your legs spread wide, Dieter, Dieter pussy eater, draws back to watch you come, pulling his fingers out. Just watching with rapt attention as that slit of wet, drenched lips pulses like it’s breathing of its own volition.

Your hole flexing and contracting like a small mouth breathing; the nib of your clit jerking and pulsing as though headbanging to thrash metal.

He marvels, with a wide grin, as your body shakes, the smarmy bastard, and then dives right back in to taste you and repeat the carnage all over again.

You try to shut your legs, crushing his chin and cheeks into your thigh meat, but he keeps you anchored. Preventing you from squirming away, despite how intense it now feels as he continues gnawing on your over-sensitized clit and knocking the stud against it like thunder.

You’re panting now, breathless. Choking on the sensation of his name being lodged and wrenched from the back of your throat.

"D... Oh fuck, Dieter."

And he's got you there again; pulls you up and balances you on the ledge once more, to simply push you off and watch you fly.

As you come again, it froths around his lips. Bubbles of your slick squelching and catching in his scruffy ‘tache, and Dieter hums deeply in satisfaction as he swallows it all down.

He licks you through it, barely settling his pace as he pushes you towards overstimulation. You try to squirm away, but his hands anchor your thighs open and apply the pressure. His eyes flick up to you, flaring brilliantly.

I’m not done with you yet, babe.

He smirks around his tongue hanging out, flashing the fucking audacity of that stud at you as he waggles it about on your clit, and watches you shake with every zap it causes.

“Oh-fuck-fuck-don't-stop-please-D! Fuck!” You blabber.

And then he places a kiss on your pussy, a gentle little mwah. The sweetest of smooches before he dives inside you with his tongue again.

“Dieter!” You holler.

His hands wind under your thighs and rest on your stomach, slowly massaging and squeezing the soft fat there.

“Mmm,” he whines. The tip of his nose grazes your clit as he slides his tongue in and out of your hole.

You feel him go lower still and run his tongue around the tight knot of your ass.

“Mmm,” you coo as you gasp.

You feel the stud run over that puckered, tight flesh and back up again as he detours to your ass, and you feel the tip of his tongue circle it teasingly.

Tracks of his saliva and your slick have slid down to your ass and they glisten at him as he pulls back. His cock twitches in exasperation to just rub himself all in it.

It takes every inch of restraint not to pull himself out and splash you down with his come already. But he wants you to enjoy this; savour the piercing whilst it’s still in because after this, that bitch is coming out.

He works through the pain, that dull throbbing, and for a while forgets about it completely as he drowns himself in your folds.

He wants to fuck you so bad. Just get his cock wet inside you and feel you gush all over him. Shit, it’s a fucking drug. He’s addicted to this pussy, can’t give it up.

Just one more hit. Just one more hit.

He reaches down and gives himself a squeeze, feels your panties still stuffed in there around him and pumps. He grunts into your hole, fluttering around his tongue.

He wants to cover you with his come. Paint you with it. Watch as it seeps through your lips and down to your ass.

Flood you with every bit of him and lick it all up after.

“Oh, fuck.” He growls audibly around your pussy at the thought; his cock pulses in his grip and he swears he’s almost there himself. A few more pumps and he’ll be spilling liberally in your panties.

The best part is when he’s come, and then he slips himself back inside you; feels your mutual wet warmth and carries on thrusting gently. Sometimes, and when he’s not completely whacked out of his gourd, Dieter can get fully hard again inside you doing just that.

Just feeling the gentle pulsing of your walls post-orgasm, twitching around him, brings him back from the brink of a floppy death. Building himself up and spraying you down again and again.

The sex between you lasting for hours. Just fucking you with his come all over your mound, sticking in your thighs and on his belly. Watching in intense awe as that cream pie pearls out of you.

Yeah, fuck that’s nice.

Dieter thinks about the way in which he fucks you; flexing his hips upwards in a circular motion to hit directly on that spot that makes you go cross-eyed every damn time.

Your reach forward through your legs, feeling your stomach crunch as you weave your hand through his hair again, subtly crushing his face to your centre, grinding up against it and he thrashes back and forth.

“I want you to squirt, babe. You think you can do that for me?”

“Make me,” you plead, hoarsely and nodding.

He circles, teasing up and down; sweetly sinful licks as he brushes the hub of you with the bar. He runs his fingertips gently over you; your clit bobbling under the pads of them and you groan before he slides back and inserts a finger into you, pulling it out and dragging the gooey slick over it.

He teases those swollen pussy lips around his tongue as you buzz wildly.

“I love how soaked you get. Fuck.” His eyes twinkle as you glance down at him.

He slips in another finger, down to the hilt, and pulls it out; rubbing them together and feeling the silky wet of you around his thick digits.

“Come all over my face. Soak me. Soak me!” He instructs. He pluders his fingers deep inside you, stroking fast against your spot. The metal batters against your clit as he flicks his tongue back and forth over it.

“Oh fuck, D!” You wail, arching and writhing as he increases his speed and the pressure of his deeply buried digits. “Holy shit, that’s so fucking good! Keep going, baby! I'm almost there!”

You hear him quaff in; the wetness of your cunt sucked to the back of his throat as he thrashes his tongue about like in the throes of a mosh pit.

The beads on his wrist clack together in a fast tempo as he finger fucks you hard. Those two fingers sluicing in and out of your hole as the stud flicks back and forth, sending you soaring, higher and higher.

Frothy, cream foams in your lips. And he tastes it all in his mouth, groaning for more.

You can feel it, rushing into your core, bearing down and contracting. The weight felt against your bladder like a shock. Your core muscles tighten and weigh heavier as it builds.

And he pulls it out of you like an incantation.

You go momentarily deaf; your body feels like it's rising, floating off the bed entirely in those few seconds before it hits.

Before the wave crashes through your core and gushes out of you.

“Oh my God, oh shit! DIETER!!”

You give him what he wants, you utterly soak him. Wet splashes of you spray his face and sluice down his chin. You soak the front of his sweater as he draws back to watch you squirt buck wild as you explode.

“Fuck yeah!” He’s utterly beside himself and can feel his cock pulse wildly as he immeadiately spurts around your panties too.

Thick, pearly strings congeal around your labia as he breathes out groaning, and licks up and down your slit slowly and languidly.

The stud hits your overly sensitised clit and you flinch like you’ve been tasered.

He pants as he licks you clean like he’s just run a marathon. He runs his chin up, smirking as your slick catches in the fuzzy hairs of it, and he leans up and plants a kiss on the soft skin just under your belly button, gently making out with it.

“Mmm,” you groan languidly with heavy lids. He climbs up your body and rubs his sticky chin and lips across your mouth and cheeks, as you giggle and wail at him to get off you.

He chuckles and rests up over you on his palms; broad shoulders hunched and his sweater riding up over his belly. You can feel the jab of his thick cock against you.

“Show me that tongue,” you prompt and he sticks it out at you, craning his neck down into you so you can suck gently on the end of it; taste the stud inside your mouth and the sweet tang of your cunt.

You smile at him, completely blissed out through heavy eyes, that same relaxed glassiness about you when you’ve just taken a deep drag of dope and cuddle up with him to watch Weekend At Bernies.

“Maybe I should keep it, the stud?” Dieter suggests with that hint of a lisp again.

You giggle and toss a pillow up at him. It boffs the side of his face and he chortles, trying not to drool once more.

“Maybe you should,” you smirk as he plants a fat, sticky kiss on your mouth.

You reach down inside his pants to give him a squeeze and feel how wet it is in there.

“Couldn’t help it,” he says to you bashfully as you grin at him. “That was too fucking hot.”

Dieter smirks, sticking his damned, metal filled tongue back out at you again.

Thanks ever so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed some tongue time with Dieter! 👅🖤

MASTERLIST | DIETER BRAVO MASTERLIST

#dieter bravo #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #dieter bravo the bubble #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo fanfic #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo trash panda #dieter bravo fanfiction #jett's writing #dieter is a menace

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oopwoop · 11 months

Text

Playing Minecraft W/ The SpiderVerse Kids

pairing(s): Miles Morales (e!1610!), Hobie Brown, Pavitr Prabhakar, Gwen Stacy

warning(s): swearing! unedited.

i used this site to figure out/decide what type of player they’d be

i’ve been playing a lot of Minecraft recently and thought of what it’d be like to play with them so.. here you go!

Miles Morales (e!1610!)

He prefers Creative over Survival for sure, reasoning: he’s scared of the mobs and refuses to fight them

Plus in Creative it’s a lot easier for him to build stuff because he is definitely The Big Builder or The Decorator. He makes the most outrageous buildings but they look good

Has a whole world full of buildings and stuff. Like, complete towns filled with mansions

Playing with him is a lot of fun though! He’ll come up with build designs with you and you’d work together. If not, the two of you would totally mess around, building things just to blow them up with TNT or set it on fire

Miles is the one to put your beds next to each other. He thinks it’s cute, though he’ll do it without saying anything and if you mention it he becomes a stuttering mess and says he knows nothing and didn’t do it.

If you do end up playing Survival with him he will make you kill all the mobs, no doubt about it. He’ll make the base, probably trade with villagers, farm and kill the animals for food but not much else. He’s too afraid of dying

“Miles, did you put the beds next to each other? Because I know I didn’t.” You snicker teasingly, your character staring at the beds then at his character. You turn yourself to glance at him and notice his eyes are wide and he’s blushing.

“What..? What, me? Nooo.. That’s stupid why would I do that? Maybe you forgot that you did it because I didn’t.” He stumbled over his words, refusing eye contact. It was cute.

“Mhm, okay. Y’know, maybe I did forget. I think it’s a cute idea, though.” You smirked, kissing his cheek before turning back to the screen and continued playing.

Gwen Stacy

I think she’d play Survival and only Survival, claims Creative is for the weak

She goes all out in Minecraft, fighting mobs, getting achievements, going to the Nether, all of that. She’s not afraid

Definitely The Pro or The Achiever. Like I said, Gwen goes all out

She’d forcefully make you go with her, but she’d give you the right equipment needed and pointers on how to fight. If you genuinely don’t want to fight with her she’d have you farm and trade, pretty much do the smaller necessities for survival.

Has finished Minecraft several times, got all the achievements and everything on different worlds, never gets old for her

If you got her to play Creative she’d go on a rampage, killing everything for fun. Or she’d fly around trying to find different biomes

“C’monnn.. it’s not that bad!” Gwen would groan, trying to convince you to go to the Nether with her. “I’ve given all the armor and tools you need! Just try not to die.”

“Try not to die?? It’s the Nether, I’ll die no matter what! I’m not a pro like you. I’m not the one who’s finished this game multiple times.” You gave her an incredulous look, gaping at her words. It’s one thing to not die on the main world, that was usually easy, but the Nether? Yeah right, she’s insane.

“You’re overreacting.. Plus, if I’m a pro, wouldn’t that make you feel better that you’d be with me? Not by yourself.” She chuckled, arguing her point. You just scoffed and told her to go, following in after her.

Pavitr Prabhakar

I see him playing both Creative and Survival. Just really depends on his mood. Either way he’s having fun

He’d be The Zookeeper, collecting animals like Pokémon cards for real. Within the first 30 minutes of playing he already has a house full of cats and dogs, probably three parrots flying around him and is starting an animal farm. How? No idea, he just does

In Creative mode he’d spawn them all, naming all the animals with name tags one by one, even coloring the dog collars too

In Survival he’s taming every animal he sees, using a lead to bring the animal to a fenced in area. There’s one full of cows, pigs, horses, all the usual ones. But he even has them for pandas, camels, and turtles.

He’s also one to place his bed next to you, though unlike Miles, he’s not embarrassed by it, actually stating out loud he’s doing it. No shame at all.

When he’s not collecting animals, he’s following you around. He has no idea where you’re going or what you’re doing but he doesn’t care. He’s following and collecting every flower he sees, claiming he’s gonna make a bouquet for you.

“Hey, Pav? Where’s the- woah what the hell? How do you already have a whole army of pandas? Where’d you even get those from? We’re no where near a jungle..” You questioned, beyond surprise by the sight of around a dozen pandas in a fenced up area. It was even decorated to what a panda would need, looking like a small jungle.

“Hm? You say that likes it’s hard to find them! What’s so bad about it? I think they’re cute!” He smiled brightly, his character jumping around in the area full of pandas. “I have more than just pandas!”

“How?? We haven’t even played for more than an hour! When did you do all this?” While it was probably better not to question him, you needed to know how he did it, and seeing him more than happy to explain made it all the more better.

Hobie Brown (sorry it’s shorter than the rest)

He genuinely does not care if y’all play Creative or Survival, doesn’t matter to him, he’s gonna be a complete menace either way

He’s not any of the type of players listed in the site I used, he doesn’t believe in consistency. He can go from killing mobs to farming. His main goal is to fuck with you though

He never gets you killed in Survival but he will mess around. He’ll hit your character (without a sword or anything) when you’re fighting a mob and run away. It’s like playing with a child

I can see him setting a village on fire and saying something along the lines of “they’re capitalist pigs and deserve to die” or something

All in all, he’s not much of a fan of Minecraft but he’ll play it with you if you ask.

“Hobie, why is there a village on fire? What did you do?” You raised a brow at him, staring at the slight smirk on his face. It was a telltale sign he did it, but you knew it was him either way. There’s no way a village randomly caught on fire.

“What ya mean, luv? Oh, tha’. Yeah I did tha’. Bunch a capitalist pigs, I tell ya. Jus’ doin’ my job gettin rid of ‘em.” He chuckled while setting another village on fire. You didn’t wanna know how many he’d set on fire at this point.

“It’s a game, B. And I need to trade with them, they have good stuff sometimes.” You whined, huffing at him. You know he doesn’t care and will do it anyways.

“Find another one then, luv.”

All of them!

My god is it a nightmare.. first it starts out as an argument, trying to decide whether or not y’all are playing Survival or Creative. Mainly Gwen and Miles though, Pavitr and Hobie don’t care.

After about ten minutes of arguing they decided to ask you, so whatever one you prefer is what y’all played on. Either way one of them is whining.

If you picked Survival it leads to a pouty Miles, complaining how he’s gonna die a lot, and a smiley Gwen.

Within the first day Miles has already made a small base for you guys, Pav has gathered a few animals (he pouted when it was stated the cows and such would be used for food eventually, Gwen was mining for ores, and Hobie was.. being Hobie.

It was surprising to see how smooth everyone seemed to work together for a while, considering before y’all even started playing an argument broke out. Though if y’all could work well together while on mission, why couldn’t you in a game, yeah?

Give it an hour or so.. bickering over stupid stuff is bound to happen.

If you picked Creative, Gwen is whining how it’s for losers, which causes Miles to flip her off and thank you for picking it.

With Creative there’s a lot less arguing and bickering. Though there is much more chaos. Y’all are blowing up everything or settlor on fire for fun.

It started with you all just doing your own thing until randomly Hobie brings up the idea.

“I ‘ave an idea..” Hobie says out of the blue, causing everyone to pause. You all look at him with a face of confusion or hesitation. Whenever he had an idea, it was wild or something went wrong in some way.

“Great.. you have an idea.. does it have to do with the game or real life? Because I don’t feel like blowing up a building in your universe again..” Gwen scoffed, the others nodding in agreement.

“Yeah.. I agree with Gwen.. last time you had an idea we almost got killed..” You chuckled dryly, still traumatized from that.

“Damn, no faith in me at all, huh?” He rolled his eyes. “Yea, in the game.. Don’t worry, don’t plan on killin’ y’all. Woulda done so already if I wanted to.”

That caused another pause in the room, silence too loud. Thank god for Miles for breaking it. “Okayyy… what’s your plan?”

“Well, Gwendy got blowin’ up a buildin’ correc’. Though, I meant in the game. Why not have some fun an’ blow up some shit, or set it on fire, yea?” It was a smart idea, surprisingly. Everyone agreed, just with some terms, mainly Pav and Miles.

“Sounds fun! As long as my animals are safe and out of it, I’m in!” Pavitr stated, Miles nodding in agreement, but for his builds.

“Woah, a surprisingly good idea.. Let’s do it! Let’s blow some shit up!” You poked fun at Hobie, before smiling widely. It concerned the others at how widely you smiled but brushed it off. They agreed with the idea so they must be just as crazy then. With that, buildings were blown up, forests were burnt down. It was so chaotic to the point that the game started to lag and eventually crashed, causing you all to burst out in laughter. Well, it was fun while it lasted.

I apologize for not posting yesterday, but hopefully this makes up for it! It’s longer than my normal posts. I hope you enjoy!

Send requests! Love you!

#across the spiderverse #miles morales #miles morales x reader #gwen stacy #hobie brown #pavitr prabhakar #gwen stacy x reader #hobie brown x reader #pavitr prabhakar x reader #fanfic #Spotify

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thedomesticanthropologist · 7 months

Text

In one of my playthroughs, my Tav is having a TIME with Astarion, and it's a version of his romance I don't see represented online as much and I want to talk about it.

If you choose more lightweight dialogue options, if you don't dig into his mind at the bite scene, if you get his Araj confession instead of his impromptu one,

Then by the end of Act 2, you do *not* have a secure relationship AT ALL, he has never said he's in love, and everything feels REALLY rocky.

All through act 1 he lays on the seduction heavily, but in act 2 a bitch is MAD. He is stressed, he needs to figure out his scars, he feels hunted and un-safe and because of this, he starts to take it out on Tav a bit.

SPOILERS FOR ACT 2:

when Raphael shows up to talk to him, he snaps at Tav saying "don't get in my way". When you do his quest and kill the orthon, you have to PRY a thank you from him by literally telling him to parrot your words ('thank you for helping me, it was very... Kind') and he spits it out like he really, really wasnt intending to say anything in the form of gratitude.

When you talk about what to do about Cazador, my Paladin chose 'youll never be free while he lives' because it's true. If he runs, cazador will hunt him. If cazador lives, he will never stop looking over his shoulder. His reply 'i hate that you're right'

Even when you say you'll join him to hunt his master down, you can watch his facial expressions and see: he's not convinced. Of course he isn't. He's terrified. And is he grateful? Yes, but again, it's guarded.

I then went to moonrise and talked to Araj, and I defended his autonomy 100%.

When his Araj-confession happened, it was absolutely NOT a LOVE confession. It was more like:

"thank you. This made me realize I was still acting like a slave even in freedom, and you supporting me there made me feel like I can start to snap out of that kind set. Sooooo... I should tell you, since you did me a solid, that I was using you for protection and manipulating you up until now"

If you DONT choose the top options, the MOST he tells you about how he feels about you is a single line of dialogue

'imagine my surprise when I started to actually feel... SOMETHING... For you'

This could be friendship, crush feels, etc. It's VERY vague, and important things to note is while WE THE PLAYER know more about him and what he may feel at this point or what he's gone through, YOUR TAV DOESNT.

He does not apologize for using you. He states his regret that his plan failed because he started to value you as a person instead of a tool for him to be used. That admission is his gift back to you for defending him in front of Araj.

If you then choose 'what do YOU want' he approves, but says he doesn't know. And then he defends that 'isnt it nice not to know?' You still get soft faces, your hand held. He's trying to *silently* communicate what he can't bring himself to say, but he *DOESNT* SAY anything to affirm you two are a couple/in a relationship/etc. Just a vague 'lets not talk about it but see where it goes'

Honestly, based on this experience via dialogue choices for this character, it almost seemed to me like "sounds like you need a friend not a lover" makes the MOST SENSE. Of course this is my Astarion Romance run, so my Paladin instead said, basically, I'll wait for you until you're ready. (She chose the 'what do you want,' and let it lay there as is)

Afterwards you can ask about your relationship with him and again, he's flustered, he's hedging, he's defensive, and he brushes it off. He's not ready to talk, he's not ready to commit, he's fully focused on Cazador and his safety.

You enter this waiting period where Tav has been manipulated, spoken down to, snapped at, bitten, and responded to without gratitude, but is ALSO given just the faintest, BAREST glimpse at the vulnerability beneath the surface. The player is being asked at this point to REALLY trust and WAIT without ANY evidence that this relationship could become healthy, or could turn into love, or could because a real relationship. And that's SO NEAT

If you don't romance anyone else and aren't put into the position to choose him, you never get a confirmation of dating. If you get the Araj scene and don't choose hug, and don't force him to confirm he was attracted to you etc, you can literally end the talk on "thanks for defending me, also haha I was using you this whole time just so you know, thanks for being nice about it"

From a Tav point of view, this *could* be fairly devastating, and even if Tav decides to wait and keep supporting him, at this point, even post "confession" there is VERY little evidence that things are gonna get better between you.

We know it does. WE do. We get the access to other dialogue and choices or the other confession IF we chose that. But this, this scene, these dialogue choices REALLY emphasize his Act 3 confession

"you were patient. You waited, through blood lust etc /even when it was an objectively stupid thing to do etc"

Cause yeah. He's RIGHT. If you don't choose VERY specific dialogues to get more out of him, most of his romance up until the Act 3 confession,most of how he treats you, most of how he responds to your decisions in game (if you're playing fairly good and not evil/durge) gives Tav no reason beyond faith to continue to pursue him.

I think he knows this, and it's why he's surprised when you state you don't want him for sex. Because up until Act 3, he KNOWS how he's been treating Tav and even HE wouldn't have stood for it if the roles were reversed, so h thinks 'it must be because I'm good in bed'. Then he takes the sex away and you still stay? Even when he's chasing power, hunting for revenge, snapping at you, refusing to commit?

It's a powerful story line. It's so engaging. And it has room for SO MUCH ANGST

Anyways thanks for coming to my Ted Talk

#baldurs gate astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion ancunin #astarion romance #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 oc #bg3 tav #astarion x tav

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noosayog · 1 year

Text

wc: 500

content/warnings: arguing, slamming doors, angst, cheating(?)

part 5. directory here.

"Hold on," you hear him chasing after you. You pick up the pace, sidestepping rowdy groups and the wall of Atsumu's teammates.

You’re able to get to your door, fumbling with the keys. You’re yanking the door open when he catches up.

"Just hold on one fuckin' second," he says when he grabs ahold of your arm with enough force to topple you backwards.

"What, Atsumu? Just let me go!" You're mortified to find hot tears welling up. You forcefully shake his hands off to press the heel of your palm against the offending eye.

"You're misunderstanding the situation," he starts.

"Misunderstanding?" you parrot.

"Yeah, just let me explain." He presses, stepping all up into your personal space.

"Fine then," you yell back. "Let's hear this explanation."

"We didn't, I didn't do anything."

You remain quiet, expecting more, but that's all Atsumu seems to have to say. That was the extent of his explanation. You kick yourself for even expecting anything more out of someone like him.

"So what," you grit out, lowly, slowly. "After a series of incidents in which you played no role in, you found yourself in bed, a girl sitting on your lap, making out with you? You did nothing and it all just happened?"

"Well, I-"

"Save it, Atsumu. And get the fuck off of me."

"Just hear me out-"

"I did. And you had nothing. So go away. Go away and stay the fuck away." The sheer volume and force of your words push him further from your door until it takes one final shove to push him out the door and out of your space. You slam the door and bolt every lock shut.

Outside, Atsumu slams his fist frustratedly at the door.

"Fuck!" you hear him yell.

You beeline straight to the bathroom to wipe the stupid glitter you have on your eyes, blush you have on your cheeks, and gloss you have on your lips. A sick part of you thinks that despite that whole fiasco, Atsumu never even made a comment about how you looked. You scrub harder until your cheeks and eyelids turn red, then dive straight under the covers. The tears are falling freely now and you press your face into your comforter to muffle the sobs, knowing that if they are even a decibel louder, Atsumu could probably hear them through the walls.

You can't help but replay the scene in your mind. Seeing Atsumu and someone else lock lips on his bed, the very same one he had pried some of your most closely held secrets in late night conversations on, made you sick. Did he even notice that you owned that same top that girl was wearing? The same one that he had badgered you about wearing on your official first date? The one that you mustered all your courage up to wear for him when you decided you could trust him? The mix of tears and snot stain your blanket and the sniffles become convulsions when you feel the bile rising up in your throat. You throw your covers off and run to the toilet to vomit the contents of your stomach out, wondering how it could be possible that him breaking your heart could hurt you more than when he gave you a concussion.

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 1 year

Text

Ch.1 : The Incident

Yandere Twisted Wonderland x Reader

What do you do when the person you associated with the pinnacle of innocence absolutely shatters your perception of them? When the person you had come to grips with loving for their innocent curiosity and kind demeanor absolutely changes into a violent merciless monster at the drop of a hat? That was what the whole team of Diasomnia were dealing with as they watched you pummel a student black and blue with your friends genuinely struggling to pull you off.

Hours before they had all come to an agreement: that they all loved you and were going to protect you. It was a big step for them as they previously had been walking on eggshells around each other when it came to you. Their developed feelings seemed to clash with their established relationships and their typical atmosphere was tense with competition. But after recalling your own inspiring words for teamwork (not directly said to them) they decided that they'd work it out. But that was when they were all under the impression that you were so innocent and compassionate that you needed their protection-let alone deserved it.

A student had apparently uttered a slur from your world, a seemingly made-up word you would use as you referred to people when you were comfortable. As soon as the word was said whatever expression you had on dropped only for it to morph into intense rage. Launching at them, you had the upper hand knocking away the wand they wanted to pull out. For a good ten seconds you were able to lay into this kid as everyone just kind of watched in awe as the Ramshackle prefect destroyed this student.

Then Deuce and Ace are the first ones to try and assuage you away from your assault only to be ignored and pushed away as you continued. By then others intervened, Floyd with an unusually solemn face held you up by hooking his arms under your armpits leaving you to viciously kick at and wriggle towards the writhing student. Then Rook intervenes hooking his arms around your knees walking with Floyd as they carry you out of the cafeteria. The population of Night Raven is baffled as everyone just listens to the student cry and whimper in pain. Everyone was shocked, that you the sweet Ramshackle prefect actually wailed on a student for saying one word.

Away from the crowd Rook and Floyd bring you to a still where you finally stop, huffing heavily your exhausted. Rook will offer for you to talk about it while Floyd will straight up not ask.

"Shrimp aren't fighters. What the heck was that?"

You'll either cry or just play with the ground as you give context to the word.

"That word is slur for people...who are like me..."

"Correct me if I'm wrong but don't you use this word occasionally?"

"Yeah...but it's okay for me to use it but not them."

"Well that sounds backwards..."

"No it isn't. It's my right, my way to take the meaning back. It used to be a way for people to discredit my existence but now I-my people-own it."

They parrot this, when Crowley and teachers question them. On the investigation that the student had a fair understanding of that and still said it ended up with you both being suspended for a week as well as writing an essay about your feelings.

Needless to say you were hanging around your dorm more often and looking more forward to seeing your fae friend wandering by. But you didn't and as you expected like most there was a wave of fear now, that steered him away. Despite the incident being properly narrated to the masses rumors still spread and your friends were hesitant to visit.

When he did finally come around he looked shocked to see you as if you hadn't been chilling on the property for that whole week.

"I get it, it's cool. I guess everyone's just surprised about me, huh?"

You playfully scoffed waving with your back turned as you went inside Ramshackle. Malleus is met with a stinging pain in his chest; overwhelmed by guilt he finds he's become what he hates most. He, who evaded giving you his identity to avoid being ran from did the running from you when you were open and honest the whole time. He criticizes himself questioning what he truly loved about you. The blank slate? The fresh start? Your naiveté? For a friend he really let you down...and he wonders can he ever bring himself to be forgiven.

Lilia Vanrouge is saddened. While he was more realistic than the rest of his family in their image of you he was still surprised by this. No doubt he listened to your direct explanation right after the event. He comes around appearing behind corners and previously empty rooms acting playful with a gloomy you. Whether you indulge in his antics or get annoyed by him it does cheer you up, distracting you at its best. He finds himself falling harder for you; your not perfect and he loves that.

"All the better to love you my dear!"

"That's not how the story goes."

" I know but don't you think that's better?"

Silver was shocked and it will take him a few days before he can properly sympathize. In fact it strengthens his resolve to be with you; he swore to protect you and that's what he plans to do. All these means is that your willing to fight for what you believe is right. Unfortunately his resolve is not really felt through this time, he so busy contemplating he misses the fact that you are unattended and feeling sad. It's only when Malleus reports his resolve that he realizes you've been suffering.

Sebek is the most shaken up by this. He was already making such a big leap to even consider a human as someone he loved. To find that the one you loved wasn't nearly the deity they depicted beforehand was anything but made it hard for him to accept. But he still continued to follow you around as much as he fought internally with himself about following a tainted human. So there are two ways he can rationalize the further warmth that intensifies when he recalls your pure unadulterated anger as you punched and kicked at the student. Of course he either rationalizes your rage as a justified reaction as grander being or that this was the result of you being tainted and thus its all his fault as he should have been more diligent about his duty.

"Hmm, Malleus?"

You were studying in a corner of the library tucked away from the larger groups of students who had all strictly kept to the other side of the space. The fae prince sat himself across from you staring until you finally looked up at him. He felt like you had stabbed him as you used his given name further spurring him to apologize.

"I wanted to properly apologize for leaving you in your time of need. I was just surprised to see that side of you."

You shrugged avoiding eye contact as you seemed to hyper focus on the words in front of you.

"Yeah, it's cool."

It didn't feel like it was 'cool' to Malleus so he lowered his head before pushing out his seat at the table. You were sure he was leaving for good, feeling the awkwardness of your fake acceptance before retreating.

Coming around the table to your side was Malleus towering over you before getting on one knee as he set his hand on your knee. Your face, blooming in heat, was in a state of shock as you turned to him completely forgetting the book you were reading before.

"(Y/n), I truly am remorseful. I should've have been with you during this time for I know you would have done the same for me-"

He grabbed your flabbergasted hands in his pulling them towards him as you fearfully looked around at the whispering students.

"Will you forgive me, (Y/n)? I want more than anything to reclaim our intimacy. I truly mean it, I have no intention of leaving you in any state if it isn't beside me-!"

"O-okay! I-i got it I got it! I forgive you, everything is fine, I forgive you! Just get up off the floor!"

As quietly as possible you tried to resolve the crowd's uproar of whispers with your forgiveness. Even if you felt pressured to you couldn't deny the sparkle in his emerald eyes as he had your forgiveness. He stands up still clasping your hands in his before declaring that he wished to celebrate.

"I think a sleep over would be a wondrous way to celebrate!"

Seemingly out of nowhere Lilia had plopped his stacks of books on the desk before coming close to you two with a sly smile.

You were about to comment on his sudden proximity before you felt the leaning of someone's head at the small of your back.

*Yawn* "Sleep over sounds nice...zzzz" Going back to sleep was Silver who was now in your seat and forcing you to stay in place lest he fall. Thinking it couldn't get much worse you almost failed to see Sebek appear behind you all before loudly proclaiming to the auspicious onlookers.

"HUZZAH!!! LORD MALLEUS AND THE (Y/N) HAVE RECONCILED!! YOU ARE ALLOWED TO REJOICE!"

"SHHHHHH!!"

"Sebek, please!"

You tried to calm him down but he seemed far to enraptured in whatever celebration he deluded himself into initiating. The best you could do was lead the Diasomnia posse out of the library in hopes to restore the peace.

962 notes · View notes

httpsserene · 7 months

Text

𝐡𝐭𝐭𝐩𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐟𝟏 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥

𝘂𝗽𝗹𝗼𝗮𝗱 𝟳: 𝗽𝗶𝗲𝗿𝗿𝗲 𝗴𝗮𝘀𝗹𝘆 𝘅 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 | 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗰𝗵𝗰𝗿𝗮𝗳𝘁

📖𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: witch!reader and potions master!pierre run a cute little shop to fulfill anyone’s magical needs. it’s nearing valentine’s day, and the shop is bombarded with desperate humans looking for love charms & potions, even though there’s no magic spell strong enough to replicate true love. oddly, news travels from a few villages over that there’s a potions master who managed to make a real love potion. pierre has to get his hands on it—for the bit, obviously. there’s no way it will work. 📖𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: 18+ only. explicit. not beta read. witchcraft. familiars. cunnilngus. aphrodisiacs. inherent dubcon. vaginal sex. unsafe sex. sudden orgasm? desperation. coming inside. vague structure and explanation of magic. 📖𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 5k words. 📖𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: pierre gasly x fem!black!reader 📖𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: oneshot. 📖𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸: need to know • doja cat

𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲: inspired by amortentia. what can i say at every fanfic writer's core, they’ve read an unhealthy amount of hp ff’s, i don’t make up the rules. we know pierre is a fiend, but uh, i do not even feel like i truly tapped into his true unhinged power with this. n joy, loves !!!

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cross-posted on my ao3, htppsss

to see what kinktober uploads have already been completed or to see what's coming next check my f1 kinktober masterlist ! for all of my works see my general masterlist!

the shop has been open for fifty-five minutes and it’s already been overwhelmed by desperate humans. valentine’s day is tomorrow; and every naive soul is scrambling to get a love charm or potion. the problem with that is: there’s no magic spell or potion able to mirror true love. however, nobody coming into the shop appreciates that answer.

after the third time a customer hysterically screamed at you for saying there’s no such thing as a ‘love spell,’ you made a slight tweak to the doorbell. now, every time the door opens a bass-boosted audio of you screaming, “LOVE POTIONS, CHARMS, OR SPELLS DO NOT EXIST” echoed through the shop. unfortunately, that message did not seem to help. you had to change the way you welcomed customers when they stepped up to the counter.

“good morning! welcome in to runes and brews; if you’re looking for a spell of true love, it doesn’t exist. nor does a potion or charm. the most i can offer is a hyperfixation charm, which makes the subject pay more attention to you for twelve hours. this charm doesn’t affect their emotions, you still have to make them attracted to you with your, hopefully, natural charm. are you interested in one, they’re buy-one-get-one free for valentine’s day?”

your customer service grimace smile is stained across your lips as you parrot the same words to each customer. you’ve become an npc. the customers try to interrupt your spiel, but you act as if it’s a piece of unskippable dialogue. if they’re going to come here and harass you over their inability to rizz somebody up—they’re sure as hell going to listen when you speak. at this point, you’ve adopted the ‘it is what it is’ mentality. you’re selling a record number of hyper-fixation charms, you think you might run out of your entire supply hours before the store closes.

at first, you felt a little guilty about selling these charms to the desperate souls. all they want is true love and you can only offer a temporary fix. but after you’ve been screamed at countless times for telling these non-magiques that you can’t supply them with what they’re asking for, the guilt quickly transforms to ‘idgaf.’ with a twitching eye, you kindly told the customers inside the store to wait just a few seconds while you adjusted the door’s charm.

you grab the outer doorknob with a hand covered in lapis powder, and imbue it with your aura to edit the current protection spell. thankfully, you remembered to meditate this morning, so casting comes easily. you breathe deeply, before releasing the handle and you make your way back towards the customers. and suddenly, the amount of people entering the shop decreases dramatically.

you have such a manic grin on your face that the customers inside the building stare at you in mild terror. one of the humans swallows their fear, and asks the question they’re all afraid to hear the answer to, “w-what did you do to the uh- to the d-door?”

the lights brighten around you as your grin grows larger, and you nonchalantly answer, “the door reads your intentions before you step inside. if a customer plans to come in and harass me over what is magically impossible, they get cursed.”

the humans gasp in fear, and you’re eyes widen in realization, “oh! no-no, don’t worry, it’s nothing bad! it’s just a floating rose that screams out ‘i have no rizz’ to every person they talk to for the next forty-eight hours. they’ve ruined their own valentine’s day with their terrible manners,” you state proudly.

the mass of customers inside thins out pretty quickly after that.

thankfully, the door charm seems to do the trick with keeping out unruly folks. you’re able to start working on requests from your usual customers—the barkeep needs her rune for a bottomless keg replenished, the butcher needs his new set of utensils charmed with sharpness, the baker’s assistant needs your help working on the heating charm for the warming-tables, and so on and so forth. you get a new vampire customer today, requesting a sunshade potion—they indulge in telling you that they’re planning to spend valentine’s day outside with their human partner as a surprise. you coo at the vampire adorably as you check them out, and you see their cheeks faintly tint with pink—they must have fed recently. this is why being open for valentine’s day is worth it to you; customers like this remind you that true love still exists.

you wish him luck with his surprise, and hand over the potion, which was made by your true love, pierre. who was supposed to be helping you in the shop about thirty minutes ago. he claimed to have to run out and get a few extra supplies to be able to fulfill all of his orders, but that he’d be back before the shop opened. when he shows his face, the true love between you two may not exist anymore. because you’re going to kill him for hanging you out to dry. you sigh, and make your way into the back storage closet to get a fresh box of dried peonies for the new batch of hyperfixation charms, when you hear the doorbell scream the warning message.

you call-out, “give me one moment and i’ll be right up to help you out! feel free to look around in the meantime!” you summon the box of peonies forward, and spell it to float after you as you make your way out.

turning the corner, you automatically begin your npc introduction, “good morning! welcome in to runes and brews; if you’re looking for a spell of true love, it doesn’t exist. nor does a potion or charm. the most i can offer is a hyperfixation charm—oh, it’s just you—ohmygod—how did you pick up my door curse??”

pierre stares at you in a mixture of bewilderment and amusement, as the rose screams “I HAVE NO RIZZ,” at you. you can only laugh, and summon your phone to your hand to take a video. pierre laughs in reflex, still not sure what’s going on, and suddenly he’s being climbed over like a cat tree by your familiar.

“aha!” you exclaim. “i’ve been looking for you all day, ma’am. what pocket of the universe were you hiding in? you always disappear when the non-magiques come around instead of defending me, cat. what kind of familiar are you?”

pierre struggles to wrangle cat off of his head from where she’s fucking up the rose hanging over him. he side-eyes you heavily when he still sees you recording the whole interaction, and you put the phone down before you step over to get cat off of his head. “madame catalytic converter!” you yell with the force of your ancestors.

yes, you named your familiar catalytic converter, cat for short. it makes perfect sense, she improves your efficiency and decreases the chance for any harmful side-effects when you do magic; just like the car part. pierre says that’s why she never listens to you, for giving her a terrible name. when you asked him what he would’ve named her, he said, “probably, escargot, or something.” you said that’s probably why she hates him more.

you remove the curse from pierre with a quick touch of your hand to his forehead, and the rose poofs away. madame catalytic converter, hops away quickly, uninterested in either of you again, and struts away to sit on top of the box of peonies you brought up. you narrow your eyes at your familiar, “oh—so you’re not even going to explain yourself? where were you?”

cat stares at you dead in the eyes, before she looks away and starts licking her calico fur clean, dismissing you. you scoff, rolling your eyes, and turn to pierre, “and where were you, monsieur?” you ask, poking a finger to his chest.

pierre presses a kisses to your cheek in greeting, and raises the one bag he has in his hand as part of his answer, “i told you i was running errands, remember?”

you purse your lips at him, and he smiles at you, wrapping an arm around your waist to try and pull you in for a kiss. you smack your teeth disapprovingly, gripping his jaw with your hand, and holding him back, “yeah, you told me you were getting extra supplies. plural. and, that you’d be back in time to open the shop.”

pierre avoids your eyes, chuckling anxiously.

“i’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but, you’ve only come back with one item, and it’s well past the time the shop opened,” you pause, letting pierre simmer, “explain yourself.”

“okaysoilied,” pierre rushes out, and you hum in shock sarcastically, gesturing for him to continue, “but—but! mon amour, i’ve come back with something that could potentially level up my potion making skills!”

you stare at him unamused, “oh ok—well, show me, what is this wonderful thing?”

pierre shifts on his feet, and you are suddenly afraid to know what he’s bought. if his confidence is faltering, you know whatever’s in that bag cannot be good.

“so, you remember how people were saying the potion shop a few towns over has actual love potions,” pierre starts eagerly, you nod in resignation, already knowing where this is going, “i bought one! well, two actually. i tried to bug the potion maker into telling me what he put in it, but he was so shifty about it. which is completely understandable, if i made a new potion as great as this, i wouldn’t tell anybody my secrets either.”

“okay, pierre,” you sigh, rubbing a hand across your face, disappointed, “why did you buy two of them?”

“oh,” pierre begins, his usual ludicrous smirk returning to his expression, “one for me to study, and one for me to take! the best way to see if it works is to test it out myself.”

you tug his hand off your waist, and step away from him, pointing at him in vindication, “that’s why my curse worked on you! you’re harassing me with this goddamn love-potion shit—you snake, we both know it’s not real!”

pierre groans, following after you as you storm back to the front counter, the peony box floating over as well, cat yowling at the sudden movement.

“oh, come on, mon amour,” pierre pleads, brandishing the love potion at you, “where is your hunger for magical breakthroughs? aren’t you curious to learn how it works?”

“pierre, babe, it doesn’t work! that’s why i don’t care! and, why would it work on you? we’re already a true love’s match. we’re soul-tied!”

“so, there’s no harm in me taking it,” pierre claims, like he’s found a loophole.

“pierre, you shouldn’t,” you warn him. the potions master deflates at your words, and you sigh at the sight of his point. you take a few steps to press your lips to his in a sweet kiss, and your aura swells with pierre’s love passing to you.

“if you do end up taking it, which you probably will anyways, at least take the time to properly study it. you don’t know if they’re any weird side effects,” pierre perks up, his blue-green eyes losing their saddened look immediately. he happily presses a few more kisses to your lips, and pulls away before pressing a kiss to your hand.

“i will! i’m going to go to the back now and start studying it—“

“uhm, no you are not! you still have to help me run this store, sir! i have plenty of things for you to do. starting with cleaning our cauldrons!”

pierre groans in disgust and whines like a child, “mon amour! please, you know i hate doing that. you can do it with a snap of your fingers, why do i have to do it with manual labor?”

you arch a sharp brow at him, and gently remind him of his behavior, “you shouldn’t have lied to me then, hm?” pierre sulks, and moves towards the back to get started on cleaning the cauldrons.

“don’t look so sad—i could’ve had you collecting the eyes of spiders!”

pierre cringes when he accidentally slams the drawer of his desk closed, pausing cautiously to listen for any movement in the house. it’s late, and you’ve gone to bed hours ago; he’s stayed up trying to identify what exactly this so-called love potion is made out of, and what order of processes it was created with. the frenchman is certain that there are at least seven ingredients in the brew: mature peonies, smashed pearls, crushed dates, powdered rose thorns, rose water, and a potion base of moonstone and lapis. it’s odd, because to pierre the potion smells like warmed vanilla, shea butter, a dash of espresso, and a brush of peppermint—but with every extraction he makes from the potion, there’s no sign of those ingredients. in addition to that mystery, he can tell that this potion took a few weeks to prepare and that it needed constant stirring. he can figure out when ingredients were added to the potion based on how much affect the cooking and heat had on them; the dates and pearls were first, followed by the rose thorns, and it seems like the peonies were added last—he just can’t figure out how they were integrated in the brew. were they added in batches, all at once, did they need changes in stirring motion, etc..

putting aside all the unknowns, there is one thing that pierre is sure of: none of the ingredient combinations in this potion would cause any harmful side effects. the powdered rose thorns and crushed pearls are a rare sight in potions but, they create the base of hyperfixation charms and he hasn’t heard of any reports of strange or harmful reactions from these two ingredients. so, the only responsible option for the potions master is to drink the concoction and see if it lives up to be the ‘true love’ potion everyone is claiming it to be.

pierre knocks the draft back quickly and hums pleasantly at the taste, a curious eyebrow raised at how it doesn’t mirror the scent at all. the flavor is sweet and tangy, with a lingering dash of saltiness—it’s delicious. he finds himself wishing he didn’t waste the first potion with experiments so he could taste it again.

the potions master rocks back and forth on his feet impatiently, he expected the brew to take immediate effect, alas, he feels nothing. pierre shrugs, the potion may take longer to kick in if it’s replicating one of the strongest emotions. he leaves his study and makes his way to the bedroom, and right before he enters the bedroom, he stumbles over cat. your familiar looks at him reproachfully, before she pauses and comes over to sniff at pierre. in the dark, he can see the calico’s eyes shrink into pupils and suddenly she hisses up at him, before she apparates into thin air. pierre scratches at his scalp in a confused manner; cat hissing at him and then disappearing, is not out of the ordinary (it reminds him of the you first brought him home and he tried to charm her with a laser pointer—the familiar stared at pierre like he disparaged her family name), he doesn’t know if that was a reaction just because of him, or if it was a reaction to the potion.

he continues with his usual nightly routine before he joins you in bed, dressed in a pair of old sweatpants alone. you pout in your sleep, pierre can feel your aura calling to him, unhappy that he’s not curled up against you. he tucks you into his chest when he settled comfortably on his back. he feels your magic calm, the air relaxing when the force of your influence fades.

the potions master tries to stay up for as long as he can to see if he notices an effect from the brew, but deflates when he doesn’t feel any changes. he knows the chances of this potion working was slim to none, however, he kind of hoped it at least had some effect on him. pierre’s eyes flutter shut as he drifts to sleep, and his last conscious thought is that you were probably right, the potion may not have an effect on true love’s matches.

you squirm awake. it’s boiling hot under the sheets and it shouldn’t be, you placed a cooling charm on the bed. as the fog of sleep unfortunately fades from your mind, you notice that the heat is radiating from pierre. turning around in worry and slight annoyance, you check in on your boyfriend, and the annoyance disappears when you examine his state.

he’s still asleep, but he’s drenched in sweat. his brow is furrowed in what must be pain, and his body squirms across the bed in discomfort. you press a hand to his forehead and hiss at the burning heat from his skin. you groan, already knowing what happened to your dumb potions master—he should be stripped of his title after this. he was working on the damn potion before you went to bed, and he fucking drank it, ignoring your warning, and now, he’s suffering the consequences. you take the same hand that was on his head, and bring it to his shoulder to gently shake him awake. pierre, on the other hand, awakens dramatically, jackknifing upright like you’ve poured water all over him.

the man pants desperately, chest heaving with his stuttering breaths, tongue swiping at his upper lip to clear the sweat gathering there, his teal irises swallowed by enlarged pupils, and his hair is matted and curling against his forehead from the mixture of sweat and heat. his eyes are glazed over, you can tell he’s not quite aware of what’s going on—that’s probably thanks to the incredible fever he’s running—but there’s a hidden glint to them that you can’t puzzle out.

“oh, pierre,” you lean forward, hands coming to grasp at the sides of his face, steadying him, “you fucked around and found out, didn’t you? there’s no chance you’re capable of telling me the antidote to this, it seems. maybe a spell can alleviate the effects briefly enough…”. as you ramble on, mostly to yourself, you fail to see the look in pierre’s eyes change. the hidden intentions you weren’t able to make out are as clear as day now. the haze over his stare is still present, but the confusion has disappeared. only hunger remains.

you startle when pierre’s trembling hands grasp at your waist. you quirk a brow at him in question, but don’t receive an answer, a verbal one at least. you’re suddenly knocked flat on your back and pierre bodily shoves himself between your legs, hovering over you. and the intense look in his eyes is made aware to you; you’ve seen it before, but it’s never felt this ravenous. you press your eyelids closed and whimper under your breath at your revelation: the ‘true love’ potion is a fucking aphrosodiac.

pierre is so hot. he feels his body shivering dramatically as he holds himself on his hands above you. his muscles weaken from the strain of the fever, and he collapses on top of you. his head lands in the valley of your neck, and he moans at the cooling feeling of your brown skin against his face—he needs more of it, he needs you naked. reinvigorated, pierre attempts to wrangle your clothes off, but he’s unable to do much with his shaky limbs. he begins to anger when your sleep shirt fails to disappear, and tries to rip it down the center. you force his hands away, and tug the shirt up and away before tossing it aside, leaving you in just panties. his anger dissipates, and he presses his body against yours again, and a choked groan escapes him at the relief your naked torso gives him, he goes boneless.

the relief lasts for less than a minute, before he starts squirming desperately again—he needs to be closer to you. he suckles marks into your neck, moaning lewdly when he feels your hand tangle in his hair, pulling at it firmly. he fights your grasp, unsatisfied with his unfinished claim on your neck and chest, but he submits when he notices you’re guiding him to your lips.

the meeting of your lips is messy, he can’t manage to find any of his usual finesse. he pants into your mouth in between sloppy, wet kisses, if you can even call them that. his tongue fights against yours, and his hips buck forward at the feeling, which reminds him of the fact that he still has sweatpants on and you have on panties. pierre jerks away, resisting the urge to continue kissing you when you whine out for him so prettily, chest arching upwards, nipples perky and egging him to bite, the bruises on your neck blossoming with reds and purples—he shakes his head erratically, and focuses enough to tug his sweatpants off; he’s never been so happy that he’s not wearing underwear. the skin contact must have done him well, because his hands aren’t shaking anymore as they grasp at your panties. he may not have torn apart your shirt, but the cotton undergarment doesn’t stand a chance, he rips through it like water.

the sound of your shriek at his actions is muted in his ears, and he barely registers the feeling of you shoving at his shoulder in irritation. pierre can only see your pussy. a broken whimper escapes him as he stares; his eyes tunnel to your throbbing hooded clit, the way your entrances tightens and relaxes, like you’re taunting him to fill you up, and you’re soaked for him, lips shining with your wetness—he should just get a brief taste, before he fucks you. he lays between your legs, hands coming around to grip at your thighs to firmly hold you against his mouth, and he’s eating you out like he’s never had a meal before.

the potions master vaguely hears a pleasure-filled scream burst from your chest as he broadly strokes of his tongue against your vulva to collect any wetness you’ve spilled. he muffles his moan into your pussy at the taste, and shifts downward to prod his tongue inside of you to coax more of your juices out. he feels your hips try to buck him off of you, and he growls into you, tightening his grip on your thighs to allow you no escape. you leak steadily into his mouth, even as you try to run from the constant barrage of his lips, tongue, and teeth. pierre’s brow furrows with the effort he puts into eating you out—your taste is addicting. it’s a mouthwatering combination of sweet and tangy, with lingering saltiness. he has a small lapse of deja-vu at your flavor, but it’s quickly dismissed at the drag of his cock against the bed.

pierre whimpers into you at the pleasure flaring behind his eyelids, as he begins to hump against the bed. he switches from forcing his tongue inside of you and moves his attention to your clit, suckling and twirling his tongue on the button. it sounds like he’s making out with your cunt. your thighs to clamp shut around his head, your hand scrambles to tug at his hair and hold him exactly where you want him, and you start rubbing your pussy against him. fuck, how did he not realize how hard he is. pierre sobs into your pussy overwhelmed, he wants to keep eating you out, and the friction of his cock against the bed feels so good. he knows being inside of you would be better.

the frenchman breaks free from the grasp of your legs, and scrambles back upwards, not giving you time to register the change in position before he breaches your entrance. when the head of his cock pops inside of you, he throws his head back and moans erotically at the feeling of your cunt fluttering around him. he starts to burn hotter. pierre struggles to hold-off from thrusting into you in one smooth motion—he’s usually cautious when he fucks into you for the first time because he’s well aware of his size and how you struggle to take it all in one sitting. he whimpers hotly, and picks his head up to look at you—and all sense of waiting for you to adjust leaves him head. a line of drool has slid down your cheek, your eyes have rolled back in pleasure, and the sounds of your squeals of pleasure from just the tip of his cock break his restraint.

the man drives his cock deep inside of you in one smooth thrust, and he shudders on top of you, humming in satisfaction at the pulsing grasp of your cunt. pierre feels how he forced the air out of your lungs, your corresponding scream still rattling in his eardrums, but he can’t help how he grinds his cock into you, one, two, three times. he groans out, and starts making proper thrusts into you—he needs to fuck you properly. one of your hands sneaks between your joined bodies and presses at his navel in a weak attempt to halt his movements. pierre knocks it out of the way, before he brings both of his hands to tighten on your waist and starts fucking you with a purpose. it’s selfish and dirty; in a way pierre usually isn’t. he uses himself as a tool to make you cum first all of the time, but you can tell tonight, this is all about him—your orgasm is just a byproduct. he gathers you up in his arms, making sure there’s no gap of air in between you, and starts pumping his hips into you deeply, not pulling out of you any more than a few centimeters.

it’s feels so pleasurable that it could be torture. he’s applying pressure against that spongy spot on your walls so consistently, that you’re legs have already started shaking. he’s fucking you up the bed with the force of his thrust, and he’s conscious enough to place a hand on the headboard to make sure he doesn’t shove you up to hit your head. pierre’s making these sweet, whiny, whimpers, that he attempts to muffle into your neck as he feels himself start pulsating inside of you, dancing along the edge. he feels your nails claw into his back, and it’s like his senses are suddenly returned to full strength from where they were clogged with fuzz. he can hear you try and moan out for him, but his thrusts are so powerful that you keep choking on your words.

he catches the ending of your warning, “pierre-oh—m’ gonna cum! oh, fuck!”

the clenching of your orgasm pushes him into his own, and it’s the most intense crash of pleasure he’s ever felt. his vision whites out and it feels painful in a way only too much pleasure can give. his whole body shakes through each wave of pleasure, and he feels lightheaded at the feeling. pierre can’t even do anything more than jerk his hips forward to pump through the aftershocks, he falls limp on top of you, pinning you under him. his skin feels raw and blown open, and there’s a ringing noise in his ears. he whimpers against your neck, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, and then he’s pretty sure he faints for a few minutes.

when he comes back to the present, you’re humming underneath him, hands rubbing up and down his back in a soothing motion. pierre brokenly moans against your throat, oversensitive. you shush him, and scratch at the nape of his neck, just the way he likes but won’t admit to. his breaths slowly even out against your skin, and in a croaky voice he starts talking, “the potion—it smelled like the shea butter of your lotion, the vanilla and coffee of your perfume, and the peppermint of your aura.”

you pause in your motions, and softly ask, “really?”

pierre shifts, hissing at the jostling of his cock still inside of you, and settles again, raising his head up to make lazy eye contact with you, “yeah,” he whispers quietly, before carefully pulling out of you and falling onto his stomach next to you.

you nuzzle up to his side and press kisses against his shoulder, before you offhandedly mention that his fever’s gone down. pierre’s fighting the call of sleep, and mumbles something into the pillow that you can’t make out, and he turns his head to the side so you can hear him, “i dunno how, mon amour, but it tasted like you too.”

you stare at him with wide eyes, neither of you are aware of an aphrodisiac of this caliber. pierre falls asleep, and you close your eyes in a quick prayer—this potion better have run its course, you won’t survive another round of that.

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delicrieux · 1 month

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𝑻𝑰𝑴𝑬 𝑻𝑶 𝑷𝑹𝑬𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑫, 7. year one: up to mid october, 1972

pairing for this chapter—f!lestrange!reader x sirius black warnings for this chapter—sum swear & sirius being a prat word count—2.5k

a short awaited confrontation and a new friend.

masterlist | buy me coffee☕ | ttp masterlist | < back | next >

over the course of the month, it seems that the sight of you has become repulsive to sirius. he could not bear to look at you for more than it took to notice you in the crowd or to recognize your voice echoing before the body belonging to it reached him. he’d flee, usually, and refrain, in a completely un-sirius fashion, from making a gigantic scene. this would have been odd to you if only the pain of seeing his hastily retreating back wasn’t too much.

don’t be so harsh with me please, you’d want to tell him, i’ve done nothing but love you.

instead, “what. is. with. you,” and each word punctuated with an angry smack to his forearm. he glares, and he wiggles out the way of your unrelenting pursuit to beat him into submission. his friends watch frozen, stuck somewhere between amusement and desire to pull sirius back into the safe confines of the gryffindor tower. you will not allow them. not this time, at least, “you stuck up, insufferable—“

“piss off,” he nurses his bruises, though you aren’t strong enough to leave any.

you falter in your step, but the anger doesn’t die. he must know how his look wounds. he must. “piss off?” you parrot, and it rings much smaller and fainter than his had, “piss off? that’s all i get from you?”

“expect something different?” he bites, and bites, and bites, and he maims and mars until there is a thread between your hands and his heart thin as ivory wire. his eyes appraise and they dance and they hate, “why don’t you run back to your regulus.”

ah. there it is. the venom.

“sirius-“ james starts, and both of your glares cut him into two.

“shut up,” the both of you, again, together. you mirror his dark look and try to decide which words of the infinite welling quickly are most fitting. they sink with and through you; an anger and a hurt not meant to be felt by someone so inexperienced. when you and sirius argue, it is never as dire, even if it feels like it was. sirius never starts rows he cannot win, even if it’s him that loses most in the end, “family matter.”

james looks as though he’d rather be anywhere else but in the windy courtyard, shadowed by the cold arches of a loggia. peter, cheeks and ears burning, nervously rubs his hands together to dispel the cold. remus, already, is further ways down and watching, waiting for the rest to catch up. you won’t let them, not yet, not till you say your piece and abandon first, because father said the last word is always the winner.

you speak in french because you know he hates to hear it, because it reminds of home and you know he can’t stand home like he can’t stand you now, and it will hurt him, and it will make you happy, “regulus was right about you. you’ve become unthinkably cruel.”

he curls his lip, and it is with so much spite that it makes your teeth ache. his body rolls into itself, ready to explode and spit up his scorn all over your face. the insult must teeter on his tongue. you're more than ready for it. but something cracks and something flips and he reels back a bit, a show of restraint you thought him absent of.

"yeah, regulus, regulus always knows best, doesn't he?" your french mimicked in his mouth is dense, like syrup, "regulus, darling, regulus," a sneer that draws his lip to the high planes of his cheekbones, and a head tilting movement that is patronizing and obscene. it reminds you of his mother, "your regulus, isn't he the fucking best."

"he's not mine," you state tartly.

"hard to believe when he follows after you like a dog," he bites, and bites, and bites, but even through the layers upon layers, the soreness permeates and leaves you stricken into a stupor that only sirius can create, "listens and does everything you say. can't he think for himself. attached to your shoulder like some blithering pest."

you blink back the anger in your eyes. you are not going to cry, you tell yourself. if you do, then he will win, but he always does.

the boys stare at you. you don't know what to say. the feeling of it is tight and burns like an ulcer, "what has gotten into you? why do you hate me? i haven't-" your lips work through their turmoil, "-i haven't done anything to you."

he waves you off, dismissive. his hands tremble with some unspoken rage. "stop bothering me and go back to regulus. he's probably already looking for you."

the end of the conversation hangs heavily between you. sirius sniffs, and turns away in that blasé manner he always has with him, as if all life were a joke. his posture is too stiff and his features are too cold and he joins remus first as james and peter linger. you shake.

"i, uhm," james begins, but your glare silences him again. slowly, carefully, he nudges peter, "c'mon."

they leave, but james looks back. you miss it, head hung in defeat. your emotions threaten to burst free and splinter all over the stone. you think, in a hurry, how could you ever cover them up – with your hands, your body? is it the aftermath already, where everything is too obvious for pretence?

when it rains, it pours. it always has and you suspect it always will.

naturally, you are inconsolable. what a great big joke. no broom closet nor dusty cavern of the castle is familiar enough to hide in, and you cloak, despite its expanse, can hardly protect from sore eyes. the loo it is, locked in some stall and hiccupping. marzipan had mentioned finding a hufflepuff crying not a week in. she thought it amusing, and you did, too – who could ever abate decency and sob in the loo? what a terrible ploy for attention, had the girl expected consolation? no such could ever be found in marzipan, why, she said, and she said it proudly, she laughed quite loud and the crying stopped.

you would die on the spot if someone found you. it would feel like uncovering a horrible secret, being exposed in such a way. aren’t you a grown up? your birthday is soon, on a cold october night. grownups always breathe fine – besides your ditzy aunts – but you find there not being enough air. so much space and so little of it.

you fan yourself, and you heave, and in a tantrum you tussle out your cloak and throw it onto the gleaming white tiles. your cheeks burn and there’s an ache in the apex of your head. crying like this, over a boy, no less? sirius, of all? rabastan would point and laugh, point and laugh, point and laugh.

there’s a knock on your stall’s door and you nearly topple over in a scurry to silence yourself.

“hi, sorry,” the voice is unfamiliar, but it sounds kind, “are you alright?”

perfect, not only have you embarrassed yourself, you’ve aroused the suspicion of an idiot. there’s a gentle creak on the wood, as if a weight has settled. an ear, perhaps, pressed onto the surface, but for what?

you will your shaky hands to settle by your stomach. the fingers pinch and pool on the woollen fabric of your sweater. you gulp, but it gets stuck, and the silence stretches, so still.

“i-yes,” you manage. this won’t do, the tears cling to your mouth, “i’m, i'm okay.”

“do you need some water?”

if you weren’t so distraught, you’d delight at the curtsy. stupidity must be contagious because you shake your head.

“no, no,” you say after a pause.

“a tissue perhaps?”

“i'm fine,” seems you have managed to locate your wits. from some hellish depths, no doubt. swiftly, you retrieve your cloak, “thank you.”

“’s no worries,” the voice pipes. it belongs to a girl, you think, who doesn't budge, and, instead, waits. it seems your dramatics have riled someone. even the staff would scold your sorry condition, all snot and tears and shaking limbs – quite undignified, "can you tell me why you're crying?"

oh, merlin, how wonderful, the prodding and the poking and the horrible sympathy. are you so pitiable? perhaps. in this state. it's still hard to believe a complete stranger has found themselves so comfortable, "if i say i'm not crying will you go?"

the girl laughs, light and tittering. for a moment, it startles you, too, "not very likely."

the air remains stagnant, as if it's thick and spinning. the echoes of your sniffles bounce along the walls. you could tell her to piss off. you've heard it enough in the span of the last hour.

"i had a fight with my friend," you say eventually, "i think he hates me."

"did you do something to make him hate you?"

your forehead grazes the stall door. it leaves a cold spot and it makes you wince, "no."

"hmm," there is a sound of shuffling and more creaking, "well, then i wouldn't be very worried. he sounds like a dick, and what you need friends like that for?"

a great deal, actually. what did you think you were doing these years, clinging to his arm and curling into his bed when it rains? "what am i supposed to do?"

"beat him up, i imagine, and sort his sorry arse out."

you snort, though not very amused, "tried that."

"good start," you imagine her nodding and crossing her arms, "now, if i were you, i'd hex him into tomorrow and we'll never hear from him again."

"sounds wicked," you lament. the thought has crossed your mind, but revenge crumbles into some mushy, pitiful mess if you think on it too long.

"positively evil," she agrees. the silence returns, but it's comfortable, "i’ve got parchment in case you wanna practice curses."

a corner of your mouth quirks. your chest aches, but it's no longer full and painful, "that's alright, thank you."

"always wanted to be an accomplice," you hear the smile in her voice, "no trouble at all."

a final stretch of quiet. it allows you to breathe, really breathe, and pull yourself into order, as it were. it's no pretty sight, the state of you, but it no longer compares to how you first came in, a crying mess. when you open the stall, and face the girl for the first time, a kind face greets you. her brown skin is flush, hair twisted into two plaited horns that are gathered into a half bun, the rest pinned around her head. your nose twitches, itchy.

she grins, "there you are. no longer crying."

the cold from the running faucet burns against your cheeks. the face that peers back at you from the mirror is dishevelled. red-rimmed eyes and wet splotches all over. you grimace, "look like a sordid mess."

"well, yes, but, like a normal sordid mess. like, almost pretty normal," she stands behind. a red lion's emblem is embroidered into her uniform. she tilts her head, "like, i look way worse when i do it. at least you cry prettily."

"oh, you think so?" you turn to her, "no one's ever said that."

her nose wrinkles, but the mirth isn't gone from her eyes, "well, don't suppose you make a habit of sobbing in front of others. lest you wouldn't have barricaded yourself in the stall."

you hum, "quite the excellent point."

she flashes her teeth and nods proudly, "of course, got many," there's a slight silence where she appraises you, "you're lestrange, right? i've seen you in my classes," she asks as though she knows, and extends her hand for you to shake, "i'm dorcas. meadowes. gryffindor.”

“slytherin,” you respond, but shake her hand anyway.

“can tell,” dorcas says, that same lilt of a smile on her lips, “you wear it with pride.”

yes, of course, because that is what lestrange do. her family name is unrecognizable, but you don't think to wonder on it much further. her eyes are friendly and warm, and she takes to fixing the wayward strands of your hair while you dab a bit of tissue paper to your nose. a few seconds go by, and she glances at you from under the hair fallen onto her forehead, "i still have parchment, and we could still get you those curses down."

"haven't the ink to draw any, unfortunately," you reply.

"hm. next time then," dorcas decides for herself, and makes for the door, "think a walk to the kitchens might be in order?" she leaves her invitation open-ended, her gaze expectant, "could use a warm cinnamon bun."

you wonder about her, dorcas meadowes, with the shiny dark eyes and plaits and how well she talks to strange girls who cry in bathroom stalls. "alright," you accept, the smile on your face not as strained, nor sad, nor angry, "lead the way."

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lostcauses-noregrets · 7 months

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By Rafael Motamayor, New York Times, Nov. 5, 2023

On Saturday, the final episode of the anime adaptation of Hajime Isayama’s “Attack on Titan” premiered on Crunchyroll and Hulu, ending an epic tale that started back in 2013.

Like the manga, which ran from 2009 to 2021, the anime was an instant hit, becoming one of the defining shows of the modern anime era, with spinoffs, live-action and video game adaptations, and even a comic book crossover with Marvel’s “Spider-Man” and “Avengers” titles.

Since the fourth and final season started airing in 2020, “Attack on Titan” has been one of the most popular shows on the internet — episodes have routinely trended on social media, streaming servers have occasionally crashed, the opening theme song became a rare anime song to hit the U.S. Billboard charts. Parrot Analytics said it was the most “in-demand” show in the world in 2021, a metric based on analysis of streaming, social media, search and other online behaviors. The manga has continued to be popular as well, selling over 120 million copies worldwide, and several of the published volumes have charted on the New York Times graphic novels and manga best-seller list.

What started as a thrilling yet relatively simple tale of a young boy seeking revenge against the giant humanoid monsters that ate his mother quickly evolved into a thought-provoking war epic. The tonal shift in “Attack on Titan” also came with one of the biggest heel-turns in modern anime, with the protagonist, Eren Jaeger, devolving into a radicalized monster threatening worldwide genocide.

Since the manga ended in 2021, there has been plenty of speculation and debate over Eren’s antagonistic turn and what the story’s ending means. Ahead of the release of the final episode, the manga creator Hajime Isayama, speaking through an interpreter, David Higbee, talks about the restrictive nature of writing and the story’s dark ending. These are edited excerpts from the interview.

The manga ended a couple of years ago, and the anime is just finishing now. How do you feel about the story coming to an end?

For this anime to be made and for that to go beyond the borders of Japan and to reach a worldwide audience is something that’s been a very happy occurrence for me. In a sense, “Attack on Titan” has connected me to the world, and that’s something that I’m very glad happened.

How much of the ending from the manga did you have in mind when you first began writing “Attack on Titan”? And how much did it change along the way?

That was pretty much there from the beginning, the story that starts with the victim who then goes through this story and becomes the aggressor. That is something I had in mind right from the get-go. Along the way, certain aspects of the story didn’t go as expected, and I adapted and fleshed out certain aspects. But I would say the ending of the story didn’t change much

There’s a much-talked-about scene where Armin, who is struggling with Eren’s turn into a mass murderer, seems to thank him for his actions. Can you talk about the meaning behind that conversation?

My thinking there wasn’t really that Armin was trying to push Eren away for the sake of justice or whatnot. It was more that he wanted to, in a sense, take joint responsibility. He wanted to become an accomplice. In order to become an accomplice, Armin had to make sure that he used very strong wording so that he could take those sins upon himself. And so that was the intent behind it.

You have a scene where Eren apologizes to a kid for the carnage he’s going to commit and says he was disappointed in the world he saw beyond the walls. What does that say about his motivation?

I think that refers to the fact that Eren was dreaming of going to this world outside of the walls where there was nobody and there was nothing. There was an excitement about this world that was just empty, a clean slate. I don’t really know whether that’s a good or a bad thing, and I don’t really know why that was the ideal that I set up for Eren as a part of this story. But what I can say is that, when he does get across the wall at that point, he says he sees that the world is really not that different from what’s within the walls in the world that he already knows. I believe that’s probably the disappointment that I’m referring to in that specific scene.

Eren says in the final episode of the anime that he had no choice but to follow the future that he saw, that he was powerless against the powers of the Founding Titan. Armin even asks if he’s really free. Was he telling the truth or do you see this as him telling an excuse?

So the truth is the situation with Eren actually overlaps in a certain sense with my own story with this manga. When I first started this series, I was worried that it would probably be canceled. It was a work that no one knew about. But I had already started the story with the ending in mind. And the story ended up being read and watched by an incredible number of people, and it led to me being given a huge power that I didn’t quite feel comfortable with.

It would have been nice if I could have changed the ending. Writing manga is supposed to be freeing. But if I was completely free, then I should have been able to change the ending. I could have changed it and said I wanted to go in a different direction. But the fact is that I was tied down to what I had originally envisioned when I was young. And so, manga became a very restrictive art form for me, similar to how the massive powers that Eren acquired ended up restricting him.

You have been involved in the anime production for a little while, supervising the adaptation’s storyboards, and have been known for asking for changes to the story in the adaptation. Did you personally ask for anything for the final episode?

Yes. Absolutely. I checked the script, but the main thing was the storyboards. There were different things I suggested. When it comes down to it, it’s really the role of the production to make those decisions. But I wanted to at least give my input so that they could take those into account when they were making the final decisions.

The manga ends with you showing the future of Paradis and sort of the cycle of war continuing. Is there no end to the conflict and the cycle you present in the story?

I guess there could have been an ending where it was a happy ending and the war ended and everything was fine and dandy. I guess that could have been possible. At the same time, the end of fighting and the end of contention itself kind of seems hokey. It kind of seems like it’s not even believable. It’s just not plausible in the world we’re living in right now. And so, sadly, I had to give up on that kind of happy ending.

[New York Times, 5 November 2023]

#hajime isayama #this is really interesting #the analogy between himself and eren is fascinating #interview #new york times #snk

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imagines--galore · 22 days

Text

||The Thread of Fate|| Part Twenty-One

Summary: Soulmate AU. They say the Thread of Fate connects you to your one true love. It may tangle. It may stretch. But it will never break. Wrapped around your little finger it tightens when it feels your soulmate is close and loosens when they are far. And becomes visible with the colors of your soulmate’s Nation when you finally fall in love with them.

Pairing: Zuko x OroraOC (ATLA)

Rating || Genres || Warnings: T+ Romance. Adventure.

Previous Chapters - Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen, Part Seventeen, Part Eighteen, Part Nineteen, Part Twenty,

A/N: All aboard the tear express!

She blinked at the four smiling faces in front of her.

"A vacation?" She parroted what Sokka had just exclaimed. Her unenthusiastic response did deflate a few shoulders, but Aang pushed ahead.

"Yeah! We've been flying around so much that Sokka thought it would be great if we just had a couple of days of pure relaxation. And what better place then at a secluded hot spring." He gestured grandly towards the canyon behind him.

True to his words, the round basin did boast quite an impressive spring that looked inviting. Not to mention it was surrounded from all sides by tall rocky walls, so they could bend to their heart's content.

Looking over his shoulder, Orora pursed her lips before shrugging. "I guess. As long as Sokka doesn't think it'll come in the way of his big trip." She looked towards him.

Where she would've made a little joke about his tendency to over-plan and over-think things, she remained silent. Sokka tried not to let his worry show, so he simply smiled wildly. "Not at all." He said, throwing an arm around her shoulders. "Beside, no offense Orora, but we've been traveling more then you have, and I think we've become pros at this traveling thing."

He gave her a grin before stepping away. "Now lets have some good old vacation fun!" He exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air as Toph earthbended the rocky platform they were standing on and down to the water.

Orora remained nearly unfazed.

Prompting Aang and Katara to share a look of worry.

————————–

This was ridiculous.

This wasn't a vacation.

They were being sent away. That was it.

It had to be.

Scowling to himself, Zuko shoved the last of his clothes into the bag he would be taking to Ember Island. What in the Spirit World had possessed his father to have them go on a trip to relax?

How could he think about relaxing when all his mind could think about was Orora and nothing else.

Well not nothing else, there was the fact that Aang was still alive. But that hardly mattered.

What mattered was going away to Ember Island meant he would be mostly alone with his own thoughts. Not that he wasn't alone here, he was always by himself. But at least there were ways to distract himself. Practicing his firebending and learning the more advanced sets, using his Dao swords to keep his skills with the weapons sharp, reading in the library and learning the more intricate ways the Fire Nation worked.

His father was actually rather impressed with how fast he was progressing. He had no idea, that his son was working himself to the bone so he wouldn't have to think of her.

Then again, no matter how much he tried, there was no escaping her.

She was always there, in the back of his mind, lingering just beyond his conscious thoughts.

Opening the door beside his bed, he paused. His gaze was fixed upon the comb he had kept near him since his return to the Fire Nation. He wasn't doing himself any favors by keeping it with him. Looking at it everyday just reminded him of the fact that they weren't together.

And would likely never be together since she was out there and he was here.

Right, he scoffed to himself, as if that were the only reason for the distance between them, he thought as that all too familiar guilt licked along just under his skin.

Shaking his head, he picked up the comb and wrapping it carefully in a red silk cloth, placed it at the very bottom of his bag under a false opening lest someone, his sister, find it.

————————–

"Hey Orora!"

She looked up from where she had been flicking tiny stones with the tip of her finger and into the water. The small plinking of the stones as they hit the surface of the water was oddly comforting. Toph approached her with a determined gait and a grin on her lips.

"You promised me a bending duel." She said, pointing a finger at the older girl. She'd already dressed down to her swimming outfit, everyone had really. Orora had stayed dressed.

"So come on Ice Princess! There isn't much metal around, but that won't stop me from beating your butt." She added with a slight punch to her shoulder. Orora rubbed the sore spot before sighing deeply. "Not right now Toph." She finally said, turning her attention back to staring at the water. "I'm tired."

Toph stayed standing behind Orora for a good few minutes, though the other girl didn't even notice. She continued her little game of flicking tiny stones into the water. Her heartbeat felt so slow and dull, Toph realized, looking worriedly back at Sokka who was standing just a few paces away.

He moved forward, placing a hand on her shoulder and pulling her back. Toph followed his lead, though not before looking back sadly at the girl she looked up to and had come to consider as an older sister.

She hadn't even noticed the new nickname Toph had given her.

————————–

"Hey Orora!"

It was midday, and the other four had been swimming for quite some time now, but everyone was starting to get hungry and Sokka had opted to catch them their lunch.

Which he decided was the perfect opportunity to teach Orora how to fish.

The girl in question looked up from where she had been sitting on Appa's tail. The bison didn't seem to mind, and it was better then sitting on the rocky floor. At least his tail was soft. She tore her gaze away from the never-ending blue sky overhead to blink at Sokka. "Yeah?" She said, her voice lacking any emotion. Despite the worry gnawing at his heart, Sokka grinned.

"Remember I promised I'd teach you some more stuff other then hand to hand." He paused, waiting for her to respond, but she stayed silent. Clearing his throat he continued. "Well! I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to teach you how to fish!" So saying he whipped out a fishing rod and with a hook at the end of it, which he had been unsuccessfully hiding behind his back.

The boy grinned. "Come on! It'll be fun, and you can even use your waterbending to find some fish, though I would prefer we do it the old fashioned way." He added, flicking the rod and catching the bottom of his shirt in the hook. It caught the fabric, making him scowl in annoyance as he tried to pull it out.

Though he stopped when Orora sighed. "Not right now Sokka." She said in a low voice, turning so her back was to him and she could instead look across the spring in front of her. "I'm tired."

The exact same response as she had given Toph, and maybe it was his imagination, but she sounded even more sadder then before. Glancing over his shoulder he caught the worried look on his sister's face. She gestured for him to step away and he did.

But not before he glanced back at Orora. She may be older then him by a few months, but that didn't mean he didn't worry about her like he did Katara.

He did manage to catch some fish, and he did notice that Orora's fish went untouched.

————————–

"Hey Orora!"

It was almost evening, the sun had begun to set and the sky was turning a pretty pink and orange. She'd been staring at the sky for quite some time now, but at the sound of her name, she lifted her head.

It felt so heavy that she almost dropped right back.

Katara smiled above her. "You know it's gonna be a clear night and the moon will be out." She gestured to the large body of water that was at their disposal. "I could teach you some new waterbending forms and maybe you could teach me that new technique you came up with. I'd love to use my legs and feet for waterbending too."

The young girl looked at her eagerly. There was no way Orora would be able to resist the chance to learn some new forms. Nor would she pass up teaching what she had taught to Katara. Early on Orora had told her how much she enjoyed teaching someone something, anything really. So long as she knew what she was doing effected someone's life in a positive manner.

However, Katara's hopes were in vain. "Not right now Katara." She said the exact same words she had told Sokka and Toph. "I'm tired." The words sounded rehearsed, as if she had been repeating them over and over in her head, just so she could say them correctly.

The hopeful look in Katara's soft blue eyes diminished as she watched her older sister turn away from her and lay there as if she were.........

Tears stung her eyes and she nearly reached out to grab Orora's shoulder. But a hand on hers stopped her. She looked up at Aang who shook his head. Sighing in defeat, Katara stepped back. Aang squeezed her hand in comfort as the both of them walked away to where Sokka and Toph stood waiting.

"Now what?" Toph asked. Aang sighed, glancing over his shoulder at the still form of his older sister. "Now, I try to get through to her my way."

————————–

"Hey Orora."

Her position hadn't changed from where she'd been staring up at the sky. She had been observing the changing colors of the sky, she now focused on the twinkling stars. At the sound of her name, she shifted her head to look at Aang.

It felt too heavy for her to even lift.

Still she did, just in time to catch Aang reaching out to her with a hand. "Come sit by the fire." He said, smiling softly at her. It wasn't a request like Katara, Sokka and Toph's had been earlier that day.

Closing her eyes briefly, she reached out to take his hand, pulling herself up. A wave of dizziness washed over her, reminding her that she hadn't eaten anything the entire day, and very little the day before. While she tried the gather her bearings, Aang led her towards the fire around which the rest of their little group sat.

They were all watching silently as she finally settled, taking her place in the small circle. Aang moved a little to the side, though he sat down next to her.

"Orora." He began. "We're all worried about you."

She stayed quiet.

"You haven't been eating, you're barely sleeping and you haven't bended for days now. Even when the meteor fell, you stayed with Appa instead of helping." He paused. "The Orora I know would never stand by and do nothing."

Katara shifted forward a little from where she sat on Orora's other side. "When we were at that polluted river, you didn't even put up a fight to help those people. You would never turn your back on anyone, so why didn't you do anything then?" Orora simply continued staring into the fire. As had become the norm for her, her legs were pulled to her chest, her arms wrapped around them.

Standing up, Sokka moved to the space between his Katara and Orora. "Whatever it is that you're going through Orora, you need to tell us. We only want to help." He encouraged, as Toph stood as well, moving to stand beside Aang.

"He's right, its been effected your heart as well. I've noticed it sometimes skips a beat and that could be dangerous." The firelight flickered against her unseeing eyes, as Aang reached out to gently take Orora's hand.

"Orora, I think its time you tell them."

A little startled, the girl looked up. For the first time in days there was a flicker of emotions that played along her features as she stared at Aang. He smiled sadly. "You stepped up when all of us were broken beyond repair." The young Avatar said, his voice suddenly carrying the wisdom of all his past lives. "You took care of all of us. Kept us from breaking apart completely."

He squeezed her hand. "You are a part of our family Orora, and family helps each other. They stand by each other, so no matter what you will say or whatever your choice might be, we will stand by you."

Ice blue eyes blinked, shifting from Aang to Toph, who wore the same smile as Aang. Her head moved to look at the siblings from her sister tribe. Each of them wore encouraging looks, and yet there was that worry glinting in their eyes.

She didn't like seeing it there. They shouldn't be worried about her.

A long pause followed. One where her heart warred with her mind. The former begged her to reveal everything, to unburden what she had carried for so long. The latter clouded her thoughts with nothing but darkness.

That was it.

Nothing but darkness.

"There's a strange darkness in my mind." She began, taking her hand back from Aang and staring into the fire once more. "Growing up I've seen dark before, but not like this. Never like this." She shook her head almost desperately, as if trying to get rid of whatever plagued her mind.

"I don't know what it is, but I know the source of it." A hand on her shoulder had her flinching, but she continued. "Its the knowledge that my s-soul-soulm-ate betrayed me."

Her very voice tripped on the word, the syllables heavy on her tongue.

"Your soulmate?" Katara gasped from beside her. Orora nodded. "Aang knows who he is, but I asked him to keep it a secret." She added, lest the other three tell him off for not telling them.

A pause once more, before Sokka spoke. "Who's your soulmate Orora?"

Another beat of silence.

"Prince Zuko."

Deathly silence, even the creatures of the night seemed to have gone into shock.

Katara and Sokka looked to Aang behind Orora's head, to see him nod in confirmation, his lips pressed in a thin line. Where they had been standing, Sokka and Toph sat down, forming something of a circle around Orora.

Reaching out, Katara gently took the older girl's hand and began to stroke the soft skin. "Tell us everything." She encouraged.

And so, within the comfort of her new family, Orora began to recount the whole tale.

She told them everything, and as she did each memory seemed to play out in the fire crackling in front of her. The young waterbender left out no detail, spilling what had been festering within her for so so long.

Every moment shared.

Every word spoken.

Every glare they exchanged.

Every fight they had.

Every realization she made about him.

Every time he showed the humanity in him.

Every time the trust between them grew.

Every time she would set him straight.

Every smile.

Every secret he confided in her.

Every laugh.

Every time he helped her.

Every tear.

Every time he comforted her.

Every fear.

Every time she comforted him.

Every insecurity.

Every hope that was born based on everything that happened.

Every embrace.

Everything.

She spoke until she had nothing left to say.

Until her throat felt raw from talking for so long after such a lengthy bout of silence.

"But in the end, none of it mattered." She whispered. "Because he betrayed me. He betrayed his Uncle. But that wasn't what hurt me the most." She let out a airy laugh of disbelief.

"What hurt me the most was that he betrayed himself." All four listeners looked at each other in surprise. "He went back to the people who hurt him, because he wanted his old life back, and in doing so, he betrayed himself."

Another laugh, this one broken in place as she pressed the heal of her palm against her forehead. "And that hurt more then anything. More then the fact that he betrayed me. That I couldn't do anything. That I wasn't enough for him." Another laugh that echoed across the water. "Me. His soulmate. I wasn't enough for him. How foolish and naive does one have to be to believe in that?"

Finally she looked up from the fire, her eyes burning with several emotions that none of them could identify.

"You weren't naive or foolish Orora." Aang finally spoke. "You did what any other soulmate would do when they meet their other half." His grey eyes flickered towards his own soulmate for a brief second. "You hoped, and that is neither naive nor foolish."

Letting out a growl of frustration, the girl stood up, moving to walk around the fire so she could stand in front of the edge of the Spring. "And what good did that bring me?" She asked, no demanded to know as she rounded back on all of them.

"Only heartbreak and a lesson that having a soulmate is nothing but torture." Whatever emotions she was feeling in that moment seemed to overflow from her very being. The water behind her trembled.

"I mean, Toph will never be able to know who her soulmate is because she can't see her string." The girl in question looked on sadly at her older heartbroken sister.

"Your soulmate turned into the moon Sokka, you can never be with her only watch from far away and wander what might have been." Sokka's eyes flickered to the moon as it shone just behind his raging sister.

She fell silent as her blue gaze flickered between Katara and Aang. Despite the plethora of emotions she was feeling, she would never betray the trust they had in her.

"Its just.......its just........." She raised her clenched hands to the side of her head for a brief moment. "Despite everything he did, I miss him. I miss him so much that I can barely breath." On of her hands dropped to her chest where her heart raged within. "I'm just numb. I thought I was building a new life, a better life. With him. How could I be such a fool?" The surface of the water behind her began to move, creating small ripples that lapped against the bank where she stood. With every word she spoke her vice began to grow in volume.

"And yet I grieve for the life I knew with him." The waves grew a little more. "I would've followed him anywhere, but he's gone to a place I can never........"

That strange feeling in her throat intensified and her eyes pricked, growing hotter by the second. But she continued.

"This grief that I feel." Her voice began to reach a crescendo. "It's pulling me down." Every eye was trained behind her where the water trembled. "And I don't know how to fight against it anymore!" She screamed.

Her arms came swinging to her sides in a wide arc.

And the water behind her rose in a giant tidal wave. Only to transform into huge spikes of ice and freeze in place.

Orora was breathing hard, her chest rising and falling. There was an almost desperate look in her eyes as she looked from one pair of eyes to the other. The feeling in her throat intensified, and an ache began to form in her chest. Overwhelmed, the girl fell to her knees.

"Your heart just skipped a beat again." Toph called, as all of them quickly moved to surround her. Orora clutched at her throat, her breathing coming out in ragged pants as she turned her panic filled eyes to Sokka.

Suddenly he understood.

Reaching out he grasped her by the shoulders.

"Orora, you have to let go." He urged her. "After Yue, I tried to hold it all in too. And I did for a while, but its not a good thing. Holding back is never a good thing."

She stared at him.

"Just......" He reached up to brush something from the corner of her eye. Something wet. A tear?

"Let go."

A sniffle echoed against the icy wall she had just created. Her entire body trembled. Her eyes grew hotter as she squeezed them shut.

That strange feeling in her throat rose up and escaped from between her lips in the form of a cry that echoed with the utter heartbreak she had been experiencing for the past three weeks.

And for the first time in her life, Orora cried.

She cried with her heart, her body, her mind, her voice, her eyes, her very soul.

She cried and cried, loud sobs wrenching from her fragile body. Katara was the first one to gather her in her arms and hold her, just like Orora had held her all those weeks ago when Aang had been in a coma. Tears pricked her own eyes as she listened to the girl sob over the loss and betrayal that she had kept to herself for so long.

Sokka, Aang and Toph joined the embrace at the same time. Their arms wrapped around Orora, the older sister they had so sorely needed. That they had lacked in their family. They would stand by her, just as she had stood by them. And after so long of barely any reaction from her, seeing her finally release all those emotions was a comfort.

Behind them the icy wall slowly dissipated, the water melting away into the Spring. With every passing second, the trembling in her body subsided, and her sobs began to quieten, her breath slowly evening out.

Until finally, after a night that seemed to have lasted an eternity, it all ended.

And Orora, in the comfort of her family's embrace, fell asleep.

And this time, she did not dream.

————————–

Amber eyes widened at the sight.

There she was, standing in the moonlight once more. But this time, she wasn't looking at him in that disappointed manner, nor was she berating him or even speaking to him.

No, she simply stood there, looking at him with tears streaming down her cheeks.

During the whole time he had known her, Zuko had never seen her cry.

Be sad yes, but never cry.

Yet there she was. Crying and looking so utterly heartbroken that it broke his heart all over again.

"Orora?" He called out, stepping forward, hand raised as if to reach out and touch her.

"Why're you.....?" The words died in his throat as she continued to sob silently. Not a single sound escaped her.

Slowly, she raised her hand, her finger pointing towards him.

Zuko stared at her wide eyed as the realization settled in his chest, so heavy that it actually physically hurt him.

Him.

She was crying because of him.

Shame colored his tone, and tears pricked his own eyes as he stepped forward. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry Orora, I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm sorry." He called out to her.

He wanted to reach out to her, touch her, comfort her like she had done him so many many times.

But he couldn't.

She was nothing but a mirage his mind had conjured.

Nothing but an illusion.

And while Zuko was being tortured by how own mind, a certain knife-wielding girl stood in the shadows, watching the Prince with narrowed eyes.

Watching as he spoke to someone who was not there.

————————–

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