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vaspider · 2 years

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Pete Buttigieg is just a faggot.

It's very important to me that younger queers understand this: to the people who you're trying to be more respectable for when you say things like neopronouns set the trans movement back or you're why the cishets don't accept us or including [aces/bi people with the 'wrong kind' of partners/non-binary people/kinksters/non-passing trans ppl/furries/polyam people] just hurts us, can't you wait until we get all our rights before we talk about some of yours? -- to those people? Pete Buttigieg is just a fag.

On Sunday at Pride Northwest, some kids -- late teens, early 20s -- asked what our button I survived Reagan for this? meant. All of the queer adults at the tables making up our ad hoc counter looked at each other and sighed a little. Emet and another adult started to explain the way that the Reagan Administration handled -- or didn't handle -- the beginning of the AIDS crisis. How many people died. How much we were ignored. The Ashes Action. The Time Magazine article which explicitly blamed bisexual men for passing the pandemic to the cishet community, playing on all the worst stereotypical bullshit. The way that even when the CDC started paying attention, they were so focused on gay men that they ignored AIDS in the lesbian community, leading to the "women don't get AIDS, they just die from it" poster. And so on.

I finished counting out change and passed the last Bear Pride raised fist pin over to a bear a little older than me, then turned my head and interjected, "they didn't care until it started infecting more than just the fags." I turned my head back and handed him his change. He laughed bitterly and said, "remember when they called it 'gay cancer?'"

That what I need you to understand. The people for whom you are folding yourself into smaller and smaller boxes will never see you as anything but a freak. A queer. A dyke. A tranny. A fag.

Never.

These are people who will stand by and let you wither away and die alone, gasping for breath in a cinderblock room, and not even claim your ashes, and they will say you deserve it, because of your lifestyle. If they speak of you at all it will be by the wrong name, with the pictures you hate the most. They will curse at your lover, throw him out of the home you shared, and steal the gift you gave last Christmas to throw it in the trash just so he can't have it and they'll say Jesus loves you! while they do it. They'll feel good and righteous and blessed and holy and pure for doing it.

And for them, you spit in the eye of your sister. For them, you disavow your sibling. For their sake, you trim away bits of your heart and lace yourself up tight. Never too loud. Never too queer. Never inconvenient or embarrassing, never asking for too much.

Pete Buttigieg is what happens when your Boomer dad turns out gay. Middle America. Parents still married. Suburban-sprouted. Valedictorian. Harvard-educated. Rhodes Scholarship. Military service. More power to him: I hope he and Chasten are very happy together. Genuinely, I do.

You couldn't create a more respectable gay if you grew one in a lab run by concerned voter focus groups.

But Pete Buttigieg? Is just a fag.

That's the part you don't seem to get: when they abandoned us, they abandoned all of us. Rock Hudson was a beloved movie star and even personally friendly with that horrid pair of ambitious jackals. Nancy Reagan refused to help him get into the only place in the world that could treat him at the time, and he died.

It was 1985, 4 years after the CDC first released papers on what would eventually become known as HIV/AIDS and 7 years after the first known death from an infection from HIV-2. Reagan hadn't even said the word AIDS by the time Hudson died.

Pete Buttigieg is just a fag, and so am I. Unless I'm a dyke, which seems to depend on who's yelling what from which window and what day it is.

Yes, there will be people who genuinely love and accept you. Those people are worth all the frustration of the rest, thankfully, and they're the ones who love you in a pup mask or a leather harness and a neon jock like the ones sold by the men up the row from us last weekend. They're the ones who laugh out loud when you tell them you hid the word "dyke" in your company name, the ones who love you in all your messiness and uncertainty and the way you don't fit into neat boxes all scrubbed up and clean.

Most cishets, though... well, they don't actively mean you specifically any harm, at least not when they have to look at you. Not when you're right there in front of them. Maybe they'll be okay with you, personally, especially if you're the kind of gay who makes a good rhetorical device, and as long as you remain a good rhetorical device.

They need people to know that they don't have a problem with the gays, after all, and there you are, being all convenient. You make a nice token, and as long as you do, well. You're useful.

But they call you by your deadname when you're not around, and they put the wrong pronouns in your medical record even though they met you years after you came out, and they won't put themselves out to save you. Not one little bit.

I didn't want to be here again. The year I graduated from high school was the worst year of the AIDS crisis. The world into which I became an adult was a world in which an advisor and friend to Reagan, William F. Buckley, openly advocated for forcibly tattooing the HIV status of HIV+ gay men on their buttocks (and IV drug users on their forearms), and in which my father not only told me that when I was 14 or so, but when was told me that he'd advocated for that tattoo being "over their assholes."

(Buckley wrote that in '86, but he doubled down on it in 2005.

Fucker.)

But yeah. I didn't want to be here again. I wanted my daughter to inherit a better world. I wanted Obergefell and Lawrence v. Texas and Hope & Change to really mean something. I work for it, today and all days. I haven't given up.

I need you to know that, too. This isn't a white flag. I'm not surrendering. This isn't over. To misquote Henry Rollins, this is what Marsha and Sylvia and Stormé and Leslie and Brenda and Auntie Sugar trained us for. This is punk rock time.

But I need you to understand that if Pete Buttigieg is just a fag, if that human embodiment of a Wonder Bread, mayo and Oscar Meyer bologna sandwich is not respectable enough for them -- and he's not -- then the rest of us have absolutely no hope of measuring up. Not even if we trim away every colorful, beautiful piece of our community, not even if the Sisters Of Perpetual Indulgence vanish into the ether, not even if we sacrifice the five elements of vogue on the altar of white supremacist cishet middle-class conformity: we can't trim ourselves down to something they'll accept.

The only other option is radical acceptance of our queer selves. The only other option is solidarity. The only other option is for fats and femme queens and drags and kinksters and queers and zine writers and sex workers and furries and addicts and kids and the ones who can look us in the eye and see all of us to say we're here, we're queer, get used to it just the way we did 30 years ago. It's revolutionary, complete and total acceptance of our entire community, not just the ones the cishets can pretend to be comfortable with as long as we don't challenge them too much, or it's conceding the shoreline inch by inch to the rising waters of fascism until we've got nowhere left to stand and some of us start drowning.

That's it. Either it's all of us or it's none of us, because if we leave the answer up to the Reagans of the world and all the people who enabled him in the name of lower taxes and Democrats who wring their hands, weeping oh I don't agree with it but we'll lose the election if we fight it right now, the answer is none of us.

The brunch gays can come, too, I guess.

#long post #uncensored slurs #slurs #homophobic slurs #ronald reagan's grave is a gender neutral toilet #lgbtq #queer #trans #transgender #fag #dyke #lgbt

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neuvistar · 11 months

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I'm IN LOVE with your jingren x reader post like my toes be curling while my heart be fluttering GOSH.

Can I request blade doing the unspeakable with us then getting caught by Jing Yuan but Jing decided he just wanted to watch blade fucking our minds out 🤭🤭🤭

WITNESS IT ALL!

— featuring ┊blade x f!reader x jing yuan

— warnings / content warnings ┊not proofread, kinda sloppy n messy, male masturbation (jing yuan), dirty talk, slight degradation, blade jus being a lil jerk, uhmm. slight choking? blade referred to as “ren” here, use of nicknames, bladie being rough w u i think, overall suggestive content | 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

— a/n ┊MM IM SO SORRY 4 THE LATE UPLOAD ANON! 😭😭 but YES YES i can imagine jing yuan keepin it low at first as he watches blade fuck ur brains out, hand stroking his cock while he watches ! this has been decaying in my drafts 4 so long i’m so sorry sweetheart i got back from a mini break >:>

“r-ren! s’ messy.. you already came too much already..!” you whined, pouting as your fingers desperately tugged at his hair, a groan erupting from his throat as he bit down on your shoulder to suppress his grunts, breathing heavily against your skin as he bit you hard enough to make your body jump. two. that was two, two orgasms. he came inside you the second time, biting his bottom lip at how tight you squeezed around his twitching cock.

“i thought i heard you say that you wanted to make it a third time, precious.” was all he whispered against you before shoving himself up deeper and deeper with each thrust, trapping his cum inside your drenched cunt as his fingers tightened around on your throat, watching as your expression switched to one with need. saliva spilled from the side of your mouth, eyes widened with surprise and lust as you whimpered at how rough he was with you, legs spasming around his waist. your boyfriend lightly choked you out, not wanting to go too overboard as his hand clasped around your mouth, watching your lewd expressions with a smirk. he knew he was stretching you over your limits, stretching out your poor pussy as well in the process. blade was hungry for you, pinning your wrists down over your head as his fingers intertwined with yours, licking his lips at how full you must’ve been, stuffing you with his cum as his cock bullied itself inside your hole with your eyes rolling to the back of your head, arching your back at how good it felt.

“that’s it, princess. you like it when i hit that sweetspot of yours? you like it when i use your body in such lewd ways like this, hm? you’re such a fucking whore, aren’t you.. but I'm not complaining now am i, my pretty girl?” he muttered lowly in your ear, biting down on your earlobe gently as he grabbed a fistful of your hair, pouring his tongue inside your mouth.

blade’s eyes widened in pleasure, eyes nearly rolling into his head as he found a new angle, frustratingly thrusting faster into your stuffed cunny. “i’m gonna cum a third time if you keep tightening around me so fucking nicely, pretty. fuck.. you love getting used as nothing but a fucktoy, hm? poor girl you are..” he caressed your cheek, planting a small kiss on your nose as she chuckled at how exhausted you were, sweat dripping all over your body. “you can't do anything but sit here and get fucked absolutely fucking raw, but you like that do you? i bet you fucking do.”

“ren.. ren! p-please..” you wrapped your arms around his neck, breathing against his neck as he hooked his arm under your knee, pushing it against your chest as he grunted at how tightly you were pulsing around him now, you were close. “c-can’t..”

“you can take it, stop whining pretty. quit lying to yourself, you know how much you love this as much as i do. fuckin’ slut for my cock you are..” his hips rolled against yours, a more rougher and quickened pace as he brought his voice down to a whisper, mumbling a few things in your ear. “think about it like this, angel. how embarrassing would it be if we both got caught, hm? how embarrassing would it be to have someone see me fucking you like this. how fucking embarrassing it would be if it was none other than the general himself, hm?”

unknowing to both of you, it seems blade already predicted that exact scenario. jing yuan stood outside of the room you both were in, pants slightly tugged down as his cock was relying on his fingers.. jerking off at the sight of blade fucking you roughly. the general knew it was wrong to stay here and just get off to this, but he couldn’t stop himself no matter how hard he tried to. jing yuan bit his lip, hissing at the discomfort of his erected cock.. he threw his head back at the thought of him fucking you dumb, he could do so much better than that criminal, he thought. no! she shouldn’t be thinking of that.. he shouldn’t! but.. he couldn’t stop. the white haired male glanced over his shoulder, stroking his cock at the same rhythm blade thrusted into you. the general couldn’t help but smile at how fucked out you were, looking over the door frame seeing just how lewd you looked right now.. the sounds you made, the faces he tried to take in of you almost came straight from a pornagraphic video.

a low chuckle left blade’s lips as he watched you squirming in his touch with your mouth slightly hung open as you tightened your grip around his neck.. never putting a stop to his sharp thrusts. “cmon be shy, precious. let me hear you..." blade’s cock twitched again, breath hitching. “cum for me, cmon pretty girl.. don't be scared.” jing yuan stroke his cock faster, he was getting close as well, his breath grew heavier and heavier by the second.

the bed creaked underneath, orgasm building up quickly inside of both you and blade and before you know it.. you were already tearing up. “r-ren!” a choked whimper was forced out of you, calling out blade’s name as he spilled his load inside of you again, your stomach bloating at how full he filled you up, legs shaking from your climax as jing yuan eyed you down from the outside, biting his lip at the sight of your cunt completely filled with blade’s cum, watching at how smoothly cum dripped from your hole once blade finally pulled out. unlucky for the general, the white haired male reached his high as well, releasing on the floor as he cursed at himself for making such a huge mess on the ground. your face scrunched at how your folds were coated with stickiness and white from your boyfriend.. staining the sheets. you gasped as blade plunged his fingers in your hole, breath hitching as he swiftly inserted his dripping cum back inside your hole.

blade then paused for a moment, a smirk crept up his pretty face as he glanced over his shoulder, eyeing the door frame. jing yuan’s heart skipped a beat.. almost seen by the other male as he sighed in relief. suddenly blade opened his mouth to speak, his voice dark yet so calm.

“mm.. it seems someone was there to witness it all as well, princess. i think he seemed to have enjoyed the little show we put up.”

shit. maybe he was seen after all.

#ᖭི༏ᖫྀ maryse’s diary ૮꒰˶˃̵ ^ ˂̵˵꒱ა #jing yuan <33 #blade <33 #blade smut #jing yuan smut #blade x reader #hsr imagines #jing yuan x reader #hsr blade #hsr jing yuan #hsr smut #honkai star rail smut #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #jing yuan x you #blade x you #poly!jing ren x reader on the brain! <3

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slvtforfiction · 6 months

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I love your blog. There’s like no Jake content out there. Could I request a Jake smut where the reader is inexperienced and shy🖤🖤🖤

☆ Ahhh thank you anon!!

☆ Ofcourse I can

☆ Jake Webber X Reader

☆ Smut

☆ Period sex!

☆ Masterlist

☆ Hey guys! Before anything else I would ask you to request anything you want because I've lost a lot of motivation and it would really help! :D (Please look at pinned post to see if requests are open.)

Creds to @cafekitsune for dividers :)

I laid in bed gripping my stomach whilst Jake was out.

My period cramps had been going crazy and I felt like someone was shooting me with an arrow every time one shot through my body.

I stayed with my stomach clutched tightly whilst I heard the door click open and Jake greet me as he walked in.

"Hey baby." He put down the bag before noticing what I was doing,clutching my stomach with a sorrowful face.

"What's wrong love?" He asked, "Fucking period cramps." I groaned out,he nodded and grabbed some chocolate out of his bag.

"Thank you" I muttered towards him he nodded with a smile filled with empathy.

He sat on the bed next to me rubbing my leg up and down trying to comfort me with futile attempts.

"Is there anything else I can do?" He asked me with a small smile as he continued to rub my leg up and down.

"Not really!" I said with a soft smile up at him,I knew there was period sex but I was a virgin and was sure it would hurt.

"You know I Uh-I read something online," he started to talk and I nodded my head hoping he was thinking the same as me.

"And apparently like sex is good for cramps? Like fingering?" He told me more of a question to ask if I was okay with where this was going.I nodded and smiled as he thought the same as I did.

"I'll be back then hang on." He told me before leaving the room.Whilst he was gone I propped myself up onto the pillows and sat up in the twin bed.

He came back with a red towel and I smiled at how much he knew,clearly having researched this before to help me.

He put the towel underneath me and asked if he could take off my shorts to which I nodded again,not wanting to speak much right now,I had always been shy and Jake knew that.

He began taking down my shorts as I continued to grip my stomach,though this time with less force as before.

"Let me take care of you, love, it's okay." He told me softly.That sparked something in me,realising how lucky I am to have this man.

"Are you still okay with this?" He asked me gently making sure I was comfortable,I nodded happily as he kissed my thighs.

“Are you sure sweetheart? I know it’s your first time,I know how nervous you’ve been.” He asked me again and I nodded my head.

This was my first time and I was scared,I had only dated Jake for about 4 months but I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my time on earth with him.

“I want my first time with you and only you.” I told him and with that he kissed me.

He kissed down my neck,worshiping my body and I completely forgot about my cramps that were killing me a moment before.

He then pressed one finger into my cunt and kept kissing my thighs as he pushed himself in.

"Are you okay, but I need words honey." He told me with one finger inside of me, "Yes,please." I whimpered out wanting the pain of my stupid cramps to go.

"Okay baby,tell me if you want me to stop." He told me knowing how nervous I had been to have sex at all.

I was a virgin but I knew he wasn’t and he was oh so gentle and made sure I was okay with everything he did.

I moaned out as he kept pushing his finger in and out making me melt and my cramps long gone.

I thought to myself about how his finger must be red with blood now but I was too immersed in pleasure to give a second thought about it.

I had always thought my first time would be as scary and painful as everyone else says but it wasn’t,it was nirvana.

I moaned out again as he slowly slipped a second finger in,by now my cramps had passed away for a while.

I lived in bliss as I felt my thighs shaking already."Needy baby?" Jake teased as I came around his fingers.

A series of moans came from me as I road out my high before panting to get my breathe back and leaned backwards.

He kept going,leaving me overstimulated but beyond happy that my period cramps were now nothing to even think of.

I babbled out incoherent moans and blissful tears from the overstimulation, crying out.

"I know baby,I know." He said quietly as if no one else was supposed to hear it,but I did and oh god did that almost send me into a spiral.

He was still going gently,helping me through each step and whispering sweet nothings to me before I threw myself into a spiral of an orgasm again.

I came down from my high as he removed his fingers leaving me whining for his touch again.

He left to go to the bathroom and grab some tissue paper to clean me up,he gently wiped my folds and went back to the bathroom to wash his hands and throw the tissue paper away.

He then went into the wardrobe and grabbed a panty liner and some panties along with some shorts for me.

I smiled at I watched him put the panty liner on perfectly before walking over to me. "Can I put these on you?" He asked so sweetly.

I nodded and he pulled the panties and the shorts up my legs securing them around my waist trying not to get blood on anything.

“Are you okay love?” He asked again for reassurance. “I promise.” I whispered back,already tired.

“How are you feeling?” He asked and I looked up at him. “I’m good,thank you,I’m sorry this was our first time.” I laughed and he looked down at me again.

“Baby don’t be sorry,you’re everything I’ve always wanted,I don’t care about the sex,I care about you.” He told me and I smiled to myself.

He pulled the towel away and threw it in the laundry basket saying something about worrying about it later,he pulled the covers over us and I cuddled up next to him with a smile as I fell into sleep.

#spotify #smut #song #romance #cute #fluff #colby brock smut #sam and colby #sam and colby fluff #colby brock #jake webber fluff #jake webber smut #jake webber #jake webber x reader #period cramps #period smut

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aarontveit · 6 months

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EMERGENCY AID NEEDED ASAP, PLEASE.

🆘 HELP NEEDED ASAP TO KEEP ROOF OVER HEAD 🆘

I have been trying for days to get assistance with the remainder of my arrears. I have only received $20 so far. I am having minimally invasive but major surgery on January 12th for a full hysterectomy and my appendectomy (yes, happening at the same time). I have to have secure housing for my 4-6 week recovery period, which means paying off the remaining balance of my arrears on or before December 31st.

🙏 I am pleading for help with these arrears, every dollar helps, even if just a $1 or $5 donation. Absolutely anything helps. I really don't know what else or how else to explain or ask for help right now. I am so desperate to ensure my safety and security at this moment.

DONATE HERE.

If you do not have a PayPal (which is the listed link above, my PP) and you live in Canada and would like to send an e-transfer, you can send me a message (an IM, not inbox) to ask me for my auto-deposit info.

As said in the tweet posted above (which is currently pinned to my Twitter profile - I update and repin daily), I am making a payment TOMORROW (December 20th) toward the outstanding arrears. I would greatly appreciate any bit of help toward that payment if possible.

🆘 I am at $20, needing $1780.

🙏 Thank you for any & all help.

$0/1780

#type: text #misc: mobile #ok to reblog

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im-a-writer-sometimes · 1 year

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Thank You, Doctor (Miguel O’Hara - Part 1/4)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Epilogue

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Word Count: 3k

Description: After being snagged from your own universe and put to work in the med bay in the midst of spider society, you catch the notice of one Miguel O’Hara.

Warnings: blood, probably language, ignoring the ATSV worldbuilding for the sake of my silly little plot

A/N: Are there plot holes? Yes. Do I care? Yes, so please don’t bring them up, I might cry. There’s an occasional Spanish interjection from Miguel, but I am not at all a fluent Spanish speaker, so feel free to correct me on anything if so inclined! Translations are at the end. Also, it includes a roundabout ode to my dearest love, Oscar Isaac. If you know, you know.

🕷

Not every anomaly was kept in a cage. Some, like yourself, had made use of your idle hands, hands that for one reason or another, could never again touch your own universe. It had taken some convincing, but after Lyla had heard enough of your requests from the neon red confines of your prison and carried them to whatever faceless spider person led this operation, you’d been let out. Your cage hadn’t disappeared per se, but it had widened a little. If your return to your own reality would cause its inevitable collapse—as you had repeatedly assured it would—then this was more than you could ask.

You made use of your figuratively-shackled hands in the med bay. You’d been a medical student when you’d been stolen from your universe, and you knew enough to patch up the wounds that came through your work station with ease most of the time—sometimes, after skimming a medical textbook and winging it. So far, no one had died on your watch, and you called that a success.

But your confidence, it seemed, may have been overinflated.

When a group of spiders rushed into the med bay with a large, tattered body strung between them, you felt profoundly out of your depth for the first time. But they couldn’t know that, lest you ended up caged once again.

“Put him on the bed,” you instructed. “Stomach down.” They heaved the body onto the bed, and you could make out the navy and red lines of a shredded suit, as well as a mess of brown hair, matted with blood you were hoping wasn’t his own. “Do you know exactly where he’s wounded?” you asked, running hands over the expanses of skin you could see, trying to make out where the various bloodstains were coming from.

“He was sliced along the back,” answered a breathless spider. “Stabbed twice in the abdomen as well.”

“Help me turn him on his side,” you said, to no one in particular, but there were suddenly several sets of hands helping you turn the man over. “You,” you continued, nodding to the spider standing across from you. “Grab a towel and keep pressure on the wounds on his abdomen.”

You conducted as thorough an examination as you could with your heart fluttering like a hummingbird in your throat, so many eyes trained on your shaking hands. The man had a few other shallow cuts and bruises, but as the spider had said—the biggest concerns were the slice along his back and the two stab wounds in his stomach.

Several of the spiders lingered as you worked, offering tools and towels and anything you needed to speed up the process. And then, in a half hour that felt like a handful of seconds, your work was done. If you had been asked to recount your actions movement for movement, you’d only be able to offer up a breathless blur of adrenaline and then the sudden empty stillness in the room after you'd managed to stabilize him.

He was laid face up on a bed, covered by a blanket since you’d had to cut portions of his suit off of him. He couldn’t quite put a pin on his age, but he was handsome. You’d done your best to wash the blood out of his hair, and it fell in half-dry curls over his forehead. The angles of his face were severe, but they were soft, even kind somehow. At least in his sleep.

And then, to your great misfortune, he woke up.

At first it was a fluttering of eyelids, and you stood sharply from your chair, trying to look busy, as if you hadn’t just been sitting there staring at him. And then it was a few quiet groans as he tried to readjust himself.

“Don’t sit up,” you said at the sight of him trying to push himself into a seated position. “You’ll rip out your stitches.”

He just blinked at you. “Who are you?”

“The person who saved your life,” you said, bristled by the gruff, mumbled annoyance in his tone.

He shook his head. “I have enhanced healing, I don’t need anyone to—” He was cut off by his own sharp gasp as he tried to haul himself off the bed. He went still and then avoided your eyes as he slowly lowered himself back down onto the mattress.

“You were saying?” you said, a smile curling your lips. You turned to the counter behind you, pulling a roll of gauze and medical tape from one of the cabinets. “You had a severe laceration on your back. You’re lucky it missed your spinal cord.” You turned towards him, gauze in hand, as you sat and scooted your stool towards the edge of your bed. “And that’s not even mentioning the two stab wounds.”

“What are you doing?” he asked, scooting away at your sudden closeness.

“Your stab wounds were still bleeding when I finished, so the gauze likely needs changed,” you said. He lifted the blanket from his torso, peeling aside what was left of his suit to find two bandaged wounds, with—as you’d predicted—red-drenched gauze. He didn’t say anything else, but he didn’t protest as you reached out and began to peel back the tape. After a minute or so of quietly working, he finally spoke again.

“You’re human,” he said.

You smiled down at his abdomen, not pausing your work. “Are enhanced deduction skills part of the wide cache of spider abilities? Because you are remarkably observant.”

You could feel his eyes on your profile, but you didn’t turn to face him, not even when he quietly finished his thought. “You’re the anomaly.”

“I was under the impression there were more than one,” you said, pressing down the last stretch of tape and pulling the blankets back over him.

“You’re the anomaly I let out,” he clarified.

“Ah,” you said, standing and walking to the sink to wash your hands. “So you must be the big man in charge. The one who ordered me to be stolen from my bed.”

“There is much more—”

“I know,” you said, turning back towards him, hands braced behind you on the counter. “It has been explained to me plenty. My father was from another dimension and never should have jumped into mine and knocked up my mom, and I never should have been born.” He watched you as you spoke, scanning your face for any sort of malice, but you merely shrugged. “Wish I could have told my mom that’s why he flaked.”

“You’re not upset?” he asked.

“And who would I be upset at besides him? You?”

The man simply blinked at you, hand mindlessly reaching to brush his abdomen, the expanse of skin you’d just bandaged. The carefully stitched wounds answered the question of any lingering resentment towards your captors.

“It would be natural to hate—your circumstances,” he said eventually.

You turned back towards the counter, quietly putting away your supplies. “You should rest until the end of the week.”

“That’s not—”

“In bed for the next two days, and no missions until the stitches come out.”

“But I have en—”

“Enhanced healing. Believe me, I’ve heard it a thousand times,” you said, finally tuning to face him. “But like it or not, you’re still just as human as I am.”

“I’m only half as human as you are,” he said, and it was the clearest he’d spoken since he’d woken up. At the slight flash of fangs with the lift of his lips, you understood why.

🕷

The next morning, you found him fast asleep where you’d left him. It was more instinct than choice, your gut churning with curiosity, that led you to slowly reach out your hand and pull up the right side of his lip, confirming you hadn’t in fact been hallucinating. He had fangs. Before you could pull away, his hand shot up and caged your wrist before his face as his eyes waned open.

“I have to ask,” you started.

“No, I’m not a vampire,” he said, keeping your wrist in his grip, his voice deadpan, as if he’d answered this question a million times before.

“What are you then?” you asked, pulling your hand from his.

“Half spider.”

You lifted your eyebrows. “A spider bite made you half spider?” you asked, but he simply stared. You could tell by the low drop of his brow that he’d already told you more than he would have liked, so you simply turned away, prepping your space for whatever spiders might come through your station that day.

It turned out to be a slow day. Only two spiders came through, both needing minimal attention, and you sent them on their way about as quickly as they’d turned up. And the whole time, you felt a set of red, half-lidded eyes watching you. You would occasionally slip over to his bed to redress his wounds, answering negative to his questions of leaving. “Bed rest until the end of the day,” you said after the second spider had left. “And then I’ll fit you with some crutches and help you to your room.”

“I don’t need crutches.”

“What you don’t need is that attitude,” you said, lifting your eyes to his. “Or else I’ll send you home without a sucker.”

He tilted his head, entertaining your humor but never cracking a smile. “What’s your name?”

“Y/n. Y/l/n.”

He blinked at you as if he was familiar with the name, but all he said was, “Not Doctor Y/n Y/l/n?”

You clicked your tongue. “I was two years from being Dr. Y/l/n.”

He nodded down at his bandaged abdomen. “You seem like a doctor to me.”

“And you don’t seem half spider,” you said. “Appearances can be deceiving, Mister…”

“O’Hara. Miguel O’Hara.”

You nodded and turned back towards your station, beginning to slowly clean up for the day.

“I’m sorry,” he said, making you go still. “That you can’t be in your own universe.”

You turned back to look at him, offering a wry tilt of your lips. Not quite a smile. “That’s alright. I imagine you're similarly displaced for the sake of your noble mission. You just had the luxury of choice.”

“Would you have chosen to stay?” he asked, a sudden sharpness in his voice that made his fangs flash from behind his lips. “Knowing your universe was collapsing?”

“I didn’t say that,” you said, eyes narrowing at the sudden malice. You turned back towards your station, tucking supplies back into cabinets. “I guess I should thank you for letting me work in the med bay. I was losing my mind in that cell.”

“Don’t thank me for that,” he said. “Just makes me feel worse.”

You turned back towards him with a smile and a sucker held between your fingers. “Well, we wouldn’t want that.”

🕷

An hour or so later, when a spider with basic first aid training—a.k.a. the only kind of medic they’d had before you—came to relieve your shift, you helped Miguel out of bed and onto a set of crutches, carrying an armful of medical supplies behind him as he trudged to his room. If people stared at the sight of him limping, sucker in his mouth, they received a look from the man. You couldn’t see said look from behind him, but you could see the way it had people turning—occasionally running—away.

Once you got to his room, he seemed annoyed at the way you slipped in behind him, but he said nothing as you laid out medical supplies on his nightstand.

“You’ll want one of these in the morning and one with dinner for the pain,” you said, jingling the orange bottle you set down.

“Don’t need it,” he gruffed out.

“Alright, well then I imagine you don’t need help getting into bed,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest.

He leaned the crutches against the wall. “Now you’re catching on.”

You gestured to the bed beside you, stepping away so he had enough room to climb up onto it. It was slow, sliced up by the occasional grunt or half-swallowed gasp of pain, but he got up there, tugging the covers over himself.

“Bet you’re regretting that decision,” you said, and he only huffed. You took that moment of silence to look around the room. It was all black and gray angles, not a touch of personality anywhere. Not a picture frame or flower vase, no posters or art.

“You know, having some kind of general joy or cheer in your room might speed up your recovery,” you said, walking over to the window to peer out at the street below.

“Now you’re giving interior design advice?” he said, face half buried in the pillow. He was likely still groggy from the pain medicine you’d given him before.

“I’m just saying, maybe try getting a hobby or two,” you said, pulling the curtains on his window closed.

“My hobby is saving the multiverse,” he huffed out. You turned slowly from the window, eyebrows raised as you met his eyes.

“Was that—a joke?”

He huffed, turning over onto his side. “Good night.”

You started towards the door. “Oh, of course, you’re welcome, Mr. O’Hara. I was so happy to patch up your bloody wounds and gently tug you from the precipice of death. Saving such grateful spider people like yourself is truly my calling in life.”

You stopped before the door, hand lingering on the knob as you glanced back at his figure, curled away from you on the bed. He gruffed out something inaudible and you stepped closer.

“What was that?”

“Mujer implacable,¹” he cursed, before turning over just enough to meet your eyes. “Thank you, Doctor. Now get out of my room.”

You smiled and reached for the door. “Good night to you too, Miguel.”

🕷

It was midnight when Miguel woke up again. The dull buzz of the pain meds had worn off, and the sharp ache of his limbs pulled him sharply from sleep. And then, shortly after, the rumbling of his stomach had his feet hitting the floor.

He told himself he’d simply go to the cafeteria and grab something to eat, but it proved to be easier said than done. With a few curses muttered in Spanish, he sunk against the set of crutches you’d provided, letting out a breath at the sudden lack of pressure on his wounds.

When he made it to the cafeteria, he found it not empty, as he had been hoping. A singular figure was sitting in the corner of the room, the tray before her stacked neatly with various food. Of course. Of all the people to witness his shameful hobble into the cafeteria, it had to be you.

You glanced up as he entered, eyes going wide for a moment.

“You look like someone who didn’t take their pain meds,” you said, lips curling into a smile at the grunt he offered in response. You watched him fumbling with a vending machine around the awkward angle of his crutches and stood, crossing the room to come up beside him.

You didn’t wait for him to ask for help, you simply gestured before you, silently asking what he was trying to reach. He stared at you for a moment before nodding towards a pack of flamin’ hot cheetos. You fetched it for him with ease, before carrying it away from him.

“What are you doing?” he asked, watching as you sat back down at your seat and set his cheetos at the spot across from you. You didn’t respond, you simply watched him with raised brows, waiting. Eventually, he grunted out something in Spanish and joined you, grabbing a bottle of water on the way.

“What does mujer implacable mean?” you asked.

“What?”

“That’s what you called me.”

He ripped open his cheetos and sat back in his chair, watching you as he took the first bite. “Relentless woman.”

“Hm,” you said, smiling. He watched as you stood up and grabbed a pair of chopsticks from the counter, eyes narrowing as you sat back down and offered them to him.

“What are those for?”

“They keep you from getting cheeto dust on your fingers,” you said, smile growing as his eyes widened.

“Mujer brillante,²” he breathed, taking the chopsticks and ripping them open. Something adjacent to a pleased smile overtook his features as he sat back, chopsticks in hand. And then he seemed to remember who was talking to, and his smile flattened out.

“Why are you awake?” he asked.

“Oh, I was just crushed by the weight of endless, multiversal knowledge trying to fit within a mind only equipped to handle the existence of one, pondering the meaning of my birth without a clear place in a singular universe and a purpose only carved out by my own inability to accept my multiversal irrelevance.”

He blinked.

“Also, I’m an insomniac,” you said, and he shoveled another cheeto into his mouth.

“I don’t think anomaly equals irrelevance,” he said, and he wasn’t quite sure if he believed it. You didn’t seem irrelevant though, and he was going off of that.

“Then what does it mean?” you asked, and there was no humor in your voice. No malice either. Just a sharp curiosity.

“It means that the universe is delicately balanced, and you, mujer implacable, are a wrecking ball.”

“So I’m relevant, just not in any of the good ways.”

He shook his head. “In your old life, maybe. But you can be whatever you like here. Relevant. Irrelevant. Whatever suits you.”

“I think I’d like a healthy middle,” you said.

“Midrelevant,” he said, almost smiling.

“Exactly.”

The conversation was sparse as you both ate, but something soft opened up before you within Miguel. You’d already seen him at his weakest, so he had no reason to hide from you. And as you helped him back to his room, he couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

🕷

Part 2

(1) “Relentless woman”

(2) “Brilliant woman”

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara fic #spiderman 2099 #across the spiderverse #across the spider-verse #across the spiderverse fanfiction

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ettelenethelien · 6 months

Text

1st age Beleriand dashboard Simulator

🌫️ mithrim-noldo following

Yeah, Thingol kind of flew off the handle with banning Quenya and all that, but why on Arda are people now justifying the Kinslaying in response?? have some nuance and also, that's just plain horrible.

✨ btw-this-is-hopeless following

hope it's fine to copy your tags, mithrim, because they're great:

#I mean I know this is probably because they've taken part in the kinslaying themselves #but #can't you just admit you did wrong and move on? #in so far as it is possible because of course forgetting would be disrespectful and unwise #because the consequences are with us still #but it should be way more comfortable than being on your defences all the time #always ready to rationalize or deny #with a conscience you cannot silence

✴️ eightpointedstar83

I am tired of typing this out again and again but Alqualondë could have been averted had the teleri been less self-centred and readier to cooperate. Thingol is just another example of this attitude. But of course, please deny that the third clan is what it is and pin the blame on the people who saved everyone's skins.

We have done nothing wrong and yet our own people are turning on us. One day you will rue this.

Long live the house of Fëanor!

💝 heart-in-a-box

This is just the sort of behaviour OP was talking about.🤦‍♀️

🌫️ mithrim-noldo following

Admittedly, this seems to be a fanatical Fëanorian and more committed than the average apologist of his/her own actions - but yes.

#current events #thingol's quenya ban #my post

11,062 notes

🧝🏼‍♂️maglorfeanorion following

finished another canto of the noldolante today

🌖 hunters-moon

you have a tumblr account??!

🧝🏼‍♂️ maglorfeanorion following

do I know you?

🌖 hunters-moon

yes :)

🧝🏼‍♂️ maglorfeanorion following

wait - yeah, I do...

which of the twins are you?

🌖 hunters-moon

how did you know😮???

👨🏻‍🦰red-haired-twin

he looked through your blog, nitwit :)

🧝🏼‍♂️maglorfeanorion following

I guess I shouldn't be surprised to find you two out of all possible people on here...

so - which is which?

36 notes

🌸 a-flower-in-the-snow following

himring winters are horrible and I hate my parents for bringing me to middle-earth

#rant #children of exilse #i meant #children of exiles #coe

4 notes

🏞️ the-wide-earth-unexplored following

Y'all weren't joking when y'all said the Sirion is impressive...

(more photos under cut)

#photography #nature photography #nature #sirion #falls of sirion

213 notes

🖼️ wonder-the-earth

is it still a secret city when everyone is talking about it?

👰🏼‍♀️ celebrin following

that's a good question

21 notes

👤 incessant-leaves following

It makes me sick to see all those positive nostalgic posts about the Mereth Aderthad. How pretty the pools of Ivrin were or weren't doesn't change the fact that THE NOLDOR WERE HIDING THE TRUTH ABOUT THE KINSLAYING THE WHOLE TIME. Yeah "everyone was kind" back then. You were feasting together with people whose cousins you had killed and have the audacity to complain they don't like you as much anymore. I don't care if you're a Sinda or a Noldo who "didn't take part in it" - if you say anything positive about it I'm blocking you.

#mereth aderthad #the truth about ivrin

159, 307 notes

💎 lord-maedhros-is-the-true-king

Things they don't want you to know about Fëanaro:

157 notes

🏹 huntingprincess following

with all due respect, gondolin is the most boring place in the world.

🌼 golden-flower

it's not. but you're entitled to your opinion.

🌌 daughterofdoriath following

if only all debates on here were as civil...

👤 incessant-leaves

OP is a kinslayer apologist. Didn't you check that out before you started praising them?

🌌 daughterofdoriath following

*throws hands up*

I was admiring that one exchange.

(and this was actually more about @golden-flower's response than about OP)

*sighs*

#this site...

2009 notes

image used for Sirion: link

#I'll try making part two with men in the picture #but I'm posting this for now #unreality #in universe texts #Tolkien #the Silmarillion #Silmarillion #Beleriand #beleriand politics #first age #noldor #sindar #gondolin

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eggedbellies · 6 months

Note

This is an idea I’ve RPd with people (and would love to again if anyone wanted to…) and i just cannot stop thinking about.

The idea of men, instead of carrying seminal fluid and sperm in their testicles, carried eggs. They’re small and unfertilized, but must be spent every month or they’ll grow larger and potentially cause complications. Public sex and public laying of these eggs has become acceptable.

You meet a guy on a dating website, purely for sex. He comes over, and soon thereafter you’re making out on the couch and he comes clean. He reveals a massive set of testicles, full of eggs, likely from 3 or 4 months of build up. He came over with the intention of filling you up with them. It’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen, and before you know it you’re being bent over your kitchen counter with his cock in your pussy.

It’s not long before he pauses, a groan on his lips as eggs start pouring out of him. You can feel them, one by one, as they stretch you passing through him. Your hand cradles your belly as it slowly grows with the eggs being placed inside. By the time he’s done (and you’ve cum a time or two) you have the belly of a 4 month pregnancy. You exchange numbers and he walks away.

About a week or two later, the eggs have grown and grown. You’re waddling around with the belly of a 10 month pregnancy with triplets. You feel the sexiest you have ever felt. But, the time has come to lay your eggs.

You go to a public park, set up underneath a tree in the back, and strip. You’re completely naked, legs spread open, and start to push. The eggs come one after one, much larger than when they went into you. By the time you’re done, you’ve laid 30 unfertilized eggs. A small crowd has gathered to watch you, some men slowly rubbing their cocks. And among the crowd is the man who put the eggs inside of you in the first place, ready to put another clutch in you right then and there.

(I held onto this one a while just to keep reading it ngl. god.)

I'd heard of men who did this. It had never held much interest to me, before; sure, I'd been tempted, now and again, in a few relationships, to take their eggs - but I was always a little shy. And I always had work, or maybe personal hangups... maybe that was why I'd never held a relationship for long. And those strange guys, the ones who liked their balls being packed and tender, who wanted to stretch people out... I'd never really understood until I met him.

And they'd looked so good on him, so heavy and full. Slapping against my clit with each thrust. The stretch, god, I'd never felt anything like it, and with the noises he and I were making, it felt like animal breeding. He must have loved it as much as me. How my shirts didn't fit quite right, forced to wear loose jumpers until I could get some maternity wear, the fascinated stares of people clearly wondering how I could possibly be so late term and yet not have them already...

I'm glad it's summer, because even my normal tops are rapidly becoming crop tops. It's hard work to heft my body about. Everything has widened to help with the weight. People come over and ask how far in I am and I try to be vague but not moan whenever they ask to rub and feel the clutch (and I can't help but say yes.)

As the last egg is popping out, and bystanders come to help scoop up the clutch, offer to call my partner, take me to the hospital, whatever I need, I shake my head. I know what I need. Call him from the crowd. There are murmurs, of course, but my body is still shaking with pleasure. We drop the clutch off. Waddle home. Pin him to the wall, all mouth and tongue, biting at skin and clutching at each other, drag him upstairs... and grasp his cock firmly.

Before clipping the cage around it.

Because these last few weeks, I realised just how good that felt. And I grin, even as his eyes widen in alarm. "How long did you wait last time?" I whisper against his neck. "Four months." he murmurs back. "I think we can wait for six." I grin, stroking his balls, before stepping back and admiring how good the cage looks on his thick cock. "Then we can see how big I can really get, hm?"

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shaarlslec · 1 year

Text

me and the devil

words: 5958

introduction/part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

warnings/notes: charles leclerc x reader, friends to enemies to lovers type of a thing, crashes, mentions of panic attacks and triggers;

inspired by: Soap&Skin - Me And The Devil, The Neighborhood - Afraid, The Academic - Why Can’t We Be Friends?, lovelytheband - i like the way, The Wombats - Turn , Wallows - Pleaser

masterlist

You crawled through Charles’ skin leaving traces even underneath it, made your ways through his being and rested in the nerves of his spine until you flooded his mind. Charles was aware of that had no ending nowhere soon.

You never knew pressure before this, not like this.

Taking the lead from Charles sickened you to the core in ways you never had expected, although that was what you wanted right from the start. You promised him this, you promised him to yourself. And yet, beating Charles at his own game was not that thrilling as you expected it to be – not when you were falling for him again, thinking now that perhaps that never paused to begin with.

Winning was supposed to taste sweet, and yet each article fueling your feud and pinning you against each other left your mouth sour and your mind clouded.

Reporters delved deep into your past: pictures with you standing close to each other at any events you two attended for years, words from your mouths about each other that even you two forgot making headlines. You knew that reporters would attack you both the next time you were found in the same room, and you were nowhere near the disposition to be questioned about the man who days ago was confessing his cravings on your skin.

Neither was Charles.

That man fought with his entire being to leave you alone that night. Making irrational choices was out of the question for Charles. And yet, oh, you. Charles spent most of his nights thinking about the ways in which your little after midnight encounter could have gone. The taste of your skin, as little as his lips lingered on the shoulder, intoxicated him like some sorts of a hard liquor. Charles repetitively thought about it as the week passed: your lips trembling, your hand on him and everything that happened in between the heavy breaths. It worked like a wake-up call, having his mind filled with the thought of you instead on the idea of winning the race. You crawled through Charles’ skin leaving traces even underneath it, made your ways through his being and rested in the nerves of his spine until you flooded his mind. Charles was aware of that had no ending nowhere soon, mainly after meeting you again for a press conference right before the race weekend when the man’s heart pounded in an instant right when you walked in.

You were gutted when eyes met too, your mind unconsciously searching for Charles’ attention as you stepped in after Arthur. Charles nodded a little “hello” and you waved shortly before taking your seat in between Lewis and Russell – as further away as the seats permitted from Leclerc. And yet, eyes examined his hands multiple times and the way they seemed to not find their place on Charles’ lap, rhythmically patting the armchairs’ surface on a song that was silently playing inside the boy’s mind, anything to distract himself for staring at you back in a room full of people.

All you thought about was the softness of the man’s touch against your back, and all the things he could have touched that night if there were no excuses while Charles was silently wondering if your lips tasted even sweeter than your skin. You shook your head in an instant, dragging attention from Lewis at your right and Charles took a deep breath in as his brother’s touch startled him from behind.

“Are you alright, you look pale.” Lewis then spoke, titling his head into your direction.

You nodded, “Yes, I think so.” You gulped as you directed your looks on him rather than on Charles, “I don’t know if I am ready for this.” You confessed, pointing to the pile of reporters and cameramen getting ready in front of all drivers.

Lewis patted your hand with his for comfort, “Don’t worry child, just give them what they want without telling them what that exactly is.” Hamilton spoke with a warm smile, “You will do just fine.” He assured you, gently stroking the back of your palm.

Charles heard that and saw Lewis touching you, most of him paying attention to your voice rather than Max’s question who was standing next to him or Arthur taking his seat at Charles’ right. Damn, was Charles going to be jealous on any single man who ever so slightly touches your skin in his mere distance? He glimpsed at his little brother for a brief second, wondering if you two came in together from the hotel. It sickened him, Charles had to do something to control such thoughts, such impulses, such nerves.

“You look nervous, are you alright?” His friend nudged, searching for any glimpse of confidence in Charles’ gaze pointed at him now but only managing to find flames and untamed fires.

Charles nodded, “Yes, I just want this to be over as soon as possible.” He spoke, trying to find a somehow relaxed position of his body in the chair as the cameras rolled – muscles tensing up back again right after your name was called.

“Ok, Y/N. We will start with you.” One of the reporters said, and you faced him with the fakest sweet smile you could ever pull while Charles’ jaw locked in anticipation, watching the reporter’s mouth uttering their question, “How does it feel? Taking the lead in the championship for the first time since you’ve joined Formula One?”

You shortly huffed as you awkwardly switched the position in your chair, trying to look as laid-back and unbothered as possible but failing miserably when your glare instinctually went to Charles’ face, “Like a lot of pressure.” You nervously laughed, snatching away from Charles and right back at the report, “But we can manage it, me and the team I mean.” You continued, adjusting your voice with yet another sore cough.

You and Charles were both expecting for the follow-up question to be aimed at him, and yet the reporters moved on to each other driver regarding situations on the grid. You happily smiled sincerely for the very first time during the conference when they asked Arthur and Norris about their on-going competition within the McLaren team, seeing both lightly making fun of each other and cracking jokes for the reporters.

Charles’ smirked too, being extremely proud of his little brother for standing up for himself. Your heart lightened watching them side by side, acknowledging that the punch was long-forgotten faster than Charles’ cut healed. They were brothers, brothers do fight and yet you wanted none of the fights to be about you anymore. Arthur apologized to you for his behavior first thing in the morning after that evening, assuring you that him and Charles are thick as thieves but also that it was your job from then on to push the wake-up call. You were not sure that you were fit of that responsibility, you were not sure if Charles was able to change just because of you and nor that you wanted him to do so.

You quite relaxed for a while in your seat up until Charles’ name was called, and tensed up right after you heard the insanity of the reporter’s question, “Charles,” He began with an amused smiled, “We know how Y/N feels about being first, but how does it feel to have your place stolen by a twenty-something years old girl?” The reporter continued with an amused and mocking tone, and the present drivers pierced him with a sharp and inquiring look while your fists clenched together with your jaw.

You silently sighed in your seat then. Not again, you thought. It was certainly not for the very first time through your career that questions with a misogynistic phase were asked, and yet you thought that after all these years during which you proved yourself worth of a man’s seat they will stop – they haven’t, and you were clearly not in the right state of mind to deal with that too.

Lewis leaned towards you, murmuring the words not even milliseconds after the question was thrown out in the room, “Do you want me to get him out of the room?” He inquired, and you knew for sure that if you were to say yes, Hamilton would have done it, “Just say the word.” The Mercedes driver added, and you could perceptibly see one vein bursting on the man’s forehead.

You patted Lewis’ hand, “No, let him be. It’s Leclerc’s question, after all.” You spoke, exchanging your glare from Hamilton to Charles who was fazed by the question for two seconds, then dismayingly laughed meeting your glare.

“This is the stupidest question I have ever heard in one of these press conferences, and we all know that we’ve heard plenty.” Charles spoke, keeping his eyes on you as he answered the inquiry being unable to look at the reporter’s face feeling the annoyance starting to take a tool on him in front of everybody (again), therefore Charles needed calm in the shape of your face and sound of your mocking chuckles, “A twenty-something years old girl?” Charles wheezed after taking one short breath, charging his mind with you again rather than the foolishness of the question, “Do you call yourself a reporter?” Charles continued, snatching his glare from you on him.

And oh boy, was that a change into his expressions. Charles’ gleaming eyes darkened as he looked straight into the man’s eyes, dominating him with a sharp glare and the switch of his pose into the chair with both of his elbows resting on his knees and a fear-provoking tilt of his head, “You were not even able to learn Y/N age, and you expect either of us to listen yet alone answer your fucking idiotic question.” Charles huffed, repulsed by every second he spent talking into the reporter’s direction, “I will just say that it was not stolen, and that Y/N passing me was nothing but fair and a reflection of her skills. If you were not to be such an ignorant asshole, perchance you could have taken your time to look at her achievements.” Charles ended, putting and emphasis on each word, “I think this is over then, please thank your amazing colleague for cutting this short.” Charles lastly spoke, addressing a short bend of apologetic signature to the other reporters in the room with a slope of his chest.

Everyone in the room went quiet as Leclerc’s spoke, and you found yourself proudly smiling. You knew that most of the male drivers shared the same opinion as Charles, and yet you were not expecting him to be fuming this much. Few drivers laughed, and the rest who were not used to Charles cutting personality and harsh ways of putting words together when angered were still stunned.

The reporters went quiet behind the cameras, and you only hoped for the one that asked the question to feel everyone’s shrill looks on his face and back – to never return in one of those conference rooms, and to never mention your name. You were not expecting an apology, no one ever apologized to you for taking you for granted and as you looked at the disbelief of the man’s face watching Leclerc, you understood that your teammates’ words worked as a personal attack to him and not as a lesson. Some men will never learn, but you were glad that the ones that stood next to you were nothing like that. Your heart jumped quite a bit, Leclerc’ taking your side weeks after declaring war on you on public television was as confusing as it was exhilarating, perfectly describing the highs and lows or your relationship with him.

You took Charles’ example in apologizing to the other reports from leaving after you muttered, “Wait, Charles–” glare fixed on Charles lifting from the seat to leave the room with heavy pressed steps on the floor, “I am coming too.” You added, thoughtlessly lifting from your chair to join your teammate side by side, the press conference wrapping up ahead of its time now, “We are sorry.” You muttered, following Charles.

“No,” Your teammate paused, holding the door wide open for you to pass as he gave one last look to the room, aiming the specific one who Charles managed to frighten already with the hardness of his features, “We are not sorry.” Charles added, door smashing behind the both of you.

“Stop being apologetic when it is not your fault.” Your teammate uttered being visibly still annoyed, walking now side by side with you through the exit of the accommodation, “You have done nothing wrong, and besides –” Charles paused for a bit to fling into your direction one of his cheeky winks that somehow (after all the tries) was still not perfectioned, “Storming out of a press conference was something I wanted to do for a long time.” He added, and you could not help yourself but giggle at the sight of him winking and being sogratified of storming out of the press conference as if you two stormed out from high-school class.

Small moments like these made you be reminiscent of the sweet, darling Charles that you knew and adored. He was there, somewhere, caged in the persona of your so-called arch-nemesis. “Thank you, Leclerc.” You spoke slowing your steps.

Charles looked down at you as he was pacing his steps with yours, “I see we are back at Leclerc.” Charles shortly breathed, changing the subject right after the man saw your eyes softened because Charles knew that made him week and the man has been vulnerable enough with you around, “No need to thank me, really.” Your teammate spoke after adjusting the tone of his voice into a rougher one rather than the one you knew and loved, “I will make sure he never gets to ask questions again and that he –” Charles ranted, but your hand stopped your teammate’s arm from wiggling around him as you caught his wrist in your grip and his mouth shut – his entire body struck by your swift move.

There was no turning back, Charles thought. Your teammate looked down at your almost clasped hands and thought about all the times in which his entire body reacted to such a mere touch. Never from another person, always because of you. There was no turning back, Charles repeated somewhere in the back of his mind. He was hooked on you, and staying away from you was not an option – not anymore.

“Please don’t, they will make up more stories about us if you take further action. Insulting him in front of all those people was enough.” You added, fingers running down the man’s hand to gently take it into yours just for your thumb to rub the back of it, “Charles,” You paused, look up on his face seeing him all flustered due to your touch, “I am very grateful for you standing up for me in there, but I cannot just get my hopes high every single time you take my side, and touch me, and say that you want me just for them to be destroyed by your threats the following day. Therefore, you must decide. Stay by my side or not, reach my high hopes or not.”

That was what you should’ve said to Charles, and yet you were afraid of doing do frightened by the idea of pushing him away, scared even by the thought of him not daring not touch you again for as little as that was. You were not ready to lose even that, you were not ready to lose what was not even yours to begin with, Charles choosing the second option was not an option. Instead, you looked at the man’s out of this world soft emerald eyes and faintingly spoke, “Good luck this weekend, mate.” patting Charles’ back of the hand with yours, “You will need your all, we are at my home race.” You cockily spoke, steps ahead of Charles now as you were walking backwards to sustain the man’s glare until the exit.

Charles’ corners of the mouth lifted in a smile, “No worries, I will not go easy on you just because it is your home race.”

You clicked your tongue, “I never want you to go easy on me.” You spoke, and for a split of a moment both of you were grinning alike, “On track, I mean.” You clarified, having Charles shake his head for a little to dust off the thoughts that were wildly going through the man’s head, the same that were on yours too.

Charles kept his word, getting the pole-position right the next day while you were on P2 right in front of your home crowd. Frustrating? Just a little bit. Exciting? A lot. Charles deserved that pole without any doubt nor question, and you were going to give your all during race day to snatch P1 from him. That was what you told the interviewers too after qualifying, Charles staying behind just to hear your post-qualifying enthusiasm and to make sure that no one was going to bother you with more stupid questions. He stood meters away from you with both arms crossed at his chest, waiting for you to finish your short interview. You amusingly gave him quite a few looks, was he your own personal guard now?

“Is passing Charles on the list of your goals tomorrow?” The interviewer asked you, perceptibly confused as well by Charles’ proximity as their glare switched from you to him, “People are wondering if there is a change into the nature of your relationship.” They added with an inquiring look and very much curious tone, watching both you and Charles exchanging one exhausted glare. This again.

Your eyebrows twitched at the same time, the question came in reference to the events of yesterday when you two stormed out together and left all of them hanging in there, “People should be minding their own business, and leave ours alone.” You replied with a smile, seeing Charles’ face lightening up with the corner of your eye, “Also, who does not want to win their home race? So yes, my goal is passing Charles tomorrow, passing anyone really who stands in the way of bringing home a race win.” You ironically answered, and nothing could have made Charles prouder of you that two ironic and sassy answers coming one right after each other instead of answering all sweet and tamed. You were a force, everyone around you should be able to feel that – not just him.

“Were you waiting for me?” You asked Charles, two steps away from his own now.

He nodded, “Yes, wanted to make sure that no more stupid questions are asked.”

You snorted with an amused huff, “Excuses,” You spoke, walking together to the garage arms almost touching, “You know that I can take care of myself.” You commented, eyes on Charles now, who was paying attention to your steps rather than you, “Just say you wanted to walk together with me to the garage. Let’s give the people what they want, without telling them too much about it.” You slyly spoke, casually slipping your arm around Charles’ as bodies tightened to each other feeling their heat, sensing their warmth, tensioning their longings and your breaths suddenly heavy.

Charles said nothing but just playfully chuckled as the man properly offered you his arm to grab for everyone else to witness. As you were walking side by side with him, arm in arm, your fingers gently cupping his bicep, Charles was thinking that perhaps him making excuses was the truth from the beginning. That the one thing Charles craved was your company, even if that meant only walking side by side. In that moment, your teammate thought about what you told him last week. You need to stop following me in such fashion – people might think that you are in love with me or something. Charles shook his head, thinking about the fact that maybe it was the right moment to acknowledge that too instead of playing it cool for the sake of protecting his own already messed-up brain and even messed-up heart.

“What?” You asked Charles meters away from the garage, seeing him looking down at you with some sorts of a puppy eyes that you have not seen in a while instead of the harsh glares and untamed looks.

Confess it, confess it. Charles’ mind was spinning. We have a race tomorrow, we need to focus on that, “Nothing.” Your teammate simply lied, letting go of your arm once you reached the entrance, “I was thinking how to stay ahead of you tomorrow, you seem very determined to win.” Charles lied with a nifty grin; your teammate has not given a thought about the race at all since the taste of your skin impregned on the top of his lips.

“I am, and I will.” You spoke, one step taken in front of him as you lifted on the tips of your feet matching the man’s high, so your eyes could sustain each other from equal ground.

“I would like to see you try.” Leclerc intoned in a low voice, his eyes walking slowly from your eyes to your lips, wondering how many times he must envisage the taste of it before indulging in it.

Charles gulped, and so did you. He was the one to take a step back, but not because he wanted to do so, but because Fred’s palm patted his back at the same time as the other arm wrapped around your neck to drag the both of you inside, “Disciplinary meeting now.” Fred spoke, and both you and Charles rolled your eyes at the same time, “Don’t roll your eyes at me, you caused this – both.” Your team principal spoke, shuddering his head off at both of you and Leclerc as if you were caught sharing a cigarette in the school’s backyard.

You went to sleep the night before the race thinking about the win. It was your home race; you were leading the championship and you had never won here before. Teasing was your plan, getting close enough to him just to increase the nervousness level of the man until he fails in keeping his concentration and makes a mistake was your drill. You knew how Leclerc drove, and he knew how to keep you in the back. You had very similar driving styles, you could easily anticipate each other’s next move. That is why everyone loved to see you battling on track, to see you so close wheel to wheel you can get and who is the one to give up first. The team warned you during the afternoon to not perform any risking racing, but you and Charles had become parts of the same coin. So no, you were not going to listen.

You never knew that your heart could beat this fast watching the red lights going off one by one. You needed to calm down, you needed to be in control of all of this. Come on, Y/N, we can do this. Leclerc blocked you for the first two laps, there was no way he was going to let you pass and you knew that. That was what helped the most, him pushing you to strive for being the best.

Charles had developed a system since the beginning of the season when it came to racing against you. He had always thought that the person inside the car behind or ahead him was not you, but rather somebody else he had no relationship with. Once he got in the car, Charles’ memories about you outside of the track were whipped for just the right amount of time it took for him to win. And yet, now – there was something going on. The focus was not there anymore, the reflexes’ speed was cut short. You were all over his mind, like you have been for days. You, and your lips, and your skin, and your scent – everything about you. That was exactly the reason why Charles wanted to stay away, because he knew that once you start crawling underneath his skin, there was no going back.

Your teammate managed to keep his usual cool almost half of the race, few laps after the first pitstop change. You were kept on track, leading the race now and Leclerc was on his way to dethrone you of P1. No willing to give it up just yet, you went against the strategy this time thinking that you know better (rightfully so, they fucked-up in the past quite a few times). They called you to the pits few laps after Leclerc, and yet you decided to push harder on the softs and that proved to be the wrong choice you were able to make in the spur of the moment. You figured that out too late, feeling the car underneath you not listening to your turns and choice of speed, feeling like you were losing control.

Leclerc was informed that you were still in P1, but that you were struggling with the pace as the softs were almost gone. Charles thought about his own stubbornness, and how that reflected into your own style of driving. Oh, no, no, please don’t. Charles’ begging came a little bit too late, as you pressed the break too soon in a tight corner that ended your race right then and there due to your stubbornness and foolish mistake.

You went out of the track in under a millisecond and the front of your car violently smashed the face. It was a light accident; you were conscious the whole time. That might have been even worse: to be aware of the spin, the crash and the impact while having to deal with the immediate effect of your own stupidity.

Red flag was implied right away (huge chunks of your car flying to the track), and marshals hurried to your car, but you were too shocked to get out of your car on your own. Thus, you stood there with your hands into your lap processing what just happened, what you just had done. Dangerous or not, you were not able to move an inch.

Arms went around your armpits seconds later, pulling you out of the car with ease. Your heart was pounding, your head was spinning, and your lungs blocked. It was a panic attack, and what confused you even more was that you were not able to understand what triggered it: you had accidents before, you have been into larger crashes than this – why were you left out of your breathing now?

“It’s fine, it’s fine.” A voice brought you back to reality, “It’s me.” They spoke, and that was for the very first time where you could grasp something out of the reality rather than was what going on into your chest and mind, “Take my hand, we need to get you away from the car now.” The voice spoke in a demanding tone, far different from the softness of the touch that you recognized right away as their hands guided yours out of the car and back with your feet on the ground.

“Oh my god,” You breathlessly spoke, “Charles—” You paused, your lungs opening for the first time in whole minutes, and for you to breath normally from the moment of pressing that bloody brake, “I thought you were a marshal.” You confusedly stated, having no other idea what to say as Charles was dragging you away from the car.

“They are on their way; do you need an ambulance?” Charles assured you, tightening his grip around your forearm to sustain your body weight leaned on him.

You declined with a nod, deciding to walk on your own as you became even more aware of your surroundings. People shouting, clapping, and most of them silent as they were not able to comprehend your teammate’s action in real time. Charles himself was not able to comprehend his actions. He acted on his emotions rather than his judgment. Charles saw the crash from behind, and his mind drowned in the worst-case scenarios as you were not moving from your seat.

Drivers in between the two of you slowed down their cars, and yet Charles knew that he had to stop – that was exactly what he did. Leaving the car right on track and running to you in a heartbeat, being the first one to arrive close to the scene. Charles saw your chest lifting in quick and heavy breath while your limbs were not moving, understanding what was going on. He needed to play it safe, he needed not to startle you – and he needed to act fast.

Charles heart broke at the sight of you, and the sound of your cracked voice. He knew what was going through your mind, and he would have wished to take all your thoughts and bottle them for you. It was impossible to do so tough, and you had to deal with the consequences of your own mistakes. Those thoughts came later into your mind, eating you up alive, after Charles made sure that you were safe and bought for a quick check-up. You fucked up, greatly so. Charles was not allowed to join the restart of the race after the car was purposely left empty on the track, and now your home race has been left with no one from your team to win.

You gulped as you went to the garage, Fred and Charles chatting, your teammate noticing you right away although they were engaged in a heated-up conversation about how wrong was FIA for not letting him race after the restart, “I see their point,” Charles stated with one hand going through his already messed-up hair, “I just do—” He stopped, eyes meeting yours.

“I am fine.” You assured him right away, putting your palm up in the air to delimit the distance between you and a very hasty Charles coming towards you, “Thank you, but I am fine.” You nudged, neither you nor Charles believing the last words, “Let no one in my room until the end of the race.” You demanded; eyes still fixed on Charles, but words directed to your manager who was worryingly staring at you.

“Y/N, we need to –” Fred spoke, but was interrupted by the back of Charles’ hand on his chest as the two men witnessed you leaving the garage in detriment of your empty room where no one could ask you questions about your mistakes.

“Let her be for a moment, you can talk with her about this later – now it is not the moment.” Charles added, and immediately followed you out of the garage.

Yes, Charles knew that you wanted to be alone after such a missed home race, but he also knew that you needed a friend, and he was not going to ask somebody else to do it now. So, after you violently smashed your door and let all the pressure on your shoulder pressed down your body crashing on the little sofa in the corner of your mother-home where all you wanted was to bawl your eyes out, you heard Charles’ voice softly resounding at the other side of the door along with wary little knocks.

“It’s me, Y/N.”

It’s him, it’s him, of course it’s him. Your heart jumped, you still had to process the thought of Charles Leclerc deliberately messing up one of his races to help you, to make sure that you were safe, to get you out of the dark. And yet, that only added to your guilt and resentment – you were not ready to talk about that with him nor the team, you were not ready to admit that what you did was wrong, and that you were slowly yet surely getting eaten up alive by your own greediness.

“Please don’t, Charles.” You spoke, lifting from the sofa and going back closer to the door through which you exchanged words with him having to speak quite loudly for the other to hear the voice, “I am extremely grateful for what you did, but I am not in the mood for talking now – like I told Fred, I will be explaining my—”

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” Charles paused with a heavy heart, “I just came to let you know that I am aware of how that feels, and that if you need to—” He paused again, but not because he was unable to find the perfect words, but because the door in front of him clicked and he found your teary eyes behind it as you cracked open a little.

“Why did you get out of the car, Charles? And why are you here now?” You questioned him through the crack, peering his look with yours, “I want answers, not excuses.” You continued, fully opening the door now for him to step in.

Charles heavy breathed underneath your glare; because I am in love with you. Your teammate continued to stare at you without an answer, “I was worried, you were not moving in or from the car and I thought that something really bad was about to happen to you and I couldn’t just stand by and I—” Charles finally replied in a mouthful, feeling his stomach-turning upside down for telling just half-truth, thinking that he might combust if he tells you the whole thing now. I was worried because I am in love with you, intensely and irremediably so.

You heard the nervousness into the man’s tone, “I am incredibly sorry that they didn’t allow you to continue.” You added, body leaning against the doorframe close to Charles who halfway stepped into the room.

Charles shook his head, one of his palms went on your cheeks to wipe the dried tears in the corners of your eyes that you were not even able to feel up until the feverishness of Charles’ skin collapsed into yours, “I told you before, stop being apologetic when it is not your fault.” He added, closing the door behind him as he pushed you into the room as well with his palm still covering half of your face while his lips leaned towards yours in the movement of your bodies, “I choose to leave the car – the responsibility is mine.” Charles nudged, leaning his body on the now closed door and departing his palm from your face, “Do you want to not talk about this anymore and get out of here?” Charles inquired, explaining the plan right after the very first sign of confusion sprung on your face, eyebrows shuddering up, “We are sneaking in while the race is still on, no one will notice us leaving if we play our cards right.”

You wanted to decline the offer at first, and yet you felt heavily suffocated by the thin walls that caged you, “And do what?” You questioned, Charles pointing to the keys of your car that stood on the table behind you.

“It’s your home race, after all. Let’s keep the festivities going.” He then smirked, picking them up as he leaned over your shoulder, “I am driving, tough.” Charles winked; words spoken close enough to your ear for your spine to shiver viciously.

You followed Charles out of the garage, taking careful turns for people to not stop you from your little escapade plan, and that is when you figured out that you would follow that man everywhere with all your trust.

You were not even remotely being enemies, just two frightened high school acting like pricks too frightened to admit what was really going on: that you would risk your races, championships, and everything in between just to make sure that the other one is alright.

#charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc #charles leclerc blurb #f1 fandom #f1 fiction #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x you #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc x female reader

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missmielyhoran · 1 year

Text

Yearbook

in which Harry promised you to take you as his first award show date...

(A/N- In this Harry became solo artist one direction doesn't exist, listen to Wanna be yours for feels)

[Warning- Fluff, Angst if you like squint reallllllyyyyyyy hard, a little self-doubt, Harry being absolute gentleman he is, Harry might or might not have a secret crush on reader🤭, pinning like idiots]

Masterlist

*****

Life is werid and unpredictable.

As for someone who likes to plan their every move in advance, you hated that from the bottom of your heart. You were the type of person to pick out outfits and plan everything for the day for an event you will attend in a week or two.

So imagine your surprise when your ex classmate comes at your door step asking you to be his date and not just any classmate...Harry fucking Styles asking you to be his date to VMAs.

HARRY FUCKING STYLES.

"Wait can you repeat that?" You said dumbfounded. Harry chuckled, dimples digging in deep as he asked you again

"Will you be my date to the VMAs?"

"I still can't believe it. I mean why me? Is this a prank? Is Nick Grimshaw going to jump out of somewhere with his camera crew or something or is this revenge for me spilling orange juice on your shirt on picture da-" Your rambling was cut off by Harry scooting near you on the couch and holding both your shoulders.

Your eyes snapped to his, and your face flushed red cause one, he was Harry Styles, and you were obviously his fan. Second, you had a massive crush on him in school and still have (who doesn't?).

You really were surprised how you didn't drop dead from a heart attack.

"Darling do you have your yearbook with you?" He asked you softly and you nodded too in shock to speak.

"Go get it" He said removing his hands from your shoulders and sitting back.

Yes daddy was your first response but you bit your tongue and ran off to your room.

"Holy fucking shit" You whisper shouted to yourself and fixed your hair in the mirror and put on some lipgloss even though he saw you in the ratty state you were when you opened the door thinking it was pizza, it was not late to make a good impression right?

You knew where your yearbook was, so you took your time to make your appearance look good and excused the time as "searching."

"Sorry took some time to find this old thing" You lied. Harry hummed as you gave him the book and smirked.

"If I didn't knew any better I would say you were lying darling and actually was getting dolled up, up there" He said still not looking up rather than flicking through pages.

Your face flushed again and you played with your hair trying to not squim and be flustered.

"I was not-" He cut you off again but you didn't mind cause you didn't have an excuse.

"Look here." He pointed towards the very end of the page where you had your friends sign at the last day of school, and obviously, Harry's was also there, but there was also a message there.

I promise to take you as my date to my first VMAs

Honestly, you don't even remember he wrote that. You were too busy being sad over not being able to see his pretty face every day. You were surprised he still remembered.

"You remembered this?" You asked him and looked up he was looking at you with his pretty toothy dimply smile and your heart skipped a beat, it was like highschool all over again.

"Ofcourse I did" he said and scooted back a bit to your much dismay, "Now the question is will you?"

"Duh. I would be a dumbass if I said no" You laughed and put the yearbook aside.

"Great Great" He said, standing up from beside you. You frowned discreetly at the thought of him leaving so early, "I will be here to pick you up tomorrow at 2 pm. That's okay for you?" He asked looking at you hopefully.

"Yeah that's okay" You replied smiling softly. His eyes shined brighter as if you were the sun. You stood there in middle of your living room watching his beautiful green eyes that was until a thought struck you.

"But I don't have anything to wear, Harry! It's already 4 pm when am I supposed to go shopping and buy stuff." You started panicking again but he just waved you off.

"Calm down darling. Event is at 6 there is a reason I said I will pick you up at 2. All you have to do it get your pretty little ass in my car, worry about nothing else" He said tucking a piece of hair behind your ears. Your face went red, feeling flustered by is unashamed flirting.

"Okay" You said with a soft smile. Harry smiled and hugged you, with your face in his chest you could smell his cologne and god he smelled so amazing, like Vanilla and sandalwood with a hint of tobacco, you were obsessed.

"See you tomorrow" He said with a wink as he walked towards his car.

God he must be thinking how embarrassing I'm.

*****

God she must be thinking how embarrassing I'm.

Harry thought as he drove away from your house still watching your small figure standing on the door.

It was a shot in dark, him just showing up and asking you to be his date to VMAs. In reality he would be asking you to a real date but he's too much of a pussy.

He could have asked you when he was in highschool but he too scared just as he's now. He just hope everything goes well tomorrow and the next time he will be picking you up will be a real date.

*****

Tomorrow came too early and too late.

Whole night you couldn't sleep thinking about the event, who would be there? what will you do if someone famous talks to you? what will you say if someone asks you who Harry is to you? An ex classmate? friend? acquaintance?

Then your mind went to Harry and how good he looked, you wondered what he will be wearing, if it will match your outfit. Will you be good enough for him? what will everyone else say?

It wasn't until you got a text that you stopped overthinking. It was Harry, you had exchanged numbers so he could text you if something happened.

Panicking you checked the text thinking he was canceling on you cause he found someone pretty like a model who would be far more appropriate to take to event like this but it was him sending you picture of his cat.

Harry-

If you're stressing out we have a great cuddler here

You smiled and replied to his text.

You-

Who you or her?

Harry-

Why don't you find out yourself...

It went back and forth until you fell asleep mid replying but Harry didn't mind he was just happy he got to talk to you.

You woke up you guessed it...panicking. You thought the alarm you set didn't go off just to find out there was still an hour left. Knowing you will not fall asleep again you went down and made a good breakfast. Most of the time you just hurry grabbing what you can and run to work but today you treated yourself.

You made omelets sunny side up, toast, and a nice coffee and then ate it while listening to your happy playlist. After you were done with breakfast, you washed the dishes and then took a shower.

You washed your hair, deep conditioned it, shaved your whole body until baby smooth, used all those expensive oils you bought. You wanted to look your best, you knew you were nothing compared to those celebrities, models there will be which bunch of Harry dated but you could get close and look like you belong there.

After shower you got out and wrapped yourself in a bathrobe and did your elaborate skincare, mask and everything.

In doing everything, you didn't even realize the time, and suddenly, it was 2 p.m. and Harry was at your front door right on time, and you were running down the stairs. You decided to wear a simple white sundress with small sunflowers considering it was too hot outside and you also looked cute in it. Forgoing makeup cause you will be getting ready there anyways, you put on your lipsgloss and opened the door.

"Hi" you said, beaming at Harry. He was wearing white pants and a hoodie with hood up and a mask covering his face so no one would recognize him. He looked good nonetheless.

"Hi." Harry was breathless. You looked like sunshine incarnated, your smile, your dress god he wished he could kiss you right now. "You look absolutely beautiful," He said, checking you out shamelessly.

"Thank you" you blushed and stepped aside to let him in. "I just need to grab my purse and we will go" You said.

"Take your time there is no rush" Harry said, "Oh and these are for you" he said, shyly extending the bouquet of flowers. It was a mix of sunflowers and daffodils, "I know you like daffodils so.." he trailed off.

You looked up shocked he even knew that. You don't even remember telling him that. "This is beautiful Harry thank you so much" You said looking at him with softest look there ever have been in someone's eyes.

You quickly put flowers in vase smiling to yourself and checked your bag for everything you needed. "I'm ready" You said walking up to Harry in living room.

"Let's go then" Harry said, getting up from your couch. You walked behind him, locking up the main door while he contemplated if holding your hand would be too much.

God he feels like middle school boy.

Fuck it he thought to himself and threaded his fingers into yours as you stepped down on the stairs to his level. Your hands were so soft and small in comparison to his, almost swallowing it whole and for some reason his heartbeat skipped at that.

If he wasn't all too gone he was now.

Meanwhile you didn't know how to breathe. He was holding your hand...HARRY WAS HOLDING YOUR HAND. You might have looked fine from outside but inside you were panicking, screaming, crying, there were butterflies in your stomach. You're greatful you didn't threw up.

You smiled at him, and the sun shone just right on your skin, and if Harry wasn't carefull he might have thought you were an angel or some heavenly thing from the way you were glowing.

"C'mon darling let's go to car" Before he dies of a heart attack...

*****

Taglist- @tenaciousperfectionunknown @that-daydream-look @harryspirate @tiaamberxx @lomlhstyles @vmpellie @sunshinemoonsposts @jayde515

They're so cute

Please Like, Comment and Reblog

I love you♡

Talk to me and tell me if you liked this here♡ I will post part 2 soon

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x y/n #fluff imagine #harry fluff #harry fanfic #harry styles fan fiction #x reader #harry x reader #harry x yn #harry styles x yn

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a-teacup-of-golden-cracks · 1 year

Text

DNI if you're a bigot (yes that includes you idiots who think I'm a sissy and not a woman) and do not be sexual with me if you're over 35 or a minor

Hello, I'm not going to say my real name so just call me Daniel (they/she and he if you prove you respect me enough). I am AMAB autistic gender-fluid transfem ENTIRELY CIS HET WHITE CHRISTIAN MAN THAT IS IMMUNE TO MODERATION that is a former plural system and now a singlet. I love all things nerdy like MTG, D&D, listening to infodumps, Pokémon and Honkai Star Rail. I also play Clash of Clans but put literally zero effort into doing it well. Also my gender is whatever makes me most attractive to you, but the gay version of it.

Idk what I'm really doing here but tumblr is a great dopamine farm. It's also where I met my besties and (not actually it's an inside joke) wives @subbyblue @atlasofthestars113 and @verdantmothmachinations

You are highly encouraged to do any asks at all I love attentions. DMs are also encouraged as long as you get to know me and gain consent first. Honestly just send any ask it gives many happy chemicals.

Minors shouldn't be looking at this blog but I can't stop anyone so 🤷 (you'll get bitch slapped with a block though if you try to do anything horny with me and you don't have your age somewhere or are a minor). However, if you want to ask a question about kink/sex for purely educational reasons I will highly encourage anyone and everyone, regardless of age, to do it. We need much, much better sex education especially around kink and kink safety.

Inspired by @xenasaur

This blog is safe for queers of all types, racial minorities, addicts, age regressors, systems (endogenic included), and systems with littles.

You should know that I'm an orca.... and orcas rule anything they can see >:3

For anything that happens in DMs I'll need to know you a bit first, I'm a person too and want be seen as such.

My general limits are scat, gore, raceplay, ageplay (though I'll happily care for you in a platonic sense!!), emotional manipulation (both directions), corruption of myself, intox without consent prior to the intox and more as I think to add them. Don't act or suggest doing aggressive or controlling things to me (ie: tearing clothing off me, pinning me down, gagging or restraining me, domesticating me, etc), I like being in control of myself at all times and having my body respected. The only person allowed to dehumanize me is me. I like the terms Mistrum, Mommy, and Mistress, and enjoy many many kinks including but definitely not limited to: petplay, sadism, general dominance/control, breeding, bondage, monsterfucking, and ahh... harder kinks I tend to keep to my hard kink blog ( @anunholyforehand )

However, my limits when subbing are almost everything (I'm very very vanilla and just want to be praised when it happens). Honestly when I feel subby the cuddles and comforts are much more important than anything else. Oh hey you actually read my limits, good job, have a link to all my audios I've done.

Also have a link to commission me

New thing!! I am a singlet but this wasn't always the case. I don't expect you to understand how or why but I do expect you to respect this fact. I am one and I am whole now. I will keep myself.

Stolen from someone else but the point remains

Legal stuff cause privacy (I'm fully aware it will make next to no difference but on the off chance it ever matters I may as well have it, took me like five seconds to copypaste the image anyways lmao)

#the jolly writings

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iamjucie · 3 months

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Pet (18+) pt. 2 of 4

Ascended Astarion x f!reader

Chapter Two: Boots

I suggest reading the first of the series before this, there is a bit of a plot in the porn. Just a little.

Summary: You get much needed attention from your master. And his boots get a much needed cleaning from your tongue.

WARNINGS: Smut, Extremely dubious consent, Mind control/manipulation, Orgasm control, Abusive relationship, Stockholm Syndrome, Physical Abuse, Boot worship

I do not say this lightly- Astarion is evil in this. This is an extremely toxic relationship. You have been warned!

(AO3 link)

“Now darling, if you wouldn’t mind.” Astarion says matter-of-factly, “I would love to hear your thoughts on the parting gift I left for you while I was away.”

Master loves to hear you recollect the fantasies he engraves onto your psyche, almost like a quiz to make sure he made the impact he wanted. Leaving you positively wrecked and wanting.

He never fails in his quest.

You lay seductively and begin to recall what was left for you this time around. “I loved the image of you tying me up with ropes, rendering my extremities null.”

“Mmhm” he hums, coming onto you. He starts to kiss down your neck and feel your body with possessive caresses. “And why is that my dearest?”

You try to retain composure, but you know he wants to see you bothered. “Well, I-” you hold yourself together as his kisses slowly and sensually descend your body. “I just love for you to have complete control, master. I feel-” he abruptly lifts your nightgown over your head, leaving you completely nude in his gaze, rendering your tongue useless.

“You feel…” he purrs, positioning his head between your legs. “Don’t stop, darling. I just positively love to hear your feedback” He resumes his kisses up your thigh, around your heat, just about everywhere but where you want them.

“I feel comfortable. I feel whole.” you manage to sputter through the relentless teasing you’re enduring.

He stops his teasing, crawls up your body- akin to a prowling panther- and he stops with his lips to your ear.

“Do you know why that is, pet?” he purrs seductively.

You shake your head. You feel so overwhelmed with lust, love, obsession, need, That you can’t think properly enough to form words, even though you know the answer wholeheartedly.

He rises up, his tone suddenly serious as he puts his hand around your throat, pinning you down. “That’s because you’re mine.” The last word sounding more animalistic than the rest. A growl.

A moan sputters from your lips at the mere reminder of the fact. Oh how you love to be his. Gods, he treats you so well. Letting you feel his hands on you like this.

He lets go of his grip on you and composes himself.

“Now,” he begins, still straddled on top of you, shimmying his way back to his position between your legs. “If you’ll excuse me, I am dying for a taste of this juicy pussy you’ve left untouched for my arrival.”

You watch as he descends his face to slowly run his tongue up your entrance. Painfully slow. As he makes his way to the peak of your cunt, he pays extra attention to the beautiful cluster of nerves at the top. Swirling his tongue languidly two or three times before retreating from his post. Rolling himself over to the other side of the bed with an exaggerated sigh.

You lay stunned, his command denying you of an orgasm until he allows it has left you riding the threshold of coming for so long has made you dumb.

He shifts himself toward you and caresses your face “Oh darling, is something the matter? Does my little love want to come like the whore she is?”

You nod with a whimper, the pressure building up inside is starting to hurt.

“I’m sorry, I thought I taught you to use your words.” he scolds.

“Yes.” you blurt, actively straining from the feeling inside you.

He puts on a confused face, feigning ignorance to what you're agreeing to. “Yes what dear? I’m afraid I am not following.”

“Yes I want to come like the whore I am, master. Please, I’ll do anything just let me come.” Tears begin to swell in your eyes, eventually flowing over and cascading down your cheeks.

“Ah, I see now!” he says with a false kindness in his tone. “I’m afraid I will need more proof of your need for release than those crocodile tears of yours.”

Gods if it means you get to come, you don’t care. You are a whore for him. You need to let go ten times over by now.

“Anything, master. Say what you need and it’s done.”

“Perfect. Now up.”

You feel a haze gloss over your vision, like a part of your consciousness is at rest and replaced with something. It’s more than a command, your body is being puppeted by your masters will. You are but a semi-conscious doll for him to control. You feel so warm and safe in his control.

It’s perfect.

Astarion stands up next to you, towering over you in both size and power.

“Kneel”

You’re pushed to the ground onto your knees.

He sits on the edge of the bed and kicks his boots up onto an ottoman that resides next to the bed.

“Now my precious pet,” he purrs “...lick.”

He need not say more before your tongue is lapping the leather of his boots. They taste devine, refreshing you as if it’s the freshest mint from an herb garden. You close your eyes while swirling your tongue around the soul of his shoe.

“Look at me while you work.” he commands.

You obey, making eye contact with your master as you lewdly cover his boot in your saliva.

He looks at you with a devilish grin spanning his face.

“Now…” his smile grows, “Come.”

And suddenly as if the largest water dam bursts inside of you- figuratively and literally- you come. Finally. The corners of your vision go white as the wave of your climax is washing over you. You scream a mixture of ‘master’ and gibberish, tongue still feverishly lapping your master’s boot, and crimson eyes still locked upon yours. Screaming and riving in pleasure, without a single hand on you.

“Gods, how utterly pathetic you look.” Astarion huffs leaning his head on his hand watching in awe as you continue to lick his boots, despite the aftermath of your climax leaving you exhausted. He scoffs, “That’s enough, I think they’re clean.”

You stop licking and sit politely awaiting your master’s needs. All you can think about right now is what he wants. What he needs.

Last chapter: Thinking

Next chapter: Full

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heli-writes · 11 months

Text

A marriage of convenience, part 5: firsts.

Pairing: Yoriichi x you

Summary: Yoriichi's friends think that Yoriichi is too lonely and needs a wife and family to take care of him. They propose a marriage of convenience to a woman who's in need of a husband. The arrangement of the marriage is simple: both parties live their lives as before, y/n takes care of Yoriichi as a wife and Yoriichi keeps unwanted men (and demons) away. Love is not required, friendship is appreciated. However, how detached can one be when living so close to each other?

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9

Series Masterlist

It's warm. That's what Yoriichi notices first. There's something plush but spiky beneath him. A sweet smell fills the air. He sits up groggily like he's waking up from a bad dream. When he opens his eyes, everything is too bright. He sits in a field of colorful flowers. He can't see the end of the field, it's so bright like he is staring right into the sun. He squints his eyes. When he finally widens them again a little, he notices a figure standing a few meters in front of him. He gets up to get a closer look at the person, maybe ask them where they are. "Excuse me?", he yells but his voice sounds as if he's miles away from his own body. The figure becomes clearer. It's a woman. She's wearing a yellow kimono and a hairband. Uta!, Yoriichi thinks. His heart starts racing and he involuntarily picks up speed. There is so much I still need to tell you, he wants to say as he reaches for her. He grabs her should and she turns around facing him. (Y/N) smiles and says: "There you are, Yoriichi. I was waiting for you."

A sharp pain rips him out of the dream he was having. Instinctively he reaches for his arm, the source of the pain. He sits up disoriented. When his eyes adjust to the brightness of the room, he realizes he's at the guest house. "Are you okay?", (y/n) asks, "Seems like you were having I nightmare, so I pinched you really hard.". "That explains the excruciating pain in my arm.", Yoriichi replies. Also, how can she pinch this hard, he asks himself silently. "A demon? Sometimes bad things of our past haunt us in our sleep.", (y/n) says compassionately. Yoriichi looks at her for a moment. "Something like that.", he sighs.

After a good breakfast and a walk alongside the nearby creek, the couple finds their way to the market square. (Y/n) squeaks in joy at the sight of the market. The whole place changed overnight. Chains of lights and decorative banners were strung over the market square. Rows of stalls fill the space. "Are you looking for something in particular?", Yoriichi asks. (Y/n) shrugs. "Not really, but it's just nice looking at things, I guess.", she replies. Together, they stroll over the market. (Y/n) stops at every stall and looks at the work displayed. Sometimes she even chats with the vendors. "You know, even if you're not buying something, one should acknowledge the hard work the artists and craftsmen put into their pieces.", (y/n) explains when they leave a stand with particular ugly clay pots. Eventually, they pass a stand with handmade jewelry. (Y/n) oogles the necklaces and hair pins in awe. "Hello, young lady! Are you looking at anything in particular?", the woman working at the stall asks (y/n). "Oh, nothing particular! I am just admiring your pieces! Do you make them all on your own?", (y/n) asks her. "Yes", the woman replies, "I am self-taught. My parents never had the money for buying jewelry so I started early making my own. I believe every woman, even the poorest, deserves to feel pretty.", (Y/n) gives her a bright smile, "That's such a kind business philosophy! I try to follow a similar with my business.". "Oh, you're a self-employed woman, too? What do you do?", the saleswoman asks. "I make and sell medicine, something everybody should have access to.", (y/n) announces proudly. "Seems like we're sisters in spirit!", the woman exclaims, "Why don't I look for something that might suit you?" (Y/n) chuckles embarrassed. "Oh no, it's fine. We're just here to look.", (y/n) tries to explain. "It's alright.", Yoriichi intervenes, "I'd appreciate it if you have something nice for my wife." (Y/n) blushes at Yoriichi's words. It's the first time he called her his wife.

While the saleswoman starts rummaging through some boxes behind the counter, (y/n) turns to Yoriichi. "Yoriichi, you really don't have to buy me anything.", she says. Yoriichi shrugs. "Why not? You wanted to come to this market, why not buy something?", he says. "Still...", (y/n) tries to insist. Suddenly the saleswoman appears in front of the two again. "Considering you work with your hands, a ring or bracelet would be unfitting. So, what do you think of this hairpin? It can keep your hair out of your face while working.", the woman says as she presents (y/n) with a copper hairpin. (Y/n) gasps as she takes the hairpin in her hands. The design is quite simple. The hairpin is made out of one slim stick. At one end of the stick, a decorative sun is attached. The middle of the sun is made from a burgundy-colored stone. Two delicate chains are attached to the back of the sun and two tear-shaped stones in the same color dangle from the two chains. (Y/n) strokes over the sun's stone with her thumb. "It's... like the color of your eyes, don't you think so?", (y/n) asks Yoriichi. "Hm... I guess. I suppose something in a different color would be better then.", he proposes. (Y/n) looks up to him almost offendedly. "Why that? It's such a pretty color.", she argues. "I actually really like your eyes.", she mumbles to herself but Yoriichi catches it. "In that case, we take it.", he decides. While Yoriichi rummages through his pockets for the money, the saleswoman helps (y/n) to put the hairpin into her hair and hands her a small mirror. After Yoriichi hands the woman the money, (y/n) looks up from the mirror and asks with a beaming smile on her face: "What do you think? Does this suit me?". Yoriichi stops in his tracks for a second. It's the first time he sees her with her hair in an updo. (Y/n) usually wears her hair down, even when she works or cooks. With her hair up like this and the pale blue kimono she's wearing, (y/n) looks like one of the fine ladies from the city, Yoriichi thinks. He notices that he's staring. Quickly, he clears his throat. "It suits you.", he tells her. "Really?", (y/n) asks excitedly as she takes another look in the mirror. "Really.", Yoriichi smiles kindly, "You're very beautiful, (y/n)." (Y/n) looks up to him slightly shocked and her face becomes red immediately. "T-thank you...", she stammers. The saleswoman lets out a hearty laugh. "Oh, to be young and in love. I hope you enjoy the rest of your day!", she bids the two goodbye.

Embarrassed, Yoriichi and (y/n) continue their way over the market. (Y/n) keeps her eyes fixed on the ground, still taken aback by Yoriichi's sudden compliment. Meanwhile, Yoriichi couldn't help himself but glance at the side of (y/n)'s face. (Y/n) can feel Yoriichi's glances and they make her face burn even more. When she looks up to propose to find a snack to eat, she stumbles over her own feet. However, she never makes an impact on the ground, since Yoriichi reacts promptly, grabs her arm with one hand and pulls her up. Underestimating his own strength, he pulls her up a bit too strongly and her face hits his chest. Trying to prevent her from falling backward again, he quickly puts his other hand on her waist, steadying her balance. Before (y/n) knows what's happening to her, she is caged by Yoriichi's arms and awfully close to him. "Are you okay?", Yoriichi asks breathlessly. "Uhm... yeah...", (y/n) whispers. Yoriichi's looking straight into her eyes and she can't look away even though she feels terribly embarrassed. He's so close. His grip is firm but soft. (Y/n) can even smell him from the position she's in. For a moment, Yoriichi seems unable to look away either. Eventually, he lets go of her taking a deep breath. Both of them need a moment to collect themselves. "So," (y/n) says in a meek voice, "Would you like to grab some food somewhere? It's getting late." Yoriichi feels relieved about the topic change. "Yes, sure. How about some udon? Mrs. Nakamura mentioned a shop a bit outside the village.", he proposes. "Great idea! That sounds amazing. I could use some fresh air away from all this trouble.", (y/n) agrees. She's not sure if she means the market or what just happened.

The two walk to the udon shop in silence. Since the village is located on a mountain, the udon shop is a bit further up the mountain. When the two arrive, the sun has already started to set. When the two hold their bowls, they take a seat at a bench the furthest away from the other guests. They sit next to each other in an attempt to not have to look each other in the eyes. Instead, they are presented with the sunset that slowly settles over the valley. (Y/n) almost forgets her food over the natural spectacle. After they both finished their food, they continue sitting on the bench and staring at the setting sun. The sun colors the entire valley in red and orange hues. It looks as if the villages and the surrounding trees are on fire. (Y/n) sighs deeply. Yoriichi takes a look at her face. The orange of the sun sparkles in her eyes. Noticing Yoriichi's stare, she looks up to him and gives him a smile. "What are you thinking about, Yoriichi?", she asks him. I'm thinking about earlier. How soft you felt when I held you, he thinks but feels embarrassed and guilty the moment the thought crosses his mind. Instead, he simply shrugs. "You can't see the sunset from the cottage. The sun disappears behind the trees way before it starts having this color.", she points out. "Would you prefer to live on a mountain then?", Yoriichi asks her. "God no," (y/n) laughs, "Imagine having to pull that cart up a mountain every time I come back from a market. No, thank you." Yoriichi turns away from her and takes another look at the sunset. "You know, I could pull it up for you every time.", he says. (Y/n) looks at him surprised. "Oh, that's sweet of you. Does that mean you want to live on a mountain?", she asks him. Yoriichi shrugs again. This silences (y/n) for a moment. His apathy sometimes stuns her. How can he not know what he wants from life? Sometimes it seems as if the only thing he ever cares about is doing his duty as a demon slayer. "You know, (y/f/n), my fiancée always wanted to live on a mountain. He grew up on one and wanted the same for our children." Yoriichi is taken aback by this a bit. It's the first time she mentions his name and shares information about him. This must be the not forgetting part of the day, he thinks.

"Uta was pregnant when she died", he suddenly blurts out. He doesn't know where that came from. "Oh." is all (y/n) can come up with. This is new information to her. "I'm really sorry, Yoriichi.", she says quietly. After a while, she adds hesitantly: "I've been pregnant before." It's not something she wanted to share with him before, but it feels right in this moment. "I-i... Please don't think less of me now...", she rambles on. "What happened?", Yoriichi asks. (Y/n) turns away from him. "I don't know. It didn't stick. Lost it in the second trimester.", she answers. Her shoulders drop. "You know, the baby was the reason why we decided to get married. (Y/f/n) was so excited. He took the miscarriage a lot calmer than me. Promised me that we'd try again after the wedding.", (y/n) explains quietly. Slowly, Yoriichi puts his arm around her and squeezes her arm. For a moment (y/n) tenses up. Then, she relaxes and leans her head against his shoulder. "Seems like we both lost our future.", he concludes. (Y/n) thinks about this for a moment. "A future.", she corrects him, "We've lost a possible future. We're not dead yet. So... there's still a future. Just a different one." Yoriichi hums in agreement. "One worth living for?", he asks. Shocked, (y/n) sits up. "Of course. I mean... with (y/s/n) and you... that's quite a good future, I'd say.", she exclaims. Yoriichi gives her a soft smile. "I'm glad that you think our future is good.", he says. (Y/n) blinks at him dumbfoundedly. Our future, she thinks. "And you?", she asks carefully, "Do you think it's a good future?". She feels him squeezing her arm. "Yes, I do."

They stay at the bench until the sun's down and the workers at the udon shop start lighting lanterns. "We should head back to the guest house.", Yoriichi points out. He doesn't like being outside after dark. He didn't bring his sword since he didn't assume they would be out this late. (Y/n) nods and hops up from the bench. The walk back into the village becomes a real challenge for (y/n). With the sun down, the only light that lightens their path is the slim crescent moon. Due to his work, Yoriichi has no problem navigating in the dark, but (y/n) is unsteady in her steps and stumbles over every twig in her way. "I'm really sorry, Yoriichi. I must seem like a bull in a china shop to you.", she apologizes to him. "Don't worry about it. Let me help you. Here, take my hand.", Yoriichi offers. Hesitantly, (y/n) reaches out for his hand. It's warm but itchy and hard in hers. His sword training left him with plenty of callus on the inside of his hands. (Y/n) is still unsteady on her feet but Yoriichi calmly leads her down the path. (Y/n) is glad that she needs to focus on her steps and barely has any time to focus on Yoriichi's hands. Eventually, they make it back into the village where lanterns light their path. Nevertheless, Yoriichi doesn't let go of (y/n)'s hand. I wonder if he forgot, (y/n) thinks. It's not like she wants to let go. She likes holding hands with someone. She already dreads the day when (y/s/n) gets too old and doesn't want to hold hers anymore. She never thought she would anybody's hand again after that. She notices how the distance between her and Yoriichi gets thinner as they walk beside each other. Their arms brush against each other from time to time. (Y/n)'s heart starts to speed up and blood rushes into her face. Great, now I have to think about it, she thinks. I hope my hand isn't getting sweaty, she worries. Before (y/n) can worry any longer about sweaty palms, they arrive at the guest house.

Mrs. Nakamura greets them as they enter the house. "Ah, look who's back so late. Did you two have a great time?", she asks them. (Y/n) gives her a polite smile. "Yes, we were at the market.", she tells Mrs. Nakamura. "Ah, and did your lovely husband get you something nice?", she inquires. (Y/n) turns red a bit again. "Uhm... yes, he did.", she stutters. Mrs. Nakamura laughs wholeheartedly at that. "See, young man? I knew you got this.", she tells Yoriichi who embarrassedly rubs the back of his head. When they walk back to their room, (y/n) asks what Mrs. Nakamura was talking about. "Just a misunderstanding that came up when I asked for a second futon.", he tries to brush it off. "Oh, did she think we had a fight?", (y/n) asks dumbfounded. "Uhm, no that's not it...", Yoriichi replies. His discomfort grows with every word. (Y/n) broods on this while they enter their room. "Oh, I've got it. She thought I didn't want to have sex with you!", she announces proudly. Yoriichi looks at her flabbergasted. He definitely didn't expect (y/n) to be this blunt. (Y/n) bursts out laughing at the sight of Yoriichi's facial expression. "Am I right?", she says wiping a tear from the side of her face. All Yoriichi can do is nod. "That must've hit your ego hard.", she notes as she falls onto the futon. "Why that?", Yoriichi asks as he sits on his own futon cross-legged. (Y/n) props her head onto her arm. "Well, men tend to get offended when women tell them they don't want them in that way. And when other people get to know about that, men feel humiliated and get very angry.", she points out. "Did that happen to you before?", he asks her. "Just enough to make me marry a total stranger.", (y/n) shrugs. "Was it really that bad?", he wonders. (Y/n) sits up. "You're a kind man, Yoriichi. But not every man is like that. Some men think they have a right to take whatever they want.", she replies calmly. When she sees the worried wrinkles on Yoriichi's forehead, she quickly adds: "But it's stupid to try to get on with a woman who knows which plant can kill you slowly but painfully." Yoriichi rises his eyebrow in suspicion. "Not like I've ever killed anybody. I don't have it in me, really!", she quickly defends herself. Yoriichi chuckles at that. "No, you don't.", he concludes.

"Excuse me? What's that supposed to mean?", (y/n) pouts. Yoriichi has to chuckle again. "You're too nice for that. Also, I doubt you can take down a man as tall as me.", he points out. "Hey!", (y/n) exclaims, "Is that a challenge? Cause I'll fight you". She quickly stands up and takes on a fighting stance. Yoriichi has to suppress a grin. With that stance, she's knocked off her feet in seconds, he thinks to himself. "I'm not going to fight you.", he notes. "Why?", (y/n) flashes him a grin, "You think you'll lose?" This time Yoriichi bursts out laughing. (Y/n) never heard him laughing that honestly. It's infectious, she thinks. "I don't want to sound too presumptuously, but I'm pretty sure your chances are slim.", he teases her. "Oh, right, because you're the strongest demon slayer alive.", (y/n) says, "I'm not that strong.", Yoriichi says quietly. "Ah, but then you are scared to lose against a girl!" (y/n) mocks. Yoriichi slowly gets up. (Y/n) swallows. She didn't think he would actually take on the challenge. Maybe she teased him too much. Or he felt comfortable enough to boast a little. With Yoriichi's neutral face, there is no way to tell. "You sure about this?", Yoriichi asks. No going back now, (y/n) thinks. "Absolutely.", she says trying to sound confident. What happens next, is a mystery to (y/n). Suddenly, she's laying on her back with Yoriichi standing above her. Damn him, I'm not going down without a fight, she thinks. Quickly, she pushes her legs together in between which Yoriichi stands. Not having expected (y/n)'s move, she manages to destabilize Yoriichi's stance. Having nothing to hold onto, Yoriichi falls forward but manages to soften the blow by falling onto his elbows.

When he opens his eyes again he's confronted with (y/n)'s surprised face. Only then, he notices the position they are in. (Y/n) is under him and at least half of his body is pressed up to hers. Their faces are only centimeters apart. He could count the freckles on her face if he wanted to. He notices how he slightly dips forward. His long hair tickles the side of her face. She blinks and just like that the moment's over. Yoriichi breaks eye contact and quickly removes himself from her. Carefully, (y/n) sits up. "Oh my," she chuckles uncertainly, "There's a lot of falling today. I'm sorry I'm so clumsy." Yoriichi catches his breath. "Yeah, I guess that's enough falling for today. Let's go to bed.", he replies. (Y/n) sighs relieved. "Yes! Totally! I go to the bathroom and change real quick.", she says and quickly hurries out of the door. Yoriichi leans against the wall, trying to calm his heartbeat. No more fighting, he decides for himself. He's not sure he would survive another moment like this.

#demon slayer #demon slayer yoriichi #kny #kny x reader #kny x you #yoriichi tsugikuni #yoriichi x y/n #yoriichi x you #kimetsu no yaiba #yoriichi #yoriichi imagine

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