#feat no glasses this time lmao
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I Got Reincarnated As A Server NPC In An Otome Game But A Capture Target Won’t Leave Me Alone (Yandere!Diluc Ragnvindr/Reader)
a/n: fasghadsa this is my thank-you fic for @poptartsthings for supporting my fics for the past year!!! thank you for the tips huhuhuhu ;;;—;;; hence, I wrote this diluc fic for *clears throat* "mommy milkers". Enjoy this self-aware yandere otome game!duke diluc ragnvindr!!!
unreliable synopsis: what if you got isekai-d in your favorite otome game and one of the Love Interests found out they aren’t a real person? (or, ya know, whatever the title said lmao)
"Bottoms up, Duke Ragnvindr!"
"No matter how enthusiastic you are, I remain inclined to think that this is a horrible idea, (Y/n)..."
Reluctantly swirling a small amount of fire-water while wearing gloves, the duke saw how the alcohol hardly made a wave. Unsatisfied, he diverted his attention and observed the NPC pour their drink.
"In all honesty, your grape juice is worth more than this, (Y/n)–"
"Shush!" With a flamboyant and dismissive wave, the generic common mob silenced one of the Main Characters. "Don't ruin the mood, now. I had to pull a few strings to get this bad boy right here. It’s such a shame that Mister “Best Boy” Albedo can't come, so we have to make sure I get my money’s worth off of these bottles. It’d be such a waste of francs."
"Wasted like the thousand francs wine you clumsily spilled last year?"
"Don't bring that up again, please."
"Why not?" He chuckled. "If you hadn't, I wouldn't have met you."
"If I hadn't, I would've been drinking with Villager B..." They muttered as they grabbed another glass from the cupboard.
He pretended not to have heard it.
They are both aware that their destinies follow different paths. No matter how hard one of them tries to walk next to the other, this cruel fate will separate them with a penalty that is even more agonizing than the last. All because (Y/n) was a real person, and Diluc was not.
Duke Diluc Ragnvindr is this game’s easiest route: the typical childhood friend who falls for the heroine– Princess Lumine– first. In this genre, he falls into the category of those love interests who are incredibly austere with themselves that they were unable to enjoy the small things in life outside work. Ultimately, he follows the cliche of protecting the heroine from harm until she remembers that they used to play together as children in the palace gardens. Which, in itself, is quite a feat since the duke was not a man many could befriend. Unless you count Chief Justice Ajax as his greatest comrade, then perhaps he could finally add item number 11 to his list of trusted people.
The “Duke of the South” only favored audiences for those he was willing to invest in— after all, he’s famously known for having a “good signature.” It may seem like a compliment for uneducated nouveau rich men, but those with an eye for Gaciean politics knew how much power he has as the head of the Department of Military Affairs. Tales about his on-and-off disputes with the Chief Ajax circled as frequently as Teyvat Time’s popular Paimon-The-Friendly-Fae’s comic strips. Some loved his obsession with national security whilst some were quick to call him a pampered weapon hoarder, but if there’s one thing everyone can agree it’s that they fear the southern duke.
Now, after introducing a political figure with crimson locks of hair and domineering combat prowess, it’s certainly a tough sell to introduce the last person left inside: (Y/n) (L/n).
Unremarkably, they’re merely an NPC from Xiangling’s Seaside Restaurant. They’ve “reincarnated” into this world fumbling about like a newborn until the chef offered a job. Fortunately, they were not completely helpless in the kitchen. They had shown off their managerial skills from their old job since day one. Since then, Xiangling had hoped to train them as the new manager, but (Y/n) preferred to take on some responsibilities gradually. After a few days had passed, they abruptly realized that they were "Server C," an NPC with only a character sprite and a scarcely distinguishable name. The red ribbon-theme outfit from their restaurant was the only thing that distinguished them from the other faceless workers. According to what they can recall, one of their tasks is to give the princess's order of candies while she flees from her overprotective retainer, Dainsleif. It was a tense moment in that common route since all three of the princess’ potential suitors were customers from different ends of the restaurant, which were Dainsleif, Kamisato Ayato, and, of course, Duke Ragnvindr.
… Unable to snap out of their initial shock after recognizing that this was one of the game’s CGs and seeing three attractive men inside the restaurant they work at, (Y/n) accidentally broke the script by spilling the wine on Duke Ragnvindr’s coat.
Since then, (Y/n) had trailed and followed the characters whenever they could for their amusement– often helping their favorite love interest, Albedo, set up the scene so they can view his "CGs" in real life. Due to their apparent lack of stalking skills, they had another off-script encounter with the duke whilst doing so. Instead of heading straight to North Gaciea as he had done in the game, he was delayed seven hours after he weeded (Y/n)’s hair out of the bushes they were hiding in. Their first meeting was horrid, and their second almost went in a similar direction. Almost.
Since (Y/n)’s lies were as visible as their head peeking out of their hiding spot, Diluc had them drink a truth potion to uncover why they were stalking the chief alchemist, however…
… Does the phrase “the truth is stranger than fiction” apply in this case when both the earth and the sky are nothing but lies?
Diluc put on a convincing poker face when they babbled about the game they live in, demonstrating both their objectives and, more critically, their in-game omniscience. Albedo is the only love interest who changes into a feral (and subjectively "hot") monster toward the end of the novel, thus (Y/n) was adamant that he be Princess Lumine's ultimate endgame—but going any further in their explanations would be deemed a "spoiler." Additionally, Albedo’s route could only be unlocked once you finished another character’s route first… and that character happened to be Diluc Ragnvindr himself.
———
“In layman’s terms… We are living in a complex romance novel-esque system, correct? And I am the ‘book’ people often recommend to start the series with first before moving on to the sequel?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“… and I am just a stepping stone for a happier ending? A pawn? A mere puppet for someone chasing a momentary cure for loneliness?”
“Well, it felt real to me when I played your route—”
“Perhaps, but feelings do not change what is real and what isn’t.” Diluc sighed, unsheathing his dagger to break off the ropes that held the server down.
(Y/n) traced their wrists, appreciating now how gentle he had been when he could’ve gone rougher.
“Diluc…”
He bit his lip. It pained him to hear the server call his name as if they knew him.
They spoke as if they were friends the whole time right after they just revealed that his life is a self-fulfilled prophecy of unrequited romance.
And it was insulting.
———
The two have come a long way since then. He lost his faux feelings for Lumine. After gaining self-awareness, Diluc had begun avoiding what occurs in the game’s plot under the NPC’s guidance. To improve Lumine's chances of acquiring Albedo's route, (Y/n) was more than happy to assist him, so they started exchanging chats that ranged from oblique threats to routine discussions only friends could have.
Even so, (Y/n)’s attempts were futile when Albedo revealed to both of them that he knew he’s also just a character since the day he was “created”, and that “I would greatly appreciate it if you stopped attempting to produce an inorganic chemistry between the protagonist and me.”
…The chief alchemist was a smart one for sure and his confrontation had sobered (Y/n) fully. Although Albedo will never be the princess’ endgame nor will he turn into an apocalyptic dragon, (Y/n) had earned his friendship and started treating the rest of the cast as people and not just characters.
Diluc gazed out the window.
It was late into the night and rain was falling. There was not a single domestic sound emanating from nearby homes, which was a wise choice since annoying harpies would have gathered at the sound of human noises. Birds accosted the drying trees and roofs as fog swept through the streets. With the exception of this seaside restaurant, most stores were noticeably closed. The downpour buried the sound of crashing waves just a few meters outside, so no one would have known that this was close to the beach.
"Huh," (Y/n) stared in the same direction. "Didn’t expect it to rain tonight. Guess you can't escape this cheap alcohol-tasting session, huh?"
In the course of his outdoor nightly training, the head of the Department of Military Affairs grew incredibly resilient against mere storms. "I don’t need an umbrella."
"Fair," they laughed, distinctly human compared to the usual polite chuckles he would hear from leeching nobles. "But oh, dear Duke, if you don't need an umbrella then why are you still here? Is it because you wanted to see me– w-wait hold on—I'm kidding— sit down!"
…
They reached for his arm, but try as they might—
their hand only passed through.
The two stiffened.
Diluc’s breath hitched.
That was proof.
Because of this scripted fate, a commoner like them can't even grasp his hand, let alone touch it. Not when the system outright denies the friendship they have.
An NPC like (Y/n) can’t remain friends with a main character like Diluc once they have fulfilled their role in their story.
Diluc was untouchable.
He closed his eyes. Just acknowledging this pains him.
They both sat back down.
Much like how Diluc had pretended not to hear their comment earlier, (Y/n) also pretended that nothing unreal occurred seconds ago.
"S... So, is there anything else you want with that?" They pointed at his glass. "We have a crap ton of limes and cranberry juice! Oh, but I'm not sure if it would taste that good if we mix it, haha."
He could practically hear them force that laughter right out of their throat. Diluc hurriedly swallowed the fire-water they offered him since neither could stand the awkward tension. Diluc cringed.
"Oh, sorry, was it too strong?" Many nobles who detained the duke with platitudes were met with sarcastic comments, but he never hated (Y/n)’s idea of small talk.
"It's fine." He spoke huskily.
"Does it need lime or any add ons–"
"It's fine."
"... Okay."
The silence was painfully awkward... Perhaps Diluc shouldn't have threatened Albedo to sit this one out. He wanted an opportunity to be alone with (Y/n), and this is far from what he had hoped would turn out. Diluc's forehead creased as he held back what could've been a long somber sigh.
"How's work?" He asked.
"Oh, it's been alright."
That doesn't sound promising. This was a trick up his sleeves to snap them back to a cheery mood. Usually, they’d start rambling about their regulars and watch how endearingly entertaining they are. There should’ve been a quip about Itto’s TCG losing streak or how Kunikuzushi and Kazuha were arguing again over where they should place their tent for their next travels. This time, (Y/n) barely uttered a phrase.
They continued, "I don't suppose I could ask you the same, given that most of your work is confidential–"
"The Holy Kingdom’s crown prince visited North Gaciea today."
"Oh?"
Finally, he could see them smile for just a bit. Of course, they’d be interested to hear about Zhongli since he was the poster boy for the game’s sequel. Fortunately for Diluc, (Y/n) never got to play the game.
"That's wonderful! I was waiting for an English Localization of the sequel for soooo long! Was he hot? I bet he’s gorgeous as fu–"
"No."
"No...?"
"I mean." Diluc cleared his throat. It's barely even a shot of fire-water and he's already getting impulsive. "I meant that I cannot discuss the matter further. I am not like Kaeya. This is confidential, like what you had said."
"Ah..." Their eyebrows furrowed "I see…"
Why did they sound so disappointed?
Is (Y/n)… bored of him?
Diluc digressed, "how's Dainsleif?"
"Dain?" Their nose scrunched. "I haven't seen that poor guy for weeks now. He’s probably escorting Princess Lumine to Justice Ajax’s territory like in the game. Why?"
"Kamisato Ayato?"
"Ah, he ordered a crate of Dango milk yesterday," they laughed softly. "I'm amazed at how that man is barely affected by the script. I mean, I guess that’s to be expected when your route can only be unlocked by choosing three unsuspecting dialogue options. I don't think he talked to the protagonist at all these past two years. You’d think Lumine would’ve raised her wits stat high enough to attract his attention, but alas, Lord Ayato’s still lounging around East Gaciea doing Venti-knows-what."
He wasn’t paying attention to their ramblings. All their names sound bitter in Diluc's mouth. Unlike Albedo and Diluc, the rest of the Love Interests are free to interact with them as an extra. Server C had also performed their last scripted interaction with them, hence, (Y/n) can never touch Albedo and Diluc again.
Retainer Dainsleif of the West, Lord Kamisato Ayato of the East, Chief Justice “Childe” Ajax of the North, Chief Alchemist Albedo of Who-Knows-Where, and Duke Diluc Ragnvindr of the South… Princess Lumine certainly had fine options.
The Duke just wished the otome game scriptwriters would’ve let him have his own choice in the matter as well.
(Y/n) rested their elbows down on the table as they gazed into Diluc's distant eyes.
"Why did you ask?"
Diluc frowned, He admits it— (Y/n)’s eyes are nothing to write home about. When compared to an ephemeral beauty like Princess Lumine, their ordinary (e/c) eyes and visage hardly qualify as "distinctive traits." Their vibrant red ribbon is the only thing separating them from the street's grey residents. Yet he can still tell it's them no matter how big the crowd is. No matter how much they look like an “NPC”, to him at least it was a face worth seeing. Even if they mesh into a blob of slime, he can sense their essence through and through.
Although he can now barely make out the features on their face, nothing on this false earth can convince him that he wasn’t talking to the love of his life.
"I..." Diluc loosened his collar, suddenly growing hot at the intensity of their stare. "I simply wished to learn how the two other Love Interests are doing. I’ve had a chat with Ajax, and he still acts like a quote-on-quote “yandere” as you had explained before."
“Is that all?”
Diluc nodded.
"Ah," They shrugged. "Got my hopes up there– I thought there are other “Wasureta: No More” CGs I haven't seen yet."
Diluc smiled and took a drink.
"Ahh..." He exhaled, his eyelids fluttering shut in the process.
"You okay there pal?" They asked. "I know I said we shouldn't let any of this go to waste but you know I can just store them back home right? Oh, you can have some too but I don't think you'd like so–"
"I'll take a bottle."
(Y/n)’s eyes widened.
"Y-You..." They stuttered, "You sure?"
"Yeah," Diluc mumbled, lying to himself. "It tastes okay."
They grinned. The sight makes his decision all the more worth it.
"Haha, great!" They fist-bumped the air "See? Told ya cheap fire-water tastes good!"
Don’t get him wrong, he's not taking one home because of its taste. He's taking one home because it might be the last memento he'll have of (Y/n).
"Hold on, let me get a ribbon." They opened their palms to stop him from leaving. "Can't give the great Duke of the South something that looks barely presentable now would I?"
They left him with a skip in their steps. Diluc smiled.
Now that he's left alone, he silently wondered:
Just how long can he last before he tells the NPC that he wants to ruin their friendship?
———
———
Along with the sounds of gutted flesh reverberating through the tunnel's dark passageways, a man's hysterical laughter echoed. It was mostly silence in the caves, and there is a strong sense of loneliness upon entering the vicinity. Humans and animals alike would feel as though there is no life inside those walls, but the joyous yet hollow laughter came from the end of the tunnel.
And on the other side, you'll find a red-haired man at his wit's end.
"Tell me..." His words dragged out in a low growl as he grabbed a fistful of the bloody and tattered blonde's greasy hair. The man whimpered from his touch. "Was it fun? Laughing at my misery this entire time? Were you laughing along with them? Lumine, Dainsleif, and all the rest?! Did I put up quite the show there?!"
Crown Prince Aether trembled.
Duke Ragnvindr had everything figured out.
———
“There’s one regret I have now that I’ve isekai-d in this game.”
“What was it?”
“It’s just that,” (Y/n) sighed. “I never really got this game to a 100% completion.”
Diluc raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by their obsession with Wasureta, “and why is that important?”
“Hey! It’s pretty damn important!” (Y/n) grumbled. "Tsk, if only I finished your bad endings… The guides say once you do that, you’ll be able to unlock a secret route.”
“A secret route?”
“Yeah,” they shrugged.
“I’ve read some spoilers from Otomekitten's blog and get this— the last route reveals where Lumine’s brother had been hiding all this time.”
———
The nerves on the back of Diluc's palms were more noticeable as he pulled the poor man closer. Simply put, their faces did not resemble what mankind should look like; rather, they were an animalistic representation of a predator and prey. Hitherto it had disturbed Prince Aether in his rests, but it was too late when he finally acknowledged that something unhinged lay dormant inside the duke.
"P-please..." He coughed. Blood started drooling down the edge of his lips. He assumes that a few of his teeth are likely knocked in, and he can feel his canines prodding inside his throat. "H-have merc–"
With alarming ease, Diluc threw him in the direction of the shelves. The blonde fell and gasped violently when the splintered wood struck his shoulder. The gaping wound on his hips gushed out once more, bleeding onto his carpet and scattered notes. The duke was a monster. He intentionally missed striking his vital organs to prolong his suffering. More blood gushed from his mouth and the prince noisily wheezed out wet coughs.
His Highness has (Y/n) to blame for the hints they gave the duke.
If they hadn't had that conversation, Diluc wouldn’t have figured out that Aether created this “game” world out of grief for his dead sister.
———
“I’ve been alive here for a year or so but I can’t get used to how the harpies in this world look so tame.”
“Hmm? What else were you expecting?”
“Nothing much, it’s just that they look so different in the game’s beta.”
They shrugged. “Fun fact: did you know that “Wasureta: No More” was a fantasy-horror game before the scriptwriters decided to rewrite everything?”
———
"Tsk." Diluc spat and wiped his mouth with his last dirty palm as if there was a major difference. Both are equally soiled with oil and Aether’s blood; it wouldn’t have mattered.
The duke snarled aloud into a burst of savage laughter, "what's wrong, My Creator? Can't even muster up the courage to face your retribution?"
"F-Friend..." Aether called out, hoping to garner sympathy for the Diluc who once looked after both him and his sister at the royal gardens. Hoping to remind him that he was placed number 1 on the list of people the head of Military Affairs had trusted.
"Don't call me that," Diluc's grip on his claymore grew tighter until his knuckles paled.
"Du-Duke..." The blonde looked up. "I can't just... Rewrite this story again..."
"You can," Diluc spoke in a somewhat broken voice. His sanity may be waning, but he cannot deny that Aether was included in the list of the people the duke trusted. "We’re just characters you’ve written. You've done that before. You've done that to Lumine."
"And I r-regretted it!" He sputtered out, accidentally stronger than intended. The blonde scurried to lean against the wall as he feared Diluc would attack him for his offensive tone. "I regretted it. I thought I could revive my sister... I thought that would bring Lumine back into this new world. I thought it would bring her happiness if– if I gave her m-more options–"
"Forced options," Diluc grumbled, rightfully angry at the blonde's interferences. Based on his inference, three of the five suitors wouldn't have been whisked away by Lumine's whims if it weren't for her brother’s influence. And judging by his pained reaction, Diluc would be right.
"But she’s not my real sister.” Aether sobbed. “She never will be— she’s just an image I had of her. And I-I still ended up making this false Lumine more miserable."
"No shit." Diluc snickered with narrow eyes. "You made her miserable—"
The duke just wished he knew where Aether was from the very beginning. He would've had Prince Aether's head before this whole damn game even started.
"And you made me so fucking miserable, Crown Prince," Diluc muttered.
“I just wanted to be with (Y/n).” He breathed in shakily, “is that so much to ask for?”
"P-Please, listen to me." Aether wept. "Ch-Changing someone's fate brings more harm than good!"
THUD.
Aether shook as a claymore thrust through the concrete just a hair beside his ear. He gulped under the towering gaze of those piercing red eyes. They glowered over him, and they were far from pleased. Aether was too terrified to look away as he saw how Diluc's eyes spiraled into the abyss. The air was thick with heat emanating from Diluc’s pyro-abilities. The sound of the metal rang in the prince’s ears like a warning, thus, the strength in his shoulders weakened and his muscles have gone mushed as he cowered down.
Changing fate brings more harm than good? What a joke. By the looks of it, letting fate run its course only puts the prince in greater turmoil.
Maybe Diluc should offer his head to Her Highness. It doesn't matter whether he lived or died, does it not? If she's so desperate to find the missing prince again, it wouldn't even matter what state his casket is in.
"Di–"
Aether couldn’t breathe.
"Don't struggle."
Diluc effortlessly slid the prince's entire body up the wall after grabbing his throat. Aether's feet curled up as he struggled to steal a breath. He tried to kick and claw Diluc's arms away, but the man stood his ground. Ruby eyes continued to pursue him with an icy rage that Aether was all too familiar with.
The fact that they both placed a lot of faith in one another was a mistake.
Aether's eyes started to tear up involuntarily. Diluc spoke those words as if they weren't threatening remarks, but a merciful command. Yet it doesn't change the fact that he intended to assassinate the prince with his bare hands. Aether began balling up his fists and striking him, but it was ineffective.
"..."
Diluc coldly watched his stomach bleed out like a student dissecting a frog.
Aether's vision clouded. As he flailed his limbs like a wild animal, dark blotches started to appear in his line of sight. His fingers are unwittingly clawing at everything as the adrenaline starts to kick in. Aether never wished to harm a soul, but at that moment he was aiming for Diluc's eyes.
His survival instincts kicked in.
He can't die.
Not like this.
"Si–..."
Lumine. Sister.
Aether needed to apologize to his sister.
He still hoped to say sorry— sorry for leaving her to run a kingdom alone— sorry for not being able to save her in the original timeline—
sorry for resetting and rewriting the game just to see her alive and happy again.
Aether had so much unfinished business piled up. So many discoveries he has yet to pen down. He can't die here. He mustn’t.
He grabbed something. A fleeting crimson near his assailant's collarbone.
Was it Diluc's hair?
He pulled harder. All his strength was wasted on that sliver of red hope. Anything that would get his assailant to stop.
And Diluc did. His grip on Aether's throat loosened as the prince fell back on the floor. Aether wheezed, his vision slowly returning to him. His bated breathing echoed inside the room as his eyesight returned to him. When the prince's eyes finally focused sharply, he saw silk.
This wasn't Diluc's hair, it was–
"(Y/n)’s ribbon."
Diluc used the very same ribbon (Y/n) to decorate a bottle of fire-water with to tie up his hair.
Aether shivered.
"It seems like you wanted to choose your death."
Oh fuck, oh fuck.
Aether looked up. He shouldn't have looked up.
Duke Diluc Ragnvindr's face was red with a grin uncannily reaching his ears to a degree that shouldn't be possible. His expression was akin to a lovesick young adult twisted to its extremities. He appeared to look excited. To think that he burns up by just a mention of this person’s name makes Aether sick to his stomach.
"Allow me to heed your last wish, Your Highness."
The prince felt his whole body tense up as Diluc wrapped the ribbon around his neck.
Diluc did not give him any more room to breathe as if his body was moving automatically.
This wasn’t Diluc Ragnvindr anymore.
His eyes were empty.
This was a man possessed.
"Ch...de..." Aether forced out his last words as the ribbon quickly wrung around him.
"S..ve... my... s....ter"
———
———
Diluc only pulled out of his trance after he started washing the blood off his hands. Elzer subsequently informed him that the duke had entered the manor bloodied and unkempt with no recollection of how he got there and that he had strolled carelessly to the restroom like a corpse. There was a commotion across the entire Ragnvindr manor and rumors that he had lost an unpleasant duel quickly circulated. Better that than the truth, he supposed. Even his memory of what transpired in Aether's basement is hazy. Diluc only had their red ribbon and the idea of winning in his mind. He refused to let things continue as they are.
It wasn't until he started drying himself with a towel that he realized that the crown prince perished by his hands.
To think that Diluc used to be so terrified of offending royalties– of accidentally slipping a lese-majeste out of his lips– but now he let a royal's soul slip out of his wrists.
It's invigorating.
Diluc not only tied his fate with theirs, but he successfully managed to cut their ties with those disgusting vermin they call their “regulars.” They can't have them anymore, and they won't even intend to reach out. No one remembers who Server C is. They are now alone together with him. He’s the only person they can depend on. Diluc's breathing heaved lower. Just thinking about their inevitable dependence excites him.
He quietly closed the door behind him.
"Good evening, Server C." He smiled. "Or, should I say, my beloved?"
Just the two of them.
They won't look at anyone else. They can't. The whole world will now feel what he felt when he was unable to touch (Y/n). Only HE has the privilege to hold them now.
It's just the two of them in this world left. After all, there is no statute of limitations once you learn how to play Creator.
Diluc Ragnvindr had successfully rewritten this game’s script.
He no longer carries any in-game responsibilities, much like how there is no Lord Kamisato, Justice Ajax, Retainer Dainsleif, and Chief Albedo that exists in this “script.rpy” file.
It’s just him and his beloved server, alone.
Diluc wiped his mouth. He's practically dro– no, his mouth is literally watering at the thought. Diluc's heart is pounding, almost threatening to break free from his ribs.
"I’m all you have now, (Y/n)." Diluc's gaze softens. "Isn't that wonderful?"
His hands reluctantly traveled under their blanket where their hands should be, scared that when he reaches out, he'll feel nothing there.
He felt their warmth.
Diluc grinned tearfully. He can finally touch them again. He felt their fingers crossed miraculously against his own.
"You’re so warm..."
He gently rubbed their calloused hand against his cheek.
No matter how overworked or ragged these hands were from washing the dishes, for him, they were silk to touch. So soft. So vulnerable.
Diluc swallowed his saliva with great difficulty. God. They’re so vulnerable right now. So peaceful. So fragile. His breathing increased in volume. He could just take them right here–
His bottom lip started to bleed. He was doing everything in his power not to cave in but his throat was starting to get parched. He breathed in deeply.
Not now. Please, not right now. Not when they probably don’t remember who he is.
Diluc wanted to see the look on their face as he finally kisses them. What expressions will they make? It's not fair to both of them to steal such a moment when they’re asleep. That's not what he had been waiting for. Not what he's been craving.
"My beloved, you're a beauty from afar, but you're even more flawless in my arms," Diluc muttered over their ear.
"And I'll do everything in my power to let it stay that way. Fate and the entire world be damned."
-----------
A/n: want to read more of this in a visual novel form? It's here :)
Edit: HERE'S THS IMPROVED SPRITES AND OVERALL UPDATED GAME!!!
#yandere diluc#yandere diluc x reader#yandere genshin#yandere genshin impact#yandere genshin x reader#yandere genshin impact x reader#yandere genshin imagines#yandere diluc ragnvindr#diluc#diluc ragnvindr#tag: otome game au#yandere male#tw yandere#male yandere#yandere#genshin impact#x reader#ansy-writes
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the deadly kiss of a woman
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summary: When the 141 isn't planting bombs and executing assaults, they're usually tailing a target or performing their own reconnaissance. What happens when you enter the picture and are sent to do your own recon on them?
pairing: Task Force 141 x undercover!fem!Reader
warnings: depiction of violence/weapons and drugs, swearing, wound depiction, reader being a bad bad girl (except in gaz's case lmao)
a/n: bro i love me a good spy storyline
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price - assassin
Finding Captain Price wasn't an easy feat. You were contracted by the traitorous General Shepherd and he was making sure you worked for your payment. You followed Price mission to mission but he was always one step ahead of you or surrounded by his teammates. You had exhausted all of your international passports and disguises until an opportunity presented itself. From a covertly placed comm, you heard that Price was planning on a retreat to his cabin while on leave. You sped your black vehicle away and raced to the airport. You smiled as you booked the next flight to Fort Augustus.
When you arrived, you booked an Airbnb under an assumed name and just happen to be sitting on the porch when your "neighbor" arrived. "Good morning," you waved as you put on your best fake American accent. He waved back as he casually sipped his morning brew. "Far from home are we?" he asked as he walked closer to the edge of his porch to talk to you. "Guess you Brits can spot an American from miles away," you joked, "The name's Virginia, I thought it was time to take a break from trips to Maine and try going abroad instead." "I'm John and, well, you picked a great place," he smiled at you and you returned the friendly gesture. "Maybe we could chat about some trails over dinner?" you asked and he looked at you surprised. "I just bought too many ribeyes for one person to enjoy," you said sheepishly and he nodded in response. "How about you bring them over and I can grill some up for dinner?" he offered and you agreed on a time for that evening. As you entered your cabin, you knew you would walking away with millions at the end of the night.
When evening finally arrived, you changed into jeans and a flannel shirt. The outfit functioned in multiple ways as the bulkiness of the flannel allowed you to hide your two weapons for the night: monkshood powder to sedate Price and a scopolamine patch to kill him with a seizure quickly. You smiled as you remembered their street names, wolfsbane and Devil's Breath. You grabbed the thawed pieces of meat and adjusted your brunette wig before heading over to his home. When you knocked on the door, he greeted you warmly and invited you inside. The house was warm and he quickly took the ribeyes out of your hand to prep on the grill. "Your place is amazing," you said as you took off your boots. "A slice of paradise," he said as he offered you some scotch. "I also made a tayberry pie for dessert, heard it's a Northeast specialty," he said before walking to the kitchen, "you're lucky they had some at the market." "Sounds great, let me know if there's anything I can do to help," you called out. You walked around the room, checking for any bugs or weapons that he could use to his advantage. Shepherd had informed you that Price was not an old man to underestimate and you took the threat seriously.
"Here you go," he said behind you and you turned with a smile as he held out two glasses. You reached out to grab one but "accidentally" tripped and caused the glasses onto his chest. "I am so sorry!" you said, "I'll pour us another if you want to change." He nodded in response and reassured you that it was alright. As he left to change his shirt, you poured two new glasses and covertly mixed the powder in. He returned quickly and you went to go present him his glass. "I'll drink in a minute, have to check and make sure those cuts haven't burned yet, love," he said before brushing past you. You patiently waited as you knew your opportunity would come soon.
After a few moments, Price returned with two perfectly charred steaks. "Mind just getting some plates for us?" he asked and directed you over to the cabinet. You put your drink down on the table and retrieved the items. Finally, you sat across from Price and sipped your drinks over the delicious meal. You made polite conversation about the variety of trails and enjoyed his cooking.
As the night continued, you felt faint but blamed it on the strong liquor. However, as your eyes began to close and your ears rang, Price quickly got up and moved you to the couch. "When you wake up you're going to explain everything," he cruelly whispered as you fell out of consciousness. "A good assassin would know that tayberries are only from California but I guess you didn't do your research," was the last thing you heard before you passed out on the leather couch.
soap - weapons dealer
Becoming friends with Johnny wasn't part of the plan. You just happened to hit it off at a bar in Scotland when you were executing a deal. You decided to keep him around despite the danger of him exposing you. You lived by the saying "Keep your friends close but your enemies closer” and while you were fond of the Scotsman, you weren’t blind to the fact he was a Sergeant who could implicate your entire business. You kept up a front as an influencer who got paid to travel to lavish destinations and enjoyed the finer things in life. He didn’t question you when you told him you were off to Amsterdam. “Enjoy the sights, lass,” he cheered to you and you made plans to hang out whenever you both returned. Little did you both know, you would be seeing each other much sooner than you expected.
As you sat in a dimly cocktail bar, you sipped delicately on a thousand-dollar rum. Your blackened lipstick stained the edge of the glass as you ordered another. You checked your watch and saw that your client was running behind. You didn’t interfere or ask what they needed the firearms for, you could’ve cared less. But this client was clearly a cartel member based on their Western Hemisphere accent and their offerings for some premium cocaine. “He’s late,” you said, annoyed, to your bodyguard, “I’m giving him five more minutes until the deal is off.” Suddenly, the doors of the cocktail bar opened and you could see three figures illuminated by the street light enter. “Here he finally is,” you exasperatingly said as you threw your hands up in relief. But you would soon swallow your words as a familiar face emerged into the red light.
Your bodyguard moved for his gun as this was not the client you were expecting. “Hold it right there and don’t move, sweetheart,” one of the men commanded as they approached. “Who are you?” you asked coldly as their presumed Captain took the head seat. “People who are very interested as to why you’re transporting guns for the cartel,” he said and lit up a cigar, using your rum glass as an ashtray. “And what makes you think I sell anything of that nature?” you countered as you caught Johnny’s eyes and he stared intently. “Well first because lying to a Sergeant is a federal offense,” Johnny answered with venom in his tone. “Looks like you’ve already been acquainted,” the other man answered and he looked to be the youngest out of the group. “Plus we tracked your client and he brought you to us,” the Captain said as he took another long draw out of his cigar. Every time he dumped ashes you gripped the tablecloth harder.
"What if I don't cooperate?" you asked as you tried to regain power in this situation. "Oh Michelle," Johnny said as he approached you and placed a dominating hand on the table, "or should I say Genevieve Aguillard." You swallowed harshly as he raised his other hand to brush a loose strand of hair. "I think you'll find a way to tell us, Bonnie," he complimented as you shuttered at his tone. Your smile faltered as you turned your attention back to the Captain. "Mactavish, take the Red Widow to another room, and don't come back until we have what we need," he said as you felt Johnny grip your arm and lead you for some light interrogation.
gaz - secret agent
Following General Shepherd's betrayal, the CIA placed you undercover to be their eyes and ears inside the 141. You were experienced with these types of operations and readily accepted the position. Intercepting the team was easy as Laswell had made sure to secure you a position as the task force's newest foreign operations specialist and linguist. The CIA helped to fabricate a dossier that developed your history as one of the youngest members to pass SAS selection and one that quickly climbed the military ladder. Now in, you impressed the men with your mastery of foreign military weapons and vehicles along with your deadly hand-to-hand combat.
After a few months of chasing Makarov, you were trusted to go on missions without supervision or instruction from the entire team. You primarily would go with Price and Gaz so your budding friendship with Gaz was no surprise. You were given the alias of Evelyn Hanssen, a name that combined a fictional special agent and a real one. Gaz affectionately called you Eve and would always be the first one to volunteer to go on patrol with you. One night you got in a pissing contest as you fabricated a lie regarding your times during the Special Air Service selection. "And I thought I had the best times, Eve," Kyle joked as you finished up another spring training. "You wish, Garrick," you replied before heading off to the showers.
However, your position would soon become compromised following a near-death experience with Gaz. You, Price, and Gaz were on the frozen cliffs of Kazakhstan to retrieve stolen American intel. While Price provided overwatch, you and Gaz were tasked with infiltrating the base and securing the American Attack Characterization System. That was the plan but after you had become captured following the data transfer, you had to shoot your way out and steal a Russian aircraft. You were lucky to be alive on the ride home but a bullet wound to your shoulder and Gaz's broken arm landed you in an office with Laswell, Price, and the CIA Director.
"What the fuck were you thinking Agent L/N?" Laswell yelled at you as you sat with Gaz in the large meeting room. "I did my job, Ma'am," you said through gritted teeth. Her tone was harsh, like a mother yelling at her child. It had been a grueling 2 hours of going over everything that had gone wrong during the mission. Gaz had said his peace and now it was your turn on the chopping block. "You blew up a secret Russian military base, where was that in the brief?" the Director added. He then directed his anger to Price, "I thought you said your men could handle this, John." Price's eyes narrowed at you before he responded. Following the fiasco, the team had been briefed on your "secret assignment" and it was clear that hostilities were present in your role with the team. "My men could have handled it but she's not one of mine, General," he said venomously and the tension between him and his American counterparts was evident. "You're done Agent, I expect you on the first flight home to Langley tomorrow," the Director said and dismissed you and Gaz.
As you exited, you tried to grab Gaz's shoulder as he walked away. He looked at you with a new form of hatred in his eyes. "Don't touch me," he said coldly as your grip on his shoulder loosened. "You come in here to babysit us and you can't even do your job correctly," he continued as you looked at him, trying to find something to say. "I'm sick of you messing up our operations, you're a flight risk that needs to run home to the States," he ended and walked away, leaving you to pack your bags and head home.
ghost - spy
Ghost knew he was being followed. As a grey man himself, he knew what to look out for when tailing a target. There were two options to execute surveillance, the first way is to make sure your targets never notice you and the second way is to make sure they only notice you. The young woman who had been mingling through the busy London streets was definitely following the former. Simon noticed you three blocks away when you emerged from a bookstore and had been casually keeping pace with him since.
He didn't know what she wanted but decided to execute his own countermeasures. He pulled off into a small trinkets shop and pretended to look amongst the aisles of vintage teapots. When he heard the signature click of the front door, he knew he had you cornered. You rounded the aisles and eventually pretended to pick up a plate and inspect its engravings. "You've been following me," Ghost said as he too was looking at a teapot. You swallowed and turned to face your target. "So tell me when are you going to ask for my number?" he said and you could see the corners of his eyes rise in a smile. You were suspicious as spies were often taught not to rely on coincidences but you played along. "Is it that obvious?" you flirted, "I'm sorry for being such a weirdo, I have seen you around town and needless to say, you've gotten my attention."
You moved closer to him and seductively bit down on your lip, staining your rouge lipstick. Ghost moved his hand to your face and wiped the stain from your lower lip. "What's your name, doll?" he asked as he stared at you intently. "Belle," you replied with your undercover name prepared, "what's yours handsome?" "Simon" he breathily replied and you knew you had the right person. As Ghost exited the shop with your phone number in hand, he knew he would keep you around until he found out who you were sent by. He was ready to dance this dangerous tango with you.
After weeks of sleeping and getting closer to Simon, you were prepared to give updates to your handler. It was easy to entice him into midnight meetings in darkened hotel rooms. You could have easily taken him out but your client had other plans for him. You exited your faux flat in a grey suit and jacket and made your way to the rendezvous point. Your heels clicked on the street as you perfectly blended in with office workers heading home or on errands after the long work day and entered a cocktail bar. "Just a table for two, in the back please," you asked the young hostess. "My date and I would like our privacy," you winked and they led you to a cocktail table at the back of the restaurant. You sat in the corner, facing the door, as you pulled out a compact to run your fingers through your blonde wig and adjust your brown lipstick. Your handler was to meet you in five minutes but it never hurt to be early.
As you examined yourself in the mirror, someone exited the bathroom and sat across from you. You closed it and tried to suppress your surprise when you saw Simon sitting in front of you. "Apologies sir, I think you have the wrong table," you lied as you donned a convincing French accent. "No I think I'm at the right one, Belle," he said as you knew he had set you up. You heard the click of a gun underneath the table and felt the cold metal brush against your knees and position your stomach. "But we both know, Belle isn't your real name," he said as he stared at you intently with those brown eyes that had looked down at you ever since you met. "Have to say Belle is a nice alias, the same one a Civil War spy had," he said and let out a sickly sweet laugh. As you shakily sipped your water, you prepared to either be shot or hear his demands. "Now you're going to tell me who sent you or you'll have some lead to accessorize with," he whispered before signaling the waiter for two glasses of Bourbon. This was going to be one hell of a dinner date.
#task force 141 x reader#task force 141#cod x reader#call of duty modern warfare#cod mwii#modern warfare 2#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley#call of duty#john soap mactavish#kyle gaz garrick#gaz x reader#soap x reader#price x reader#kyle garrick x reader#john price x reader#Johnny mactavish x reader#mw2 imagine#madebyizzie
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ꕥ in the heat of spring | confessions feat. geto suguru x reader
content warnings: pwp, reader has a vagina, roleplaying, religion kink/priest fetish, reader is aroused by the feeling of shame, humiliation, fingering, piv sex, creampie
word count: 4.3k
mood prompt: embarrassed and shy
kink prompt: priests/nuns
requested by: @honey-deku
a/n: i think i'll stop giving myself limits because i don't keep faithful to them anyway LMAO ngl, i'm proud of how this text turned out, even if it's way more stretched than intended. i guess catholic guilt the kink is strong!
Anticipation has your body tense like a string. Your mouth feels dry, too dry to speak, so you take your time lingering by the door, hand clenched on the handle. If you opened it now, you surely would just shriek instead of greeting him with a sultry, playful voice, as you planned. Well, in this state you surely would trip over your stiff legs too. Speak about breaking the character even before the play starts...
You take a deep, shaky breath, trying to grab the reins of your frantic nerves. Excitement isn't your ally now, nor isn't the dampness you already feel in your underwear. Embarrassment and uneasiness are welcomed in this particular scene, but you would rather have them as extras to it, not as the main characters. It was your idea and the fruit of months-long pleading, negotiations, and preparations, after all.
You wouldn't hear the end of it, if he picked up how much it costs you to keep calm and stick to the role.
Exhaling is easier, the flow of air doesn't falter, and your shoulders finally let go of the unnaturally stiff frame. Now or never. If you prolong this meditation, if you don't step over the threshold right here and now, you will ruin all the hard work that brought you here. He will get concerned and suspicious, he will open the door on his own and see you in a complete disarray.
Something at the back of your head prompts you to cross yourself for good luck—and you oblige, taking it as a perfect way to get into character.
You knock, three shy, barely audible taps.
He gives you no time to collect yourself again, his answer is faster than the faint echo disappearing into the hall behind your back, "Please, come in."
You take a step in—and almost slam the door closed again.
You thought you were prepared for that. He might be a false monk but it's a role that's become his second skin. The attire he chose for now is different, and the religion and its symbols might be alien to him—but does a catholic priest fall that far from other priests? He was doomed to be good in this role, maybe too good for your own demise. You considered that and prepared yourself for the consequences.
Yet, Geto looks so authentic that you didn't recognize him at first. He's...too natural, uncanny almost. Black cassock, even if visibly too tight for a man of such huge posture, suits him even better than the layers of robes he wears anywhere outside the privacy of the house. He's nailing that mysterious, casual elegance with ease, humble and insular yet beaming with the charisma of a leader. He's sitting in his chair straight but not stiff, holding the Bible open as if it weighed nothing in his big hands, one of his long fingers serving him as a temporary bookmark. His hair is tied into a tight knot at the back of his head, giving an excellent illusion of keeping it short. Glasses are an unusual yet suiting accessory; lowered almost to the tip of his nose, they add depth and domination to his gaze as he's scanning your figure curiously.
"Yes, my child?" He asks, voice soft yet menacing, like the rustle of prowling cat's feet.
Your saliva is thick like tar and you almost choke trying to swallow it.
"Please, help me, Father," you're barely keeping your voice in check. Sultry be damned, you're fighting to sound at least natural. "I need your advice."
Geto slowly closes the book, sets it aside as he's adjusting his position, leaning more towards you, cutting the mental distance between the two of you. Good, caring shepherd, worried for his little lost lamb, "Come in. Tell me, what's troubling your mind?"
Embarrassment is expected from your role in this moment, so following comes to you much easier than the opening sequence. You close the door and approach closer while still keeping the timid distance. He's silent and patient, just his gaze weights on you, threatening your legs to go limp and wobbly. The fluffy rug you like so much in your shared bedroom is like a trap now, ready at any moment to trip you and throw you to your knees right in front of him.
"I must...have been possessed, Father." You confess, averting your eyes, and clasp your hands at your abdomen, like a good, little, shy student.
Geto's eyebrows cock up in a perfectly played surprise. He rubs his chin in thought as he studies your expression intently, "And why is that? What brought you to this conclusion?"
Heat spreading all over your face in a not-so-feigned abashment, you reel the story off: everything you've come up together for this night. There are dreams, of lust and dark desires you dread to name. They come to you every night and turn your thoughts away from your prayers. The more religiously you try to praise the Lord, the stronger and trickier they get once you lie down. There's no escape for a poor, little lamb like you; soothing darkness brings temptation, avoiding rest has your mind more prone to succumbing to them.
Geto listens, still hidden under the cover of an exemplary priest. Resting chin in his palm, he asks and investigates, presses you whenever you stutter, and gives you the little needle when you try to stray around the topic to sound less sinful. He would be such an excellent preacher if he wasn't a wolf, prowling patiently at your tracks and waiting for your neck to arch nicely for his fangs. And he does so with sugar-coated words and a voice so sweet that you sip from his lips like parched, unaware of the trap he leads you into—while knowing well where and how this conversation will lead.
His power is terrifying, you know it better than anyone, and you squeeze your thighs tighter as you hunch under his gaze, trying to hide what's obvious and avoid what's unrelenting.
"When did those dreams start?" The question finally appears and Geto's eyes narrow at your not-so-played-anymore flinch. "Do you know what could have caused them?"
You avert your eyes, the wave of shame and arousal washing over you and pearling sweat at your temples.
"There's nothing to be shy about, my child." He leans to the back of the chair, his posture open and welcoming, so safe. "I only want to help."
This part of play calls for silence—but you wouldn't find any words in you even if you were scripted to speak. You bite on lips and shift your weight from one leg to another, uncomfortable when stripped so bluffly. You're losing control—you doubt if you even had it in the first place—and the less confident you feel around him, the softer and wobblier your knees are. You're tempted to fall to them, just to relieve yourself of this unbearable tension, to hide the arousal that runs dead even with embarrassment.
Shame is such a delicious drug.
"I won't be able to help you, if you hide something from me." Geto's soft, caring smile sends cold shivers down your spine. He beckons you closer, arms wide open to welcome you in his proximity. "Come here, child, and speak into my ear, if you fear to confess aloud."
You fear more to trip as soon as you move—but you, obedient like a sacrificial lamb, approach closer, and let him lay his hands at your waist. They're soft and warm—but leave you no way to run as they pull you close, right into his lap. You're stiff and hesitant, craving to nuzzle close to his broad chest, to let those strong arms engulf you and shield you from everything unholy—but you know there's nothing more unholy than what you're doing right now.
"Speak, my child." He commands and grabs your chin oh so gently when you try to turn away. "Don't be afraid. Our lord is full of grace and mercy."
"It started—" You stutter and clean your throat, painfully dry with anticipation. "—started after I was... Touching myself."
One of his hands strays from your middle to your hip, then to your thigh, "How did you touch yourself? Where exactly?"
Your heartbeat is thudding in your ears, swallowing every sound but its racing rhythm. It has your head spinning, your vision blurry—yet you're unable to escape his piercing gaze, unable to avert your eyes again. Your breath is shallow, and you don't dare to take a deeper one in; his smell is different, heavier, rich of incense and anointing oil, as if he left Lord's altar right before he agreed to listen to your shameful confessions. If you caved in and inhaled it, it would drug you, would strip you of the remains of self-control and dignity. It's tempting to turn into a trusting, stupid lamb entirely, but in the midst of the need twisting your brain you decide it's not something you want to give him...yet.
As you ponder over the next line—or rather: desperately fight for the reins to remain in your hands—his hand smoothly wanders towards the inner side of your thigh. You clench your legs together, but it still finds a way to sneak in between, right at the core of your embarrassment.
Can he already feel how wet you are for him? His fingers press tighter and rub at your sex through the pants—and you yelp through clenched teeth. It's not a loud sound, you almost managed to drown it out, but in such a silent room—silent like a confessional—it has the power of a scream.
"It was here, wasn't it?" Geto whispers into your ear, keeping you tight and close with the other arm still around your waist. His fingers start to move, flowingly, along the line of your slit, and the more you clench your legs and squirm, the more prominent the pressure becomes. "You invited the lustful spirit to the most sacred part of your body."
You want to admit, lie, and plead for mercy at the same time, so you only squeal and put all might you still possess into closing your legs. They open pathetically a second later, as soon as the tip of his hot tongue teases your ear.
"Do you want me to get rid of it?" He presses soft, barely palpable, kisses to your jaw and neck. "With the power of The Almighty I may clean your soul and bring peace to your mind."
You clench your thighs again, this time trying to trap his slowly withdrawing hand and steal some friction. Geto pulls it out with ease and faint yet mean smirk on his face. He has you in his trap whole now and he has no itch for satisfying your whims until you do as he pleases—and you know he's not going to make it easy for you. Tormenting his prey is his favorite part of the hunt. His eyes darken just at the thought; they promise tonight the shearing blade won't stop at the wool.
"I need your voice, child." He cups your chin into his palm and guides you to look straight at him. "Speak."
"Please." You barely recognize the sound squeezing through your throat now as your voice. "Help me, Father Geto."
"I shall, then."
You're gently pushed off his lap and guided to sit at the edge of bed instead. For the first time since what feels like forever now you take a deeper breath, not until the dull ache in your lungs eased you realize how badly you needed it. You could use some relaxation for your muscles too, but you can't bring yourself to move, even your eyes are set exactly in the same place: looking straight at Geto as he's taking his cassock off. It's a ritual on its own, each little button is given its fair share of special attention from fingers that just a moment ago caressed your sex. Underneath there's another barrier of black clothes: plain shirt and jeans, both hugging his well-sculpted body so tight that they seem to be one move away from tearing. Even so, he moves around with grace, each move calculated to keep you right on the edge but not bored or frustrated.
Finally, the cassock is folded and put away, the Bible is closed, the light limited to the small lamp on the bed stand. Geto returns to his chair, hand prompted on palm as he stares at you intently, like a bird of prey.
"Strip, my child." He whispers more than just says and yet, you jerk in place as if he shouted at you.
Your hands get into each other's way even if you're not in a hurry. You know you're going to get scolded, softly, if you're going to be sloppy, it doesn't make you any less clumsy, though. You wish you could say it's a part of your role, but you really can't control your moves as much as you would like to. There's something in his eyes that makes you behave in a reprimanding-worth way. He always gets what he wants—and if he wants to punish you, sooner or later you will succumb into misbehavior.
Good lambs always listen to their shepherd.
He doesn't pay much attention to clumsiness and disarray, though. Instead, his eyes take in the view of your body, from your fluttering lips, down your chest and your nipples, perky with anticipation, to your legs you're struggling to free from the pants. When you finally kick them off and return to the proper and tense sitting position, he furrows his brow, showing a negative reaction for the first time tonight.
"I thought I told you to strip?"
You flick your gaze down, to underwear still covering what it should, and you hook thumbs under the elastic band, ready to pull everything down...but you linger, true to words you're saying next, "It's embarrassing."
Geto clicks his tongue, displeased, and gets up, in two steps closing the distance and looking down at you, now. Hand cupping your face is rougher this time as he tilts your head back. Mewl dies in your throat when your eyes meet—and you find no mercy nor warmth in his.
"Was it embarrassing too when you shamelessly spread your legs for the demon to penetrate your body? If you wish to wash your disgusting sins away, I repeat: strip."
Not daring to look away, you clumsily roll your underwear down to your ankles.
"Now, that's a good little lamb."
His hold eases and he caresses your cheek now, smiling down at you in a way that has cold shivers running down your spine.
Next, he wants you to climb to the head of the bed and you follow, feeling no safer on the familiar softness. You lie down against the pillows as instructed and bend legs in knees. You hesitate when asked to spread them as wide as you can, genuine embarrassment winning over you anew.
"Don't linger, my child," Geto narrows his eyes, a warning he might snap again, if you don't listen. "Show me the place you besmeared."
Figuring closing eyes may help you, you do so and follow his wish to the final step. Air feels extra cold against your exposed cunt—intoxicating contrast to your hot juices dripping down your labia and ass. For the longest time nothing happens, no word is said, until eventually the bed creaks and you feel Geto scooting closer to you. Your body is tense like a string, shaking from anticipation, but you don't dare to sneak a peek at him and whatever he's doing. You fear you may fall apart if you see his expression as he's appraising your sex and the influence your sin had on it.
"What were you thinking about when you were touching yourself?" He says after a painfully stretched moment. He's closer than you estimated from the way the mattress dipped by your side, probably sitting or kneeling right between your legs.
"I—" You lick your lips, desperately trying to squeeze any moisture, but nerves parched everything to crisp. If he's going to make you scream tonight, you can say goodbye to your voice for the next day if not longer. "Can't remember details. But—"
"But?"
There's impatience in his voice and as much as you're tempted to see what is Geto going to do if you test his limits, this is not on the menu for this scene—so you push the bashfulness away as much as you can and follow the scenario, "I was thinking about you, Father Geto."
He must have been expecting you to resist for longer—the silence on his side is too long to be just played. But there's no further trace of surprise, when he speaks, his voice is as calm as it can be, given the circumstances of the play. "You're pulling me into this sin with you, child."
The bed creaks, he's scooting closer, his body bears down on your knees now. His hand finds its way to your sex again, this time touching it without any barrier in between you two. It takes everything from you to not meet him half-way; you're frozen in place like a terrified, filled with shame lamb should when he's slowly caressing your slit, then tracing at the rim of your hole. You're so wet he could slide anything he wanted in just like that, no preparations needed, but he's treating you as carefully as if you were a virgin offered to him on a holy altar.
This tenderness, the quiescence he enforced with his demeanor, drives you crazy.
"You claim you can't remember details..." Geto muses, his breath ghosting over your cunt as he starts to slide a single finger in. "But those must have been many, many thoughts. Your body is begging for my blessings."
The process repeats: he teases you with one digit only until you're on the verge of giving in. He knows well you need much more than this silly play but he's not going to give it to you even if you beg, not until he is satisfied with the mess you're becoming. Second, then third finger in, he keeps heating you up but straying away from anything that could pull you closer to the sweet release. You're not a lamb anymore, just a plaything, putty in his hands, too ashamed to beg for it, too scared to ask for more at the face of rejection and even longer torture. Here and there he changes the angle to brush at your walls exactly how you like it—but as soon as you mewl or buck your hips, mercy is denied and he clicks his tongue, scolding you for being an impatient child.
But even Geto can find some mercy in him. Right as you think you're going to lose your mind if he keeps stretching you for nothing, he pulls his fingers out and kisses your clit. This short, almost affectionate touch has you thrashing on the sheets; you crave that release so bad it hurts, hurts for real, you can accumulate only as much pent-up desire, and you're about to burst, not in a way you need it.
He lets you calm your breathing and even your senses before he orders you to open your eyes—for you to see him licking his fingers clean of your juices.
"You taste so sweet, my child." Immense pleasure ruins his collected expression just for a second, when he sucks the last drops of you from his fingertips. "Almost as if there was no sin in you..."
A click of a belt, a rustle of zipper and clothes slipped out of the way, and Geto is close to you again, one hand keeping one of your legs nice and open, the other guiding his dick to brush against the wet mess he's turned your pussy into. You both groan when his sensitive tip meets your clit, you: nudged towards the edge again, him: at the limit of his self-control. He lets go of your leg to throw his glasses and clergy collar away, then loosens his shirt; dark hair on his chest pours out of the gap and you have to fight the urge to run your fingers through it. The flick of your eyes is caught and met with a nod of approval, but you're so desperate to have him finally fuck you that you don't want to risk another delay, for any reason.
"I'm going to cleanse your soul," Geto moans more than says, almost ruining the character on his side, but you couldn't care less now, when finally feeling the pressure at your hole. He slides the tip in, slowly, but not in the same, teasing way. It's a deliberate act of immense self-control; if not for the fog in your eyes and your mewls still calling him a "Father", he would be already fucking you stupid, your ankles hooked on his shoulders. He puts it in only as much to let you feel it, to have your cunt finally spasm around what you craved the most. And instead of thrusting into you, he touches your clit again, gently at first, then with precise, circular moves that have your eyes roll back in no time.
After being played with for so long, from the strict confession to his fingers spreading you open, you don't need much, and soon you're creaming over his cock, over and over, as if all this pent-up tension needed a few orgasms before it would be gone. It could be indeed a few of them or just one big and mercilessly prolonged as Geto is still rubbing your clit, deaf to your cries and blind to your hands clawing at his shoulders.
The touch ceases as sharply as it started but you're not even fully back from your high when it returns, together with his dick slamming full into you all at once. You swallow and squeeze him tight, your exhausted, oversensitive body arching and squirming. He uses his whole weight to pin it down into submission, fucking you through the last spasms of your orgasm and more, more than you can handle—and what you take regardless, your throat almost worn of cries of his name.
You beg him to cum, you beg him to stop right to beg him to fuck you harder shortly after, you beg to be destroyed—never mind your "sin", you want to burn whole and take him with you.
You beg—but all that breaks out of your lips are moans.
Even Geto has his limits and eventually his hips start to stutter before he buries himself whole in you, his pubes tickling your tortured clit, as he releases his load. He thrusts a few more times, fucking it deeper, and finally ceases, satisfied, his heavy, hot body pressing you flat into the bed.
It's stifling, uncomfortable even with his clothes grazing your naked body, but he soon lifts himself on straight arms, then sits on heels while pulling your hips closer; he's still in you but now you can breathe as deep as you want and slowly regain control over your senses and body. You keep silent, partially too lazy to find words, partially unsure how you should act now. You haven't discussed that part in detail, and the bliss has pushed you out of your character: just a little but enough to block any attempt of improvisation. Geto's content expression is not much of help either; after a short consideration you abandon the attempt of deciphering him, instead taking as much as you can from this calm moment, in case he's keen to torturing you more soon.
Geto just rocks his hips one more time before pulling out of you and setting your limp legs wide apart. Pleased with himself, he looks at your messy cunt and gently traces your slit, so gently you, despite your nerves fried to your limits, barely can feel it. With a hum of agreement on your side, he continues and slides two fingers into you, squeezing some of his cum until it flows down to his knuckles.
"Praise the Lord for how well-bred his sheep are." He says with a smug smile, and it finally earns him a reaction. With an embarrassed—or rather: disconcerted—groan you grab the nearest pillow and smack him over the head.
He lets you, even chuckles a little when you take an aim for a second one.
"What's up with those corny jokes, out of sudden?" You huff when the pillow is taken away from you and thrown out of your reach.
Geto tucks his dick back into his pants, then takes the shirt off and lets his hair down. He lies by your side, head prompted on palm, free hand reaching to wipe sweat off your forehead, "Would a corny love confession from priest to his lamb be better?"
You roll to your side with a spent sigh, strong arm soon pulling you close, face into his chest, "Only if you aimed to dissolve me with embarrassment."
His expression is, as it often is with Geto, hard to read, but he settles on a genuine smile and a soft kiss pressed to the crown of your head, "Is my love such a struggle to you, my lamb?"
"Maybe a little." His natural, familiar, scent is breaking through the cologne he used for tonight, so you bask in it, pressing your nose to him as close as you can without suffocating yourself. "But, as you saw, I really like when you make me struggle."
thank you so much for reading ❤ i'll be really happy, if you reblog it and/or leave some feedback! you can read more of my jjk fics here.
tag list: @lale-txt @mirkaaaluv @ohnococo @clumsyraccoon
#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x you#jujutsu kaisen x you#geto suguru x reader#geto x reader#jjk suguru x reader#geto suguru x you#jjk suguru x you#geto x you#bas writes#sinful#in the heat of spring#afab reader
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𝐍𝐄𝐔𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄
[summary] neuvillette and the humans under his care have shared many feelings and experiences, yet there’s still a few which are foreign to him. thanks to you, he can now say that he’s experienced heartbreak.
[cws] gn reader -> reader is dating wriothesley. pining. jealousy. reader is oblivious to neuvi’s feelings. this is not as sad as the summary makes it out to be i promise lmao. the end is kinda fluffy.
Neuvillette has spent hundreds of years attempting to successfully assimilate himself into the human world.
He’s read countless books, studied and observed thousands of people, carefully examined every detail in his case files, as well as in the court room, to attempt and understand the motives at play. He’s befriended many humans, and has inadvertently made many enemies. He’s had love directed his way, as well as hate. He’s experienced crippling grief, as well as an overwhelming sense of happiness.
He has seen two people go from being in love, once so smitten with each other that neither could hardly bare to be away from them, to hating each other so fiercely that they couldn’t stomach being in the same room as each other.
And on the other hand, he’s seen two people go from being complete strangers, to being madly in love, their love and adoration for each other shining in their eyes and showing in the way they speak to each other. Yes, you and Wriothesley have been the point of interest for Neuvillette for quite a while.
He had been the cause of your meeting, although he liked to think that the two of you would have eventually met regardless. Fate would have seen it through, as the citizens of Fontaine frequently liked to say.
You had been hired on as Neuvillette’s assistant, a title that had been left empty for centuries due to him simply seeing no need for one. He could handle his workload just fine on his own, and he still can, but he supposed that having a human working in direct contact with him could further his understanding of them, so he had agreed to hire you, after an extensive interview process, of course.
You had since proved yourself to be an exemplary employee — your reports were submitted on time, you paid the utmost attention at every trial, working with the guards to bring forth newfound evidence in a timely manner as well keeping a written transcription of the trial. You took on Neuvillette’s public appearances when he couldn’t make the trip himself, and had even grown quite popular with the public.
Sometimes, when the workload was exceptionally light, the two of you would even converse over glasses of water, a feat that he had always struggled with. Making conversation was not his strong suit, as repeatedly pointed out by that blonde haired traveler, Lumine, and her companion, Paimon, but he found it relatively easy to converse with you.
You tended to lead the conversations, prattling on about this and that, but you’d have a look of wonder and awe on your face whenever he spoke of the past and Fontaine’s history, as well as the distinct differences in the waters gathered from each nation.
You joked with him, and then proceeded to laugh when he didn’t understand the joke before explaining it to him, mumbling about how it was ‘no longer funny if you have to explain it’, but Neuvillette laughed nonetheless.
You were pleasant to have around, and while a selfish part of him would have liked to hoard your attention all to himself, another part, a louder part, wanted a certain Duke to experience the joy you brought for himself.
So, Neuvillette had sent you on an errand down to the Fortress. You had lifted his spirits on many sad, dreary days, so he was certain that you could bring a certain light down to the prison underneath the sea as well. He had been correct, and the love that had blossomed between the two of you had been instant.
The dwindling of your presence had been instant as well.
You were still an exemplary employee, but it was even doubly so now. Your work was finished in record time so you could spend time Wriothesley down in the Fortress, the reclusive man even venturing up to the surface now and again to spend time with you on land.
The lengthy conversations that the two of you had once shared were shortened down to distracted greetings and swift goodbyes. His talks that had a habit of droning were no longer met with that air of sparkling curiosity, but rather with a polite smile as your eyes wandered to the clock every so often. You didn’t explain your jokes anymore, and he had happened to overhear you telling Wriothesley the same one on a sunny afternoon, and the two of you had burst into a fit of laughter before running for cover from the sudden onslaught of rain, smiling all the while.
Neuvillette has experienced a slew of human emotions in his time, and he supposes he’s experienced yet another; heartbreak.
~
“I wonder when the rain will stop.” You ponder, your eyebrows knitted together as you glance out of the window in Neuvillette’s office. “It’s been pouring for days.”
“It has.” Neuvillette confirms, and you turn to him with a small smile as you round his desk. He has a quill in hand, a blank sheet of paper in his other, and you push the bottle of black ink a bit closer to him. “Thank you.”
“Mhm.” You watch him write for a bit, his penmanship entrancing you — he’s had the most beautiful writing you’ve ever seen, and it reminded you of the words you’d so often see in the ancient books stored in the library. “Did you know that they say when it rains in Fontaine, it’s because the Hydro dragon is sad?” You had heard it countless times from the children playing in the streets, as well as from a few fanatical adults.
“I’ve heard the saying, yes.” He turns his attention to you, and you clasp your hands in front of you. “Why? Do you believe in it?”
“Maybe? I’m not entirely sure… it could be true. It certainly wouldn’t be the craziest thing I’ve heard, or seen for that matter.” You place yourself down into the chair facing his desk. “But if it is true, I feel bad for them. I wonder what’s made them so sad.”
“I’m sure their sadness will fade with time.”
You deflate, fingers idly tapping at your thighs. “Yeah, I guess.” It’s silent for a bit when an idea suddenly flows into your mind, albeit a childish one. “Hydro Dragon, Hydro Dragon, please don’t cry.”
Neuvillette shakes his head with a soft sigh. “Do you think said dragon is in the room with us?”
“You’re right.” You stand from your chair, Neuvillette watching in curiosity as you head towards the large window overseeing the water. “Wherever they are, we have to be sure they can hear us.”
“Us?”
“Yes, us. You’re going to say it with me.” You twist the lock keeping the window shut, and with a push it’s open, rain instantly being swept inside by the raging winds. You extend a hand out towards him, smile stretching across your face as he gives you a doubtful look, but stands nonetheless and moves to position himself beside you.
You take his hand, his skin cold against yours, and turn to face the window. “Hydro Dragon, Hydro Dragon, please don’t cry!” You shout, and you turn to pout at Neuvillette when he doesn’t say it with you. He’s already watching you, lips slightly parted and eyes a bit lighter than usual, and you squeeze his hand before lightly jostling his arm. “You have to say it with me, Neuvi, or else it won’t work.”
He silently stares at you for a moment longer before finally facing the window. You grin and repeat your words together, his voice considerably lower than your own, and a shout of astonishment leaves you when the rain suddenly begins to let up. “Neuvillette! Look! The rain is stopping!”
The dark storm clouds that had resided over Fontaine for days suddenly begin to disperse, a beam of sunlight peeking through until its covering the whole city and surrounding waters. The once pelting rain turns into a light drizzle, before stopping altogether, and a gentle breeze blows over the two of you.
A laugh bubbles out of your throat, and you begin to pull him from the window and in the direction of the door, that look of confusion once again gracing his features.
“We’re going for a walk, the work can wait! We have to enjoy the weather while it lasts.” He allows you to pull him towards the door, and when you look back at him, there’s a small smile on his face.
“I suppose we do.”
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Home • Minghao
Pairing : Xu Minghao x Fem! Reader
Genre : angst, fluff
Word Count : 1.1K
TW : mention of depression(?)
A.N. I'm trying to go back to writing again, this time with Seventeen :) since I am back into the Kpop world lmao. Pls lmk what you think! <3
"I cry, even without tears now. I cry again, just like breathing.
Though I try to take a step away from the sorrow that has become my home,
I cry on the doorsill. I cry, even without knowing it myself."
Tablo - 집 (Home) (Feat. Lee Sora)
Minghao stood in front of the glass door, his eyes fixed on the CLOSED sign. The flower bouquet he had been holding was wet from the rain, the petals falling pitifully on the gray pavement from how tight he was clutching the bouquet. He was late. Again. And he wasn’t sure if he’ll be forgiven. He quickly took out his phone once he found a canopy that could shield him from the rain, reading the string of texts you had sent him hours prior.
I am here!
It’s pretty crowded. I found a place at the very back of the restaurant so we can talk.
Saw Jeonghan and Wonwoo at the restaurant and he said you’re still at the studio?
Hao, Where are you?
Is everything ok?
It’s been 2 hours so i guess this means you’re not coming or forgot we’re supposed to meet up :)
I’m gonna head back home. I think it’s going to rain soon. Don’t forget your umbrella.
Text me soon.
He sighed. He didn’t mean to ignore your texts. His phone was set on his usual silent mode whenever he was working on his paintings. He swore he had remembered that you were supposed to meet at 8 PM in this new place Mingyu recommended the other day. He didn’t know when you two started to make this a thing, trying new places once a week and just hangout and talk about your lives. No. He did know. It was your idea and your twinkling eyes that always looked at him as if he was loved and deserving of one. And who could say no to that? To your gentle smile and warm hand that always finds its way wrapped in his. And he did enjoy it. How couldn’t he? He fell in love with you the first time Jeonghan introduced you to the group three years ago and had been ever since. But life seemed to have a way to fuck up everything he desired.
He knew a bad day was inevitable and the darkness that wrapped around him like a blanket was not an unfamiliar feeling. Every day seemed like a chore. It was just exhausting. Even breathing exhausts him. But he thought it would be different this time. He thought having you by his side would lessen the pain. And maybe it did, to an extent. But he was drowning and he was just exhausted to even want to try.
As if it wasn’t enough, his art project wasn’t progressing as well as he’d like and he kept scraping layers of paints and changing his canvases when they finally gave up on him. He had destroyed a half finished painting due to frustration and would’ve destroyed the rest of his paintings if you didn’t knock on his studio door.
And in the midst of his worries and struggle, he started to push everyone away. It was better to be alone. The coldness in his heart was more familiar than the warmth of your embrace and he was terrified. It was too foreign for him, the happiness, the warmth, and the feeling of belonging, of being home.
“Hao?” Minghao startled, eyes quickly focused on the familiar figure standing under a black umbrella.
“Y/N? What are you doing here?” was all he could say, mouth forming an ‘o’ shape. You were supposed to be mad at him for forgetting your ‘adventures’ for the nth times. You were supposed to throw tantrums and threaten to block him and end this friendship. But there you were, standing in front of him with the black satin dress he bought for you last month and the leather jacket that he realized was also a gift from him. You took tentative steps towards him, a smile blooming in your face once you finally stepped under the canopy.
“You texted me?”
Minghao looked down at his cold hand, the phone on his hand was still on with your chat window opened.
‘Sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m late again. Iloveyou. I’m s osoorry.’
He didn’t even remember when he typed those texts nor did he remember pressing the send button despite the typos.
He reread his text again and froze. “Y/N–,”
“Did you mean that?” You asked, taking another step closer and Minghao could smell the familiar perfume on you and the scent of your favorite shampoo. “Did you mean it when you said you love me?” You asked again, this time in a whisper.
It had been 3 years, 970 days to be exact (not that Minghao is counting) since he first fell in love with you. And not once, even in his drunken state, did he let himself text you and confess. Especially not in such a dumb way. He prided himself as someone who was always in control of his emotions, keeping everything hidden to make sure you wouldn’t be uncomfortable. But there he was, sober and doing the stupidest thing a Minghao could do. Not even drunk Soonyoung would do this, he fleetingly thought before he turned his attention back to you.
“I brought you flowers. They’re ruined. Sorry. I know i shouldn’t be late and forgot but everything has been shit and–”
“I love you, Minghao.” Your words stopped his trainwreck of a thought. His eyes widened as he looked at you. “I thought you hated going with me and doing this… But Jeonghan said you kept telling him about our time and he said you really love it. And I noticed you’ve been kinda withdrawn ever since I saw you at the studio. You do know you are not alone right, Minghao?” You took his hand in you. It was cold but it was okay. Minghao was Minghao and he was anything but cold to you. “ It’s okay to have a difficult time, but don’t forget you have a lot of people who would do anything for you.”
“This seems more like an intervention than a confession.” He blurted out before both of you burst into giggles, the cold rain suddenly didn’t feel so cold anymore now that he had wrapped his arms around you, the bouquet long forgotten on the wet pavement.
“It’s both.” Was all you said before pressing your lips against him. A gentle and wary kiss, as if you were terrified he’d hate it. He let go of one hand and cupped your cheek, pulling you into a deeper kiss, sighing in relief, his body relaxing under your touch and heated kiss. Murmurs of apologies and I love you’s keep spilling out of his lips as your hand clutch the front of his sweater as if he was your lifeline.
Maybe the unfamiliar was okay. Maybe he could get used to this.
#minghao#xu minghao#myungho#seventeen#minghao x reader#minghao imagines#svt x reader#minghao fic#minghao scenario#seventeen x reader#seventeen scenarios
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In the low lamplight (Matt Murdock x f!reader) (18+)
Summary: As your shitty day comes to a peak in his kitchen, Matt is determined to coax you into accepting something other than your self-deprecating thoughts.
Pairing: Matt Murdock x (afab) f!reader (no use of Y/N)
Content warning: 18+ content. Reader cursus like a sailor. Daddy issues (the actual kind, not the sexual ones), childhood trauma (emotional, not physical), emotional hurt/comfort, teasing, thigh riding, orgasm (both parties), Matt using the words ‘good girl’ because he can.
Word count: 4.9K
Author’s note: Baby’s first explicit fic, so I am absolutely terrified of posting this. This also happens to come from a personal place: I started this when I was very angry at the world, lmao. The only difference is that I do not have a Matt to make me forget my problems. This is un-beta’d.
Also on AO3
With a clatter, the contents splatter everywhere as the cast iron pan hits the floor at your feet.
“God fucking damnit. Fuck. FUCK.”
You cradle your burned hand, kicking the pan to the side as you turned to the sink, letting the lukewarm water run over your palm as your elbows rested on the edge of the counter, head hung low between your shoulders. You didn’t register the door opening, or Matt walking across the apartment in the blink of an eye until the door falls shut and he comes to a halt just outside the kitchen area.
“What happened?” he asks, careful not to step in any of the food. A feat in and of itself: you’re pretty sure the sauce is spread all over the cabinets and floor. It wouldn’t surprise you if some of it was smeared on the back of Matt’s leather sofa, either.
“Wet towel,” you murmur, turning the tap off and wiping your hands on said towel, not offering any further explanation.
“Hmm,” he hums, stepping closer. “You okay?”
“Fuckin’ peachy.”
He shows you a half smile, the rest of his facial expression hidden behind his crimson glasses. “Somehow, I don’t think that’s the truth,” he muses.
“What do you want me to fucking say, Matt?” you snap, wetting a dishcloth and dropping to your knees, scooping the spilled dinner into the pan at your side. “Everything is turning to fucking shit and I wasn’t paying attention. I grabbed the pan with dinner, the one thing I was sure I wouldn’t fuck up, and I picked it up with a wet towel and burned my hand. Hence dinner being spread across the floor of your apartment, and not on a plate, like I meant for it to be.”
He doesn’t reply, merely cocking his head to the side ever so slightly as he was facing you.
You bristle against his unfocussed stare, against the knowledge that he was searching for your heartbeat, listening to other tells of your body that could tell him what was wrong.
“Can you not.”
He doesn’t reply, but instead pulls at his pantlegs and crouches down to get to eyelevel.
“I know it can’t be just the dinner, sweetheart.”
Your jaw tenses, the metallic tang of blood filling your mouth as you bite down hard on the side of your cheek, several emotions fighting each other for fist place. You fish the last chunks of tomato and bell pepper off the floor, wiping your hands on the dishtowel and lean back on your heels.
“What happened today?”
You look up at him, at the soft expression on his face, before quickly looking away, ignoring the tears stinging behind your eyes.
He doesn’t push, knowing it would only fuel the anger and frustration coursing through your veins. Instead, he stays put, not moving towards you but not away either, hands loosely dangling between his knees.
“My dad,” you eventually say, looking up at the ceiling in a final attempt to blink the tears away. “Every time I think we take a step forwards… He just... He ends up stabbing me in the back regardless. And mom says he loves me, and that he just doesn’t know how to say it,” a bitter laugh slips past your lips, your cheeks wet with tears that had started to steadily trickle down. “He never learned how to say it, how to express it. Or anything, for that matter.”
You take a shaky breath, looking over at Matt, who merely gave a small smile in return to encourage you to continue.
“I thought it would be better when I moved, and it is, for the most part. But then there’s still days where I am back to seventeen years old and being ignored for a month straight because I did something to displease him.”
You finick with your hands, pulling at the already raw skin of your cuticles, the sight blurry through your tears. It made you feel small, insignificant, sitting here on the kitchen floor of your boyfriends apartment, surrounded by a mess you made. It wasn’t like Matt doesn’t have enough to worry about: you know he does. Along with his late night activities as Daredevil, the firm had been busy after taking a big case that garnered them much deserved attention.
Yet here you were, with the comparatively small issue that was the feeling that your father didn’t love you. It felt so insignificant, so trivial compared to the problems you knew graced Matt’s life on a daily basis.
“I can hear you thinking,” he says softly, reaching out to brush some hair out of your face. “Not the good kind, either.”
You snort. “I happen to be very good at that, to be fair.”
“I know. Doesn’t mean you deserve it, though.”
“Don’t deserve what?” you ask, pawing at your face to wipe away the excess tears.
“Whatever it is that you’re telling yourself.”
A laugh bubbles up as you push your hair out of your face and reached for the dishcloth. “It’s true, though.”
He stays quiet, and you can feel him observing you as you wipe away at the stains across the kitchen cabinets and floor. It wasn’t observing in the literal sense: he had explained that he really couldn’t see you beyond a very vague silhouette, but that he rather listened to someone’s heartbeat and breathing pattern to get a sense of what they weren’t telling him.
“I want to meet him,” he eventually says, catching you completely off guard.
“What?” you frown, pausing mid-wipe.
“I want to meet your father.”
“Trust me, you don’t,” you scoff. “He’d be a complete ass. That man wouldn’t know how to be friendly if his life depended on it.”
“I want to meet the person that makes you feel this way about yourself,” Matt replies, giving a little shrug. “For undisclosed and unrelated reasons, I will be out of town tomorrow.”
You sit back on your heels again, an amused smile ghosting across your face.
“Are you now.”
“No.” The word is accompanied by a wide grin. “Made you smile, though.”
You huff out a soft laugh, a small smile on your face as you scoot over a little, focussing on cleaning the remaining stains, ignoring the small pang of hurt still blossoming in your chest.
“In all seriousness,” he continues. “I know how much it hurts you, and I’m sorry. You don’t deserve any of it. Not whatever it was this time, or the things you experienced as a child. None of it.”
“I shouldn’t complain, really,” you say, the words bitter in your mouth as you put more pressure behind your scrubbing. “I still have both my parents. They were supportive enough.”
Matt sighs softly, scrubbing a hand over his face, knocking his glasses askew.
Satisfied with lack of sauce spread across the kitchen, you reach for the pan and get up, tossing the remains in the trash and placing the pan itself on the counter to deal with later. Turning on the tap, you carefully scrub your hands with soap until they’re sauce free, shaking the majority of the water off before reaching for the dry towel hanging off the handle of the oven door.
“I can make us a grilled cheese,” you say as move over to the fridge, looking for more ingredients that could be pulled together into a semi-edible dinner. “I think you have a canned soup in your pantry, or I can run to the bodega to grab one. There’s some leek and left over bell pepper, so I could make an omelette—”
You’re cut off as you feel a pair of arms snaking around your waist, Matt’s hot breath ghosting across your neck as he rests his head on your shoulder.
“Stop.”
You squirm against his hold, trying to break free out of his grasp.
“I’m not going to let go, sweetheart.”
“I am trying to make you dinner, Matthew.”
“It can wait.”
The warm prick of tears stings behind your eyes again and you try to squirm your way out of Matt’s grip, but he doesn’t budge. He doesn’t say a word as your breath hitches in your throat, merely guiding you a step back and closing the refrigerator.
You hadn’t noticed until now, but stuck to the door with a tiny magnet was a photo of you.
It was the final straw.
Your face crumples and you are unable to stop the sob wracking through your chest at the sight of it. It was stupid: there wasn’t a single piece of art, decorative pillow or vase of flowers to be found in his entire apartment, but there was a picture you stuck the door of your blind boyfriend’s fridge. A picture he couldn’t even see, but it was there, nonetheless.
He lets go, his hands running up and down your arms as you bury your face in your hands, crying harder than you’ve done in years, barely aware that he was spinning you around and pulling you to his chest, leaning back into the countertop as he did. His hands are gentle as one cradles the back of your head and the other is rubbing light circles on your back, not saying a word as your head rests against his chest, staining his shirt with both tears and left over sauce you were undoubtedly transferring, something you tell him in between hiccupping breaths.
A soft chuckle rumbles through his chest. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. I can get a new one. That’s something we can easily fix.”
Knowing it was something that would have led to anger in a different situation, with different people, the tears seem to be never ending, chest aching with ancient scars that feel like they’ve been torn wide open.
Through the tears, Matt is unmoving, taking the thing in calm grace as if it were merely the tide coming in, and not a tsunami crashing across a village. It felt like the latter: the anger and hurt towards your relationship with your father was something laid in waiting, waiting to strike when you least expected it. It was always the smallest things that triggered it out its hiding spot, something that shouldn’t matter but that he managed to blow up into something that he would inevitably spin into a narrative that would place the blame on you.
It was something that made you sad; the kind of sad where it ends up festering into self destructive anger. It was anger at the way it was now, and anger at the fact it had always been like that: the one person that was supposed to be there with unconditional love was the one that put terms and conditions on it.
But it wasn’t Matt’s fault. It wasn’t, yet you had exploded into his face, sending the shrapnel of your anger flying into his unsuspected stature.
“I’m sorry I’m a mess,” you eventually say when the tears have stopped flowing as harshly, letting go of him and setting a step back. “You didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
You laugh wetly in reply.
“I’m serious,” he says. “Don’t be. I’m a mess, too. Foggy is a mess. Karen is a mess. We’re all messes in our own accord, sweetheart. The reasons might be different, but none of us are always doing okay. And that’s fine. That happens. Doesn’t make you a bad person, it just makes you human.”
You hadn’t noticed he had taken his glasses off until you looked up at his face, meeting unfocussed brown eyes instead of his glasses. You knew he meant every word of it: he had told you about his own struggles. He had told you how dark the world had seemed to him, how he had only seen the pain and hurt in his life and no longer the good surrounding him. How he had isolated himself and locked every single person that saw the good him in out, until there was nothing but darkness and anger surrounding him.
It was on days like this, where everything accumulated into a giant mess that left you unable to see the good in your life that Matt would take your hand and let you know you were more than that, that the good was still there but hidden behind everything else.
His hand cupped your cheek, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb.
“I love you, okay?”
You smile, laying your hand over his, feeling tired but also lighter than before. “I know. I love you, too. Thank you.”
“Anytime, sweetheart.”
A silence falls between you, nothing but the busy street below and the low hum of the fridge audible in the apartment.
“Let me cook dinner,” he eventually says, his hand moving down to your hip and pressing a kiss to your temple. “Let me take care of you tonight.”
“I love you, but you’re absolutely useless in the kitchen, Matt,” you laugh, amused at his offer. “You’re not cooking us dinner.”
“Are you implying that a blind person can’t cook?” he mocks, one eyebrow quirked and a wide smile on his face.
“No. I am implying that you specifically would burn water. You keep losing the recipe for making ice cubes.”
His mouth falls open. “That is so mean and you know it's not true.”
You grin in reply, beelining across the kitchen in an attempt to get away from him as he stalks after you. You run into the bedroom, trying to close the sliding doors before he can make it in, but he is far faster than you, one arm pulling you into his chest before you’re able to dive onto the bed to roll over it.
“Didn’t think so, sweetheart,” he murmurs in your ear, closing the door behind him, his hand snaking up to your chin as he stood behind you, not quite pressed against your back but so close you can feel the heat radiating off him.
You grin breathlessly as his thumb brushes over your lips, the other fingers bracing your jaw. “Oh yeah? What are you gonna do about it?”
“Gonna show you just how capable I am of taking care of you,” he replies calmly, breath hot in your neck. “Don’t need sight for that.”
Your breathing falters ever so slightly at his tone, desire coiling hotly in your lower belly as he guides your forward until your knees brush the side of his bed.
“Say the word and I will stop. We will sit on the couch, order take out and you can watch a movie. Nothing happens right now without your okay. Understood?”
His hand feels as if it’s searing a hole through your shirt with the way it spans across your ribs, the other still holding onto your jaw. There was nothing possessive about it: if anything, it was gentle, warm, caring.
You nod, a soft huff of disapproval whispered across your ear.
“Words, please, sweetheart.”
“Yeah,” you whisper in return.
“Do you want this?”
“Please,” you reply, unable to keep the whiny edge out of your voice. “Yes. Please.”
You can feel him grinning as he presses hot kisses to the side of your neck, brushing your hair to the side.
“Good girl.”
You try to supress the shiver rolling through your body at those words. He didn’t use them often: his preferred term was sweetheart, using it more often than your actual name. Rarely there was baby, usually reserved for late nights, dim lighting and lazy kisses. Even less often than that there was the occasional darling, when you accompanied him to professional events.
But the words good girl only made their appearance when he had one goal in mind.
Getting you off and asking nothing in return.
He guides you forward, onto the bed until you’re sat back on your heels between Matt’s thighs, his chest pressed against your back.
In a torturously slow pace, the hand that had been resting on your jaw crawled it’s way down, his fingers leaving a scorching hot trail as they travelled down your throat, skimming across your collarbone, grazing the side of your breast and down your ribs until both his hands were resting at your waist.
You lean your head back onto his shoulder, a content sigh leaving your body as you practically melt into him.
“There you go,” he murmurs, voice rumbling lowly through his chest. “There’s my girl. It’s all about you right now. Whatever you want.”
“Don’t have to do that,” you reply, eyes closed and revelling in the intimacy of the moment. “’s a two way street.”
“Not tonight.”
Not a quite a command, but as close as he would get to it.
You think on it for a moment, absentmindedly running your nails up and down his thighs until he shivers behind you. You laugh, the sound bright and warm, a stark contrast to how you’d been feeling ten minutes ago.
“You sure about that?” you ask, shifting positions to look at him with a grin, well aware of the fact that he has to actively stop himself from rolling his hips against you to bring the slightest relief to the hardness straining against the zipper of his slacks.
“I’m starting to doubt it,” he smiles. “But yes. Let me just think about something horrible for a second—”
“Matthew!” you scold in faux horror, slapping his chest, something that is met with a wide grin.
“Kidding, kidding.”
“I think I just want to make you come in your pants,” you deadpan, pushing against his chest until he gets the memo, scooting back until he’s sat against the headboard. “Or just get you so hard and worked up that you can’t think straight and then just leave.”
He grins widely, hands resting on your hips as you move to sit on his lap. “I love it when you get cocky. It’s very sexy.”
You don’t reply, instead choosing to focus on untying his tie. You know you could just easily pull it over his head, discarding of it that way, but you revel in the micro expressions flashing across his face as your fingers brush against the base of his throat as you work the knot loose.
“Should tie you up with it,” you softly say, gliding your hands down the silk fabric before moving to unbutton his shirt, touch feather light as you elicit another shiver from him. “Would that be okay?”
You can see his breath hitching in his throat, Adam’s apple bobbing heavily as he swallows.
Leaning forward, your hands pressed against his bare chest, you ask again in a soft whisper against his ear.
“Would that be okay, Matthew?”
“Yes.”
The word is barely a whisper, a confession almost disappearing into nothing.
“Next time,” you promise him, gently pressing a kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Had other ideas for now.”
He smiles in return, fingers digging into your hips as you scoot a little higher onto his lap, biting back a whine as you revel in the wave of pleasure crashing over you at the friction the combination of Matt’s thighs and your jeans provide.
“Ah,” he breathes, smile widening into something soft, as if he’d been waiting for it.
“There we are.”
“Shut up,” you grumble, no real bite behind the words.
“You gonna ride my thigh, sweetheart? Think you can make yourself come that way?”
His fingers are ghosting across your top of your jeans, as gentle as the expression on his face, not making any decisions before you make them.
“I know you can,” he continues. “Seen you do it before.”
You flush in a wave embarrassment, ducking your head and biting your lip as you avoid looking up at him.
“Hey, hey, no,” he tells you sternly, guiding your head back up with a finger hooked under your chin. “None of that. Not here. Not with me.”
You pause as he drops his hand, taking a moment to take in the man sitting beneath you. The neon sign outside cast a reddish-pink light across his features, the sight familiar and comforting as he shows you a crooked smile.
“Love you,” you mutter softly, the feeling all encompassing.
“Show me.”
“What?”
“Show me. Show me how you feel, sweetheart. I want you to ride my thighs until you come so hard you’re left a quivering mess. I want you to tie me up and ride me until you see stars. I want you to take whatever makes you feel good, without expecting anything in return. Whatever that looks like, I can take it.”
“Jesus, Matt,” you breathe, heat crawling up your spine at his blunt confession.
“Language, sweetheart,” he retorts, the grin on his face devastating.
You don’t bother thinking of a witty reply, but rather pull your shirt over your head before crashing your lips into his, knocking teeth together in your hurry to devour him whole. His hands are everywhere: across your back, on your hips, in your hair: you can’t keep track as you tug at his open shirt, urging him to sit forward as you push it past his shoulders. He quickly tossed it off the bed before his hands are finding their way back onto your body, his shifting causing more friction that leaves you moaning into his mouth.
He grins into the kiss at the sound, his hand spanning between your shoulder blades as he presses you chest to chest, getting you as close as he could in this position.
“There you go,” he breathes, his other hand at the nape of your neck, mouth leaving wet kisses on the side. You grind into him shamelessly at this point, his hard cock now definitely straining against his zipper, providing more of that friction you were desperately chasing. It wasn’t enough: you desperately wanted him as close as you could get him.
Your hand snakes into his hair, pulling his head back as he lets out a low hiss, the other digging crescent moons into his shoulder as your fingernails claw into his skin, kissing his neck with a sense of urgency as his low moan shifts into a chuckle.
“Gonna actually come in my pants if you keep this up, sweetheart,” he confesses, the words almost hesitant, as if he didn’t want to make you feel bad.
“Aren’t you lucky that I want to finish with you inside,” you whisper with a grin, pressing a kiss just below his ear, something that earns you yet another shiver as your hands move to unzip his pants before moving off his lap, handing him a condom from the nightstand as you shimmy your way out of your jeans, leaving you in a mismatched pair of underwear consisting of cotton panties and a bra that didn’t match in colour.
The chilly air of the apartment in late autumn crashed over you, making you shiver, something Matt took note of as he pulls you back against his body, his hand snaking down, fingers brushing against the soaked fabric of your panties.
“There you are,” he whispers, the featherlight touch almost unbearable as he slowly drags his fingers up until they brush past your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. You bite back a moan, breath hitching in your throat as you do, all cockiness from a mere moment ago forgotten. Though you could easily crawl on top and take what you wanted that way, all you wanted in this moment was Matt. His fingers, his cock inside you: all of him, everywhere.
You don’t say any of it, instead a soft please is whispered and he knows, he understands, unclasping your bra and pulling your panties down before pulling you into his lap, positioning himself and letting you take the lead as you slowly sink down onto him, working your way through the stretch. You can see him biting back a moan, screwing his eyes shut: he didn’t want to make you feel like you had to hurry, not after the incident during your first time together. The pair of you had underestimated the situation and tears had sprung to your eyes when you were too eager, the worry in his voice still ringing through at times when he thought he had made the same mistake.
He hisses lowly as you slide home, giving you both a second to adjust, his hands steading you at your waist.
“I’m afraid this isn’t going to last long,” he confesses as you slowly start grinding down onto him. “Wasn’t kidding about the pants.”
His hand makes it way down, sending you jolting as he brushes against your clit, easing into a steady rhythm that leaves you gasping as you continue your own rhythm.
“Feel so good, baby,” he murmurs, his mouth leaving a trail of kisses running across your neck and shoulders, his words only adding fuel to the fire. “You’re doing so well, taking me so well, darling,” he continues, using every pet name available in the book.
It works: it drives you insane, making you grind down harder as you chase after your release that is so close you could taste it, but just out of reach.
“Please,” you gasp, desperate for it, clawing helplessly at his shoulders. “Need you, Matt, I’m so close. Please.”
“Shit,” he hisses, your words sending him bucking up into you, hitting deeper than before, his fingers stuttering as he rests his forehead against your shoulder. You knew it was taking every grain of willpower for him to not come on the spot, but you couldn’t help the whine that escaped.
“I’m sorry sweetheart,” he apologises through gritted teeth, picking up with renewed enthusiasm, his mouth hot on your neck. “Fuck, baby—”
It was the raw tone of his voice that sent you over the edge, arching back as your orgasm crashed over you like a wave, barely aware that Matt was right after you, keeping you upright on his lap.
“You’re stunning,” he grinned, looking up at you with a devastating smile as you caught your breath.
You laugh silently, brushing your sweaty hair out of your face with a grin that matches his.
“You’re not so bad yourself, Murdock.”
You slide off him, feeling a little empty but satisfied as you lean over to kiss him.
“Thank you,” you tell him softly. “For everything you do.”
“Anytime, sweetheart,” he says, rolling off the bed and padding towards the bathroom.
You hesitate for a second, curiosity blooming in your chest as you recall earlier, getting up after him.
“Matt?”
“Hm?” he asks, wetting a washcloth and handing it over to you.
“Why is there a picture of me on your fridge?”
“Ah. Yeah. About that. Didn’t think it would make you cry,” he confessed. “I figured it’d be nice, to have something that represented you in here. For when you’re not yourself,” he shrugs, as if that would somehow clarify the situation, cleaning himself before tossing the condom into the trash and stepping into a pair of grey jogging pants, leaving you alone in the bathroom.
You follow his example and make your way into his living room as you pull one of his discarded hoodies over your head, frowning a little as you watch him rummage through a drawer.
“Matt.”
“Yeah, sweetheart.”
“Matt, you cannot see the picture.”
He paused, snorting softly. “I’m aware.”
“Then why?” you ask, feeling a little exasperated. “I could just leave a shirt here, or even some perfume. Something that you know, is actually for your benefit.”
He considers it briefly, a heavy frown present on his face as he searches for the right answer.
“I… it’s not for me,” he eventually slowly says. “I know of your presence here. I can smell the remnants of your perfume, even when you’re gone. But nothing tells other people that visit here those things, because there wasn’t any visual aid to help voice that. I want people to know that you are in my life, and you’re important. I want to show someone what you look like when they ask. That I’m proud of you.”
You bite your lip, looking at your boyfriend who was standing in his living room, the perfect image of comfort in his grey sweats, giving you the recognition you were absolutely starved for as if it were the easiest thing in the world.
“I love you, and I’m so proud of you,” he emphasises, as if he can sense how much you need to hear those words. “No conditions.”
“Thank you,” you tell him softly, unable to fully express the way those words fill the cracks in your heart.
He smiles softly.
“Any time, sweetheart. Any time. Now, Thai or pizza?” he asks, holding up a set of flyers from local takeout spots.
“Thai,” you scoff as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’ve seen enough red sauce for the day.”
“Right. Yeah. Nearly forgot about that.”
“Liar,” you tell him, eyes fixated on the kitchen with a squint. “I can see a spot I missed from here; I know you can smell it.”
“I didn’t want to make you feel bad!” he exclaims, hands in the air in self-defence. “I figured I’d clean it when you weren’t looking.”
You snort, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek as you pass him on your way to the kitchen. “Thank you for your attempt at sparing my feelings. I clean, you order and set the table. Deal?”
“Deal.”
#matt murdock#matt murdock x fem!reader smut#matt murdock x reader#daredevil x reader#matt murdock x f!reader#matt murdock x fem!reader#matt murdock x you#matt murdock fanfic#daredevil fanfiction
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⠀「 Feel my heart 」
Reblogs are greatly appreciated !!
「 FEAT : 」 Diluc. Childe, Kokomi, Thoma (separate) x gn! reader
「 ### : 」 Fluff ! Comfort, cute smooches & just good feels all around. A little ooc? Because of softness. ‘Love’ used to refer to the reader.
Collab entry for my beloved @anantaru & @bluexiao ‘s Sweet N Spice collab ♡
Catch me cramming these like how I crammed my paper last semester lmao
⠀ 「 DILUC 」
Parties ! Absolutely fun and festive ! A grand excuse to dress up and mingle, and the promise of an enjoyable time! And free food ! To everyone except Diluc, maybe. Though he can appreciate a good party, the crowdedness of it (not to mention how his time wasted there could very well be more useful hunting the abyss order) was often a turn off.
Not to you though! The moment you caught sight of the fancy-schmancy party invite at the Goth Grand Hotel that he was prepared to throw out, you asked and asked and asked him to go. Pleaded. Whined. Pulled out every trick in the goddamn book to get him to bring you as his plus one.
“Do you even know how to dance?” You still remember him asking, arms crossed and a quirk in his brow. How naive of him, thinking such a menial thing would deter you. “Nope!” You say, smiling. “But you’re going to teach me.”
And this is how you find yourself getting the crash-iest crash course on dancing for rich people that you’ve ever heard of. Day in and day out for the last three weeks— Diluc Ragnvinder, the supposed love of your life, has put you through some of the most grueling shit you can ever dream of. It almost makes you think twice about going, but no way in hell are you about to see him be smug over you accepting defeat.
But, to be fair, merely three weeks into it, and according to Diluc, you probably won’t get roasted by the other members of society attending the event. Not to your face, at least. Probably. Hopefully.
“Caught your breath?” Diluc asks, approaching your starfished form on the ground. There’s an empty glass of water not to far away— a good sign, despite the almost-corpse of his beloved currently unmoving.
You don’t respond to his question, merely moving to roll away from his voice and grumble some non-savory words under your breath.
“You can always call it quits, you know. There isn’t even any practical need to go.” Even without seeing his face, you can practically hear the amused little quirk at the corner of his mouth, and by the archons, feel free to call it petty, but you feel life rush back through your cold, dead limbs, if only to stick it to the amused redhead looking over you.
Getting to your feet is a chore and a half, and you’re definitely going to pass out the moment you get to bed, but you still manage to get back up. Diluc looks impressed, if anything. Either from your stubbornness or your drive, you’re not entirely sure. At the very least, your short water break had left you slightly better off with less sway in your step.
“You’ve made good progress, love. I think we can try to dance the full length of a song today, just before we finish up,” Diluc says, taking your hands in his.
You perk up at his words, exhaustion momentarily gone. “Really? But… there’s no music, though.”
“Music.”
“I mean— yeah.” You shrug. “It would be good for… for immersion.” Then you double down on your bullshit. “Mhm. Yup. Immersion.” You’re nodding to yourself now, self-assured in your words. Diluc just looks on for a second before he sighs, all too easily bending to you when you want something.
“Alright,” he acquiesces, looking like he’s trying very hard not to drag a hand down his face. “Well, what do you propose we do about this lack of music.”
“Youuu… could sing for me?”
It’s like he visibly blanches at the prospect.
All your exhaustion gone at the opportunity that presents itself, you easily sidle up to him, intertwining your fingers together. “C’mon ‘Luc, please? Just this once, I swear, then we’ll go to sleep and go at it again tomorrow and you won’t have to sing! I promise.”
Another deep breath, and Diluc looking like he’s weighing the choice between doing as you ask and jumping out the window right then and there, but eventually— “Alright, fine. Just once.”
Immediately, your grin is blinding, like you’ve just been hooked up to a power source. You giddily press a kiss to his nose, already spewing out your thanks.
“Just this once, really! You’re the best, Diluc.”
He sighs, knowing that, despite what he’s said, if you ask again, he’s too whipped to ever tell you no. Not that he minds too much, if it makes you so happy. “Love you, too.”
⠀ 「 CHILDE 」
He’s a harbinger— someone who’s made his fair share of enemies and seen his fair share of shit. Undoubtedly, there’s a long list of people that he has to watch his back for.
And now that he’s dragged you into his mess (though you’d argue that you willingly walked into the shitfest that is dating a harbinger) he’s extra jumpy when nighttime comes.
It didn’t bother you at first— it was kind of along the lines of Childe to be like that. But it did become worrisome when you see the bags under his eyes darken, and the weariness in his smile grow.
“Childe,” you call, brows furrowed. “Come inside— it’s late.”
From where he stands at the balcony overlooking the harbor in all its nighttime glory, Childe turns back to smile at you over his shoulder. It would be a pretty picture, you think— the person who treats you right and makes you happy, illuminated by the glowing lights of the beautiful city of contracts. The only thing that detracts from it is the heavy bags under his eyes, visible in even this low light.
“I’ll be right in. Feel free to go to sleep ahead of me,” is what Childe says, and a muscle in your jaw twitches.
Each step you take on the floor is audible in the silence that grows between you. When you’re just a few steps away, you scoff, eyes narrowing. “You look like shit, you know that?” Childe doesn’t even bother to rebut with an easygoing quip, knowing that it’s all too true.
“C’mon, Childe. Even you have to sleep sometime.” Gently, you take a hold of his wrist, tugging him backwards and away from the balcony rail. He doesn’t even bother to put up a resistance— maybe it’s because he’s too tired and he knows you’re all too right, but he lets you pull him back into the warmth of your space and to your bedroom, where you sit him down at the edge of your bed and stand before him. With a concerned frown, you reach up to cup his face and gently rub at the bags under his eyes with your thumb, and he lets you, head going limp against your hold.
“You’re very overdue for some long, uninterrupted sleep,” you tell him matter-of-factly, cradling his head. “Is there any way I can help?”
“Sing for me?” He asks quietly, eyelids already drooping. “That Snezhenayan lullaby that I taught you. Please?”
“I… don’t know,” you tell him. “I doubt I can even pronounce all the words correctly—”
“Please?”
“…I… Alright.”
And by the archons did you try your hardest for him. Despite tripping over some of the more unfamiliar words, and fumbling the tune once or twice, damn it, you tried. And when you stopped for a breath and glanced at your redhead curled up on the bed, you could deem it all worth it— seeing him finally getting some rest was all you ever wanted.
⠀ 「 KOKOMI 」
A visitor to Watatsumi island. That’s all you ever were, at first. A traveling musician making the most of the Sakoku decree being lifted to finally see the entirety of Inazuma. Who would eventually leave to find other sources of inspiration.
That is, though, until the day that Kokomi wanders the streets of Borou Village and comes across the children laughing and dancing. In the center is you, playing your music and singing songs of adventure from far-off lands.
“Feel free to seek me out whenever you’re in need of music, divine priestess,” you had told her that day.
“Good morning, Kokomi— I see you’re once more in need of my songs,” you greet with a smile, easily spotting the figure robed in pink and purple. As you approach, it’s like your very presence brings a song— one that soothes her stresses and has her forgetting the work that she had escaped from.
The divine priestess sighs, her poise slipping from her just the slightest bit. It’s a sight you can never grow tired of, seeing her so relaxed in your presence. “You can certainly say that,” Kokomi replies, already beginning to instinctively walk in the direction of the tree with the nook that she had begun to call her own space. You easily keep stride with her, already familiar with the path after so long. “It seems that there are problems popping up around Watatsumi one after the other. I always try my best to remedy them as soon as possible but alas— there is only so much even a divine priestess can do.”
“And it seems like you’ve still be trying to do more what you can do despite many people telling you to take it easy. Myself included, I’ll have you know.”
The divine priestess laughs, shaking her head, though you both already know that it’s true.
The walk to Kokomi’s hideout is a quick and easy one, and in no time at all you find yourselves at the foot of the beautiful tree. Kokomi finds her place on a fallen log, her view consisting of both you and the sprawling sight of the island.
“So,” you start with a smile, settling down beside her, close enough that your sides touch and you can smell the ocean breeze on her clothes. “What kind of story are you interested in today, dearest priestess?”
As you count off all the stories you know —both ones that you’ve already regaled to her and ones that you haven’t— you count them off on your fingers. “There’s the story of the fair, tragic maiden who used to sing at the fountain in Mondstadt, or the green-clad hunter who once roamed the forests of Sumeru, or, actually, I don’t believe I had told you the story of Guili Assembly yet—“
You’re cut off, though, when Kokomi places a hand on yours, preventing you from holding any more fingers up. Your mouth dries, eyes staring at her in both surprise and intrigue.
“Actually the song I want to hear about today… would be about you, actually. If you don’t mind, of course!” She’s quick to correct herself. “I just realized that you’ve told me so many wonderful stories of the places you’ve been but… I don’t know as much about you as I would like to. A song about yourself— are you… would you sing that for me?”
It takes you a moment— one that you spend staring at her, wide eyed as you process her request. Then you smile, intertwining your hand with hers, reveling in the blush you see grow on her face. “I’d be more than happy to, priestess.”
⠀ 「 THOMA 」
It’s no secret that Thoma is a hard worker. He cooks, he cleans, he attends to the Kamisato Clan to the best of his ability. He does his best, but sometimes even he —the housekeeper extraordinare— falls a bit short.
The days have just been a bit busy, and with another festival coming up, the entire Yashiro commission has been in a tizzy trying to get everything sorted out. It certainly hadn’t been his intention to leave you for so long (even though you told him you understood.)
So as soon as he could, he cleared his schedule for you. Took you out for the afternoon in Inazuma city, spending time together petting the dogs and eating good food, with the intention to end it off watching the stars together in the cliffs by the estate.
“Today was really nice, Thoma,” you tell him, hand in his as you both sit on the cliff, legs dangling in the wind as you gaze upon the stars.There’s a small smile on your face as you glance away from him, too bashful to meet his gaze. “I’m… really glad we did this. I missed you a bunch, you know?”
Thoma gives your joined hands a squeeze, leaning in to place a soft kiss to your cheek that only serves to fluster you even more. “I’m glad too,” he admits, giving you back your space, but not letting go of your hand. “I was scared you’d want to break up with me after all that, y’know?”
At this, you snort, having to reign yourself back from bursting into laughter. “Really? Please, it’s gonna take much more than that to make me wanna break up with you.”
“Like?”
“Like stealing my food for example.”
Now it’s his turn to snort, jokingly shoving your shoulder with his own. “Even if I’m the one paying?”
“Hey, the moment that food is on my side of the table, you lose all custody, my guy.”
He laughs, then, and you join him not a second later. The two of you go back and forth for some time— bantering and joking and (on occasion) stealing quick kisses from the other. It’s something you had missed greatly when he was busy— this ease of being together. How it feels so easy and fun to talk about even the most mundane things with him.
“You know,” Thoma says suddenly, cutting into your previous topic. His eyes are trained on the ocean and the stars that settle in the sky, a wistfulness overtaking him. “When I was still with my mom in Mondstadt, she taught me this song. I only remember bits and pieces of it now, but she said that it was something that my dad had written for her, as a sign of his love.”
“You only remember bits and pieces?” You echo, and he nods. You fall silent for a while, mulling things over. “Can you… sing it for me?”
“Even if it’s not whole?” He asks, tilting his head, though he hadn’t refused.
“Yeah! And I mean—“ there’s the bashfulness again, creeping back in little by little. “I mean, we can… try to fill in the gaps ourselves? Kinda like we’re writing our own song, you know?”
Thoma’s silent for a moment, still as he looks at you, and it’s almost enough to make you nervous and apologize instead. But he takes your joined hand and squeezes it, smiling to himself. “ Our own song… yeah, I’d like that a lot, actually.”
#Diluc x reader#Diluc Ragnvinder x reader#Childe x reader#Kokomi x reader#Sangonomiya Kokomi x reader#Thoma x reader#Genshin Impact x reader#bloru.sweetnspice#「 🐈⬛ 」 catcze.desserts#cw gn reader
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20 questions for fic writers
Thank you @rmd-writes, @welcometololaland, @liminalmemories21, and @orchidscript for tagging me! How did you know I love random questionaires about my fic writing. 😂
1. How many works do you have on AO3?
109! I celebrated hitting 100 recently (technically still celebrating, I suppose).
2. What’s your total AO3 word count?
1,220,396. I had a goal to hit 1 million before the end of last year, and somehow I've written 220k since then???? Howmst?
3. What fandoms do you write for?
RWRB, TMFU, Loki
4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?
Please Don't Let Me Be So Understood (RWRB, E, 20k; couples therapy AU)
Nova, Baby (RWRB, E, 66k; spy AU)
Class(room) Warfare (RWRB, M, 7.8k; professors AU)
All the Old Showstoppers (RWRB, E, 20k; celebrity bake off AU)
Always Where I Need To Be (RWRB, T, 5.4k; roomates AU feat. David)
5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?
I do but I am now horribly behind because y'all are so lovely and I am a little overwhelmed. I like to respond because people took the time to leave a comment and I want them to know how much that means to me (it's a lot. it means a LOT). I promised I WILL get to them eventually!!
6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?
Definitely Who's Gonna Love You (The Mandalorian), which is a no-comfort breakup angst fic. I wrote it after having my heart ripped out by reading two unhappy ending fics lmao. Have never gone back to the truly unhappy ending again. (I have done some bittersweet or ambiguous ending fics, but those don't reach this level.)
7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?
Most of my fics have quite happy endings, but I don't think you can beat a fluffy ending at the end of a long fic. I often go for the chapter full of pure, tooth-rotting fluff (after tearing your heart out lmao). That means Nova, Baby, Love is a Losing Game, A Good Man Is Hard To Find, Amor Magnus Doctor Est... probably the most pure fluff at the end.
8. Do you get hate on fics?
I've had some here and there. One particular person who just kept coming back and I'm like just stop reading????
9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?
I do, but when it comes to one shots I'm probably more likely to leave it out. My smut always comes with plot and/or lots of feelings. I like writing it best as part of a larger story, actually.
10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?
I haven't for a while but I have two requests I need to fill. Previous crossovers have been The Mandalorian/Battlestar Galactica (because badass ladies named Cara/Kara), and The Mandalorian/The Witcher (because surly dudes with accidentally adopted children). Oh I guess my most recent was TMFU/Glass Onion (because Hugh Grant).
(If you're wondering what the requests are, it's TMFU/Loki and TMFU/RWRB.)
11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?
Not that I’m aware of.
12. Have you ever had a fic translated?
Yup! Four fics, all TMFU (three by the same person). I am always happy to grant permission!
13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?
No, but I've got plans with @cricketnationrise.
14. What’s your all time favorite ship?
Can't choose! I love all the ships I write for—that's why I can't stop.
15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?
I don't think I have one of these. I have one abandoned WIP that I've anon'd because I hate it lmao. Generally if I want to finish something, I will.
16. What are your writing strengths?
Plot (I unabashedly love many of my plot twists), action sequences, dialogue/banter, world building, characterization?
17. What are your writing weaknesses?
Although it should be straightforward because see: action, I feel like my smut is kind of lackluster. Sometimes I hit the notes just right and it really works, but other times I feel like people just get bored.
18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?
I'm unlikely to do it unless I have a native speaker I can run it by (I have some wonderful Russian friends who have been vital for this for some TMFU fics).
19. First fandom you wrote for?
Xena: Warrior Princess
20. Favorite fic you’ve written?
I will scream about this one until the end of time, especially since it's relatively low kudos'd: the 60s chess AU, Love is a Losing Game. It's my most complete and well-structured novel, and I promise you don't need to know anything about TMFU to read it.
Tagging @cricketnationrise, @14carrotghoul, @inexplicablymine, @cheesecurdsgravyandfries, @three-drink-amy, @petrodobreva, @myheartalivewrites, @nontoxic-writes, @leaves-of-laurelin, @tintagel-or-cockleshells, @celaestis1, @xthelastknownsurvivorx, @nicijones, @thetamehistorian, @jettestar, @ikeepwatchinghelicopters, @heytheredeann, @loki-is-my-kink-awakening, @mirilyawrites, @dewdropreader and an open tag for anyone who wants to do it! (sorry if you get multiple tags on this one, tumblr was being a bitch)
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⋆ ..˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 𝓪 𝓭𝓪𝓽𝓮 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓯𝓪𝓽𝓮 .*+:｡.｡˚
feat. diluc x female reader
synopsis: after a night of partying at the dawn winery where even the self-controlled diluc got drunk, he asked you out on a date. already in a drunken state yourself, you accepted.
genre: fluff diluc x female reader
notes: im sorry if this is cringe 😭. i've never written a kiss scene before so idk if its good or not lmao
you stared at yourself in the mirror, searching for any flaws in your appearance. you wanted to look good for this date.
did he really ask me out on a date? ME?
it was so sudden and out of character for him. you didn’t even have to think twice about saying yes, but now you regret it. wouldn’t it be awkward going out on a date with the diluc ragnvindr? hopefully not. he was taking you out to a fancy restaurant, even insisting that he’d pick you up.
would he even remember that you were supposed to go out tonight? i mean, the two of you had been really drunk. honestly, you didn’t even know he was capable of getting drunk. diluc had been super clumsy and unusually flirtatious, which you reciprocated in your also intoxicated state.
the first thing you’d done when you woke up was try to fix the hangover you had, which thank goodness, wasn’t as bad as you expected. then you planned out your outfit, and took your time washing your hair, styling it, doing your makeup, painting your nails, and finally, putting on your dress. it was a long, black, body-con dress with thin straps. the accessories you’d picked out were a thick silver necklace, rings, and dangly earrings, as well as some black heels. finally, you sprayed a bit of perfume and rubbed it on your wrists and on the back of your ears, just in case he decided to hug you. you had to admit, you looked beautiful.
glancing at the clock on your nightstand, you saw it was 7:48pm. he said he’ll be here at 8. with that, you shrugged on your coat, grabbed your purse, and headed down to the main floor of your apartment building. you sank into one of the comfy chairs, nervously tapping your feet on the floor as you gazed out onto the road to see if diluc had arrived. at 7:55pm, he gracefully parked his car and came up the stairs to get you. you took a deep breath and opened the door.
“hi diluc!” you said cheerfully. he stared at you for a moment, then said, “hello [name], you look..uh, really nice.” your face heated up and you felt a smile appearing.
“thank you. you look nice as well.”
“thanks. well, shall we?”
diluc held out his arm, which you graciously took to support yourself in your heels.
when you got to the restaurant, the hostess led you to your table. you were thankful you had chosen to dress up instead of wearing something a little more casual. the restaurant had some dim but warm lights, small round tables with white tablecloths, with tall white candles and a single red rose in a glass vase on each one. you each took your seats and observed the diner.
“this place is really nice. thank you for taking me here.” you said quietly. diluc smiled.
“of course. and not to worry, i’ll pay for everything.”
you raised an eyebrow. “um, yeah no, not if I have anything to do with it.”
diluc mimicked your expression. “mhm, sure.”
eventually the tension melted and the two of you chatted like you usually do. when it was time to order you both ended up getting pasta, you the spaghetti bolognese and him the chicken alfredo. the food came steaming hot and you both clinked wine glasses before beginning your meals.
“mmm, this is so good!” you said, covering your mouth as you chewed. “wanna try some?”
“sure,” diluc said, reaching over and twirling the pasta over his fork. he chewed thoughtfully before nodding in approval. “want a bite of mine?” you wiped your mouth with a napkin and a muffled ‘sure’. he reached over and grabbed your work, swirling the pasta around it and adding a piece of chicken before holding it out and putting it in your mouth. it was hard to ignore the butterflies that the small action invoked in your stomach. the rest of the dinner was filled with similar actions that that made you want to giggle and swing your feet, but you kept your composure.
after a while, the waitress came up to you both and asked if you were ready to pay the bill. diluc nodded and she gave the reciept. your eyes widened. it added up to that much?
“thank you,” you said quickly to the waitress. “i’ll be paying.”
diluc shot you a look. “no, that’s alright, i will.”
you reached for the paying machine but diluc’s hands landed on yours. “[name], really. it’s my treat.” he said quietly, with a soft look in his eyes.
damn it. how am i supposed to resist that?
reluctantly, you pushed the machine towards him and crossed your arms. after thanking the waitress, diluc held his hand out to you and you headed back to his car.
when you arrived at your apartment, diluc helped you up the stairs. “uh..[name]. i wanted to…thank you. for what a fun time we had tonight.”
you had to do a double take, because standing in front of you was a blushy and shy diluc, not the ever stone-faced, straight forward one you always see. you smiled sweetly and chuckled. “thank you too. it was really nice. and thanks for paying too…i promise i’ll pay ya back.” you said shyly.
the two of you looked up and locked eyes. then it just happened. his arm slithered around your waist and pulled you closer, your arms resting on his shoulders. and then his lips landed on yours. they were soft and sweet like a cloud of cotton candy. your hands instinctively buried themselves in his soft locks of hair, and when you pulled away, a shy smile grew on both your faces that neither of you could control. “see you tomorrow, [name].” diluc said, before giving you a forehead kiss and walking back to his car, leaving you happily surprised in front of your apartment.
© angelicizedeve 2022
#writing.by.eve.ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭ ੈ♡‧₊˚#diluc#diluc ragnvindr#diluc genshin impact#diluc x genshin#diluc x genshin impact#diluc ragnvindr x genshin impact#diluc x female reader#diluc x reader#diluc x you#diluc x y/n#diluc imagines#diluc scenario
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besties with nomin!
∘.∙°. masterlist
Pairing: Lee Jeno x reader x Na Jaemin, nomin x bestie!reader
Genre: sickening fluff, a whole lotta crack
Warnings: mentions of food
Wordcount: 767
A/N: I'm back bitches
- nomin are like a bonded pair of pets - you befriend one of them and just couldn't avoid befriending the other
- you're definitely the middle ground in this relationship, bc these two boys can be quite the opposite of one another
- being very open and accepting of jaemin's physical affection while understanding jeno's feelings and concerns through his gazes and jumbles of words is a massive feat but they absolute treasure you for it
- it means that jaemin can randomly give you hugs to feel comfort at the physical contact and not really say anything at times, allowing his nonverbal cues to communicate his intentions as his embrace is ever so gentle and his eyes ever so soft
- it also means that jeno can freely express his emotions and frustrations without judgement, gaining release from negative internal thoughts, and gets excited at the thought of catching up with you to ramble on about how his day went, regardless if it was enjoyable or utterly crap
- haechan has shared about how jeno literally hates anything cute and being associated with cuteness, but i know full well that you and jaemin still coo and baby the living daylights out of him
not because you're trying to annoy him, but because you two believe with your whole hearts that he is a d o r a b l e and deserves to be showered with affection and praise
- the amount of pure satisfaction gained from seeing jeno blush
- nomin has money and they know it, so they like to buy you gifts from time to time (it's also a way of them showing their appreciation for you putting up with them lol)
- perfumes are a go-to, with jaemin carefully selecting a new fragrance each time while jeno opposes many of his selections and chooses one that he sniffed once
- rip jaemin when you're given the two fragrances and then end up wearing jeno's selection more often
- playdates are random late-night baking sessions together with jaemin making sure that you and jeno don't burn the kitchen down, becoming distracted himself as he accidentally adds 3/4 tablespoon of salt instead 3/4 teaspoon
- "did someone cry into the brownie mix? why is it so salty?" jeno frowns, reaching for a glass of water to cleanse his overwhelmed palette
- "it was me, i cried when fishing out all the broken eggshells from the batter" jaemin deadpans
- also, imagine just happily enjoying a day off together, walking in a park while your arms are linked with theirs, feeding each other bites of street food and taking the cutest pictures together
- after the first time one of you gained the courage to link arms with the other two, it becomes a little quirk of your relationship
- whether it be strolling around late at night or trying to encourage each other to hurry up in getting to a certain place, linking arms makes it just that lil bit better huehue :)
- until, you guys run into a doorframe and suddenly you're all turning 90 degrees like a blade on a fan to fit through sideways, not even bothering to think of unlinking arms
- your group chat is used mainly for memes and confirming deets on your next get-together
- oh, it also consists of jaemin writing in paragraphs about the most random things and jeno responding with 'k' while you try to respond as empathetically as possible to prevent jaemin from moving out of the dorm lmao
- aND, sometimes with jaemin ignoring jeno's questions followed by jeno sending some words that seem very vulgar but surprisingly none of which are profanities, all ending with the (.◜◡◝ ) emoji
- i'd imagine you guys would facetime on a regular basis, but the timing is always really odd and, more often than not, at least one of you are in a less than publicly decent situation
- most calls aren't even proper conversations - it's just you guys showing each other something cool and then quickly cutting off, or jaemin calling you to tell jeno to turn the lights off
- "jaemin, i swear, it's 4am" "exactly, that's why i need you to tell jeno to turn the lights off so i can sleep" "newSFLASH, I DON'T LIVE WITH Y'ALL"
- but yet, you call the gamer boy anyway
- and alas, gamer boy jeno didn't pick up as he was, as expected, gaming, leaving you to give up and ignore jaemin's calls
- sigh what a lovely friendship <3
#nct#nct dream#jeno#lee jeno#jaemin#na jaemin#nct fluff#nct scenario#nct imagine#jeno imagine#jeno fluff#jeno scenario#jaemin fluff#jaemin imagine#jaemin scenario#nomin fluff#(.◜◡◝ )#nct dream fluff#nct dream imagine#nct dream scenario#nana
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Episode two ayyyyyyy! Once again this is really long soz
The hype this intro fills me with is unreal.
Siobhan’s daily affirmations “this intro is not a tongue twister and is very easy to say”
The auld lang syne reference cracks me up because we know for sure that both Brennan and Siobhan do actually know the words to auld lang syne, because they sang them in the Unsleeping City finale, but they’re mumbling through it here so as not to disrupt the bit and I love them for it <3
Today’s spelling of Daniel’s last name: Fũks
(I had to look up “u with a tilde” to get that and then copy paste it in bc it’s not available on an english keyboard lmao)
God the whole pleasure district is shut down. Losing my mind at this.
Detective Hunch Curio: Vampire
I attempt to steal the child :|
A full on arms race lmao
They keep calling him The Child
Look at you!!
Imelda <3 they are best friends you’re right babe
There’s always so much banter!
Hank I hate to break it to you but dogs do in fact get hurt in this show.
(Gonna kill that dog 🤪😛✌️)
Why has “you’re my best friend” become such a thing in this show lmao first pib in neverafter now this
Siobhan looks wonderful this episode. She always does, but her hair looks particularly lovely here.
I love how Danielle is playing into the reporter thing
God this is sad.
Lore unlock!
Mind reading is fascinating in this context
BANGS
Glossaries!!! I want to know what’s in those oh my gosh
You paid attention to the way that I behave good for you!
Hank what
What
You have been known to whisk!
Imelda <3
How long has he been waiting to say The Fix and the Fucks because that’s Great
Imelda going “it’s me, he knows me” is giving big “I killed him, yeah” vibes
He finds children quite fun! They’re good folk!
On behalf of ALL CHILDREN
The child personification of the conscience realizing that it has power is wild
FACT ALERT
I love that the facts can be comforting and not just threats
Aww they literally light up when they’re happy
A whole glass of grenadine oh god that sounds awful
Yeahhh that’s a good stick
The intense eye contact on room temperature vodka
A CALZONE??
Sure ok love that
Ngl I could go for a calzone rn. My brother makes great calzones.
I love it when people use their class feats
They’re rivals it’s healthy it’s fine
“Nothing fans of actual play love more than a murderer” “aww but he’s a good murderer” he’s onto us fuck-
Can I ask you a question? / (sad and scared) Okay -> ME ANY TIME ANYONE ASKS ME THAT
Literally what am I gonna say to that. No? You think I’m gonna say no when you ask me if you can ask me a question?
Imelda that sounded Pointy do you have Lore
I love this world
That seems like a reasonable idea Imelda but you seem too invested in it and I want to know why
Listen sometimes players set things up for us too well and you end up getting excited. Sometimes the party wants to separate of their own accord!
Conrad and The Fix are the two most straightforward communicators and them hanging out is great.
A bread bowl made out of muffin to hold coffee grounds that you eat. Augh.
If I was writing a story ;)
Dome antics!
What shocked Elias? Why is he having such a major fight or flight reaction?
Ooh reflex switches fun
Yes he does!
This person is scrambling so much
I do not know enough about biology for this what comes from the scalp that would require shock troopers??
Babe what
I’ll reprimand you greatly! And loudly! So that everyone looks at us!
Let’s hear it for FEATS
Tropes!
Ooooooh dome animation
BLOOD?
Jesus christ Brennan is not holding back on the cop hate this season. Love him for it.
What hold on what
Pain responder oh god
HEAD INJURY???
Did someone fucking brain him in an alley after work because he took the file or is he just being mugged or something
Also. Shock officers not allowing the information that he’s been injured to reach his consciousness.
Cell phone? Cell phone would be a heavy thing vibrating near that area if it’s in his pocket?
Actually finding a partner is Not on the priority list for your government at the moment sorry. Why are you lying to this man.
What
Oh yeah he might not be conscious actually. The eyes are closed.
We love completely improvised lore
Fucks (expletive)
They share a courtyard probably
Conrad’s home is gonna make me so sad I already know
Man sometimes people say things and. We just have to live with them yk.
(Brennan makes that “hlblbblblhblhb” sound)
Sitting in this discomfort is so good actually. There is discomfort and uncertainty and fear here and that is good.
Ichabod. What was Ichabod the wayward interest?
HELP Conrad was so resigned to dying Alex nodded like yeah that makes sense
FACT ALERT
I relate to The Fix in that I also will share random facts in the hope that it will make someone feel better.
If there was an amount of dead he didn’t want you, he wouldn’t have called me. DAMN.
Hank so genuinely lit up at the compliment
That’s Hank talking.
What is happening and why do I feel about it
I do feel bad that like. The kid’s losing his home.
Repressed trauma memory!
Oh god okay so his conscience made him defend his little sister and it ended incredibly traumatically so the lesson he learned from that was that listening to your conscience gets you hurt and he learned that as a child! So he never had a chance to see that that wasn’t the whole story!
(thoroughly impacted) Okay.
Levity!
Still find it fascinating that the actual university is in the red light district.
Is it no longer the middle of the night? Wasn’t it the middle of the night? Why are students just now heading to the Big Game
Just a flat no. Love it.
Ammon’s Horn Memorial * look up later
He’s dabbling in the arts!
Oh god but really it makes so much sense that the brain university defunded the arts years ago. Like within the context of who this guy is and how harshly all distractions are dealt with it makes perfect sense that they don’t have art classes.
DC 20 😭
STEM only :(
Lady you are not poor-
Silly little woman :)
HELL YEAH SIOBHAN
Psychometer
Add something fun!
Of course, every time a memory is recalled, it is altered! We demand that you add something cute and fun. Love that.
We try to have fun here
Hunch now is the time to let it GO
We need Stacy Fakename merch
You’re frickin haunted man
Oh god he got jumped.
Let’s just steal it!
De’lux meaning of light. Oy.
(Brennan makes a sound of satisfaction with his punnery)
Exceeded the dc by 10!!
Trapp uses moxie so freely
Oh they’re all getting jumped. Like host body like mental functions I guess?
Ugh, wool! So naturally oily and slippery!
The Fix and his traits <3
Ol’ Johnny Gullible
FEATS <3
New life!
FACT ALERT
He’s gonna break all those bones
WHAT
He’s so terrifying without trying
What a wild sequence of events
Bro I would also dissolve into mist if someone looked me in the eyes and talked to me like that.
I’m low key worried about what happens if they restore vision without anyone in the buildings to distill the raw visuals
DEFENESTRATION
Oh my GOD
Oh my god.
Oh my god????
(cheerful jazz music)
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ꕥ in the heat of spring | rush hours feat. ino takuma x reader
content warnings: pwp, reader has vagina and breasts, sex at a love hotel, feminine pet names, praise, dirty talk, fingering, vaginal sex
word count: 3.5k
mood prompt: gentle and commanding
kink prompt: sex in clothes
requested by: @mirkaaaluv
a/n: well, well, well, if it hasn't gotten out of hand ^^" i wanted this, and other heat of spring texts, to be 1k words and best and yet, here we go. i guess ino just has his own set of rules lmao
The atmosphere changed as soon as the door opened and revealed your chosen room.
Ino's hand, so far only nudging you gently towards your destination, wanders down, to your ass, and sinks fingers into the soft flesh. You've expected the move—and yet, you jerk up, barely catching a high-pitched yelp at your throat. You're so tense that even a brush of a feather would send you spinning, an unambiguous touch is almost like a torture.
A welcomed one but a torture, nevertheless.
It's your first time at a love hotel as a guest and something about this fact keeps you right on the thin line between excitement and panic. It's hard to find a rational explanation for your state; you've been in many of them before, as a sorcerer, perpetually erasing the curses born of lust, stress, and raveled emotions you loathed to name but learnt by heart and damped down in order to do your job properly. You gave this place a quick scan even before you stepped into the main hall, and it was as clean as a sex-focused establishment could be. You stared intently at the blurry silhouette of the check-in clerk behind the frosted glass as Ino paid for your room and claimed the card key, but there was nothing suspicious about them. You looked around for residuals or disturbing vibes that could betray a presence—past or present—of a curse, just to find nothing.
It was a safe hotel—and yet, you were much more tense than you ever were in those cursed ones.
"You okay?" Ino puts the card key into the holder, turns the light on, finally closes the door behind you two. "You're…kinda pale. Is it—"
"No." You cut in, your voice calm and unbothered, contrary to a shriek you've expected. "Definitely not. I've checked."
"No curses?"
"No curses."
Ino laughs and kisses the back of your neck, "If there was one around, I'd tear it with bare hands, I think. I fought for this fuck break for a week. C'mon, ladies first."
Nudged by a playful yet hearty squeeze on your ass, you finally step fully in. The room is almost soundproof; the soothing music played from the speakers at the corridor is immediately replaced by serene silence. Fighting against weirdly stiff legs, you take a few curious steps inside; the space is on the smaller side but well organized and cozy for a hotel booked for a single night at best. There's a small tv, speakers, two chairs by a coffee table with a small basket (filled with everything you would need from an establishment of this kind), door leading to a private bathroom—and, of course, the main star of the event: a comfy-looking bed, big enough to fit not two but even three adults at once.
In any other place and time, you would happily pounce straight on it, to test if it's as soft as the views promise—but with legs so stiff and your head spinning you need another nudge from your boyfriend to finally approach closer.
"Well—" Ino is right behind you, the side of his face pressed close to yours and his fingers slowly tracing your sides. "—how do you like it?"
"It's…nice. Very nice."
For a starter, you've been aiming for a cautious sit at the edge of the bed, but Ino is faster, bolder, and impatient with your guarded behavior. Hand on your hip, he spins you around and crashes lips against yours. It's a hasty, hungry kiss, full of longing and agony of separation for weeks of work, stress, and all of this cursed bullshit pulling you two out of your routine. You can't blame Ino for finally snapping; you feel it too, the fire you forced into the subconsciousness has perked its head up and is pushing you now into his hungry arms. The familiar tight knot in your abdomen is pulling hard, harder than you've felt since what seems forever, and begging for a fast and intense release.
If he kissed you like this for longer, the weird tension would evaporate from your head—but Ino's in a rush, as always when his needs are pent up to the verge of bursting. He pulls away from your lips just to push you on the bed, yanks the beanie off his head, hesitates over doing the same with the hoodie just for a second but leaves it, already too starved of your closeness. He advances on you with such momentum that he pushes air out of your lungs—and doesn't let you take another breath before kissing you again with the same fervor. The horny beast in you growls, pleased, and your legs immediately open to fit him better—but the tension at the back of your head remains and tries its best to tie your body into its submission.
"Fuck, I need you..." Ino rasps into your ear, sending harsh shivers down your spine. He ruts his hips against you, the rapidly growing bulge against your groin leaving you no doubts you're for a fast and bumpy ride. You mewl and crane your neck for his lips, jerk your hips up in an answer to his bite, whimper, and moan when he lingers to mark you with a hickey.
His hands don't give your nerves the same luxury; using one for leverage to pin you with his body just enough, he sneaks the other under your clothes. It traces your tum lovingly but, remembering you have only three hours yanked out of your tight schedule, dives into your pants and panties shortly after.
"You're tense," Ino points out as he's spilling wet kisses from your jaw towards your neck and lower.
"This is new," you admit but don't follow any further, trying to silence your uneasiness with haste, shallow kisses that swallow his pleased murmurs and mewls. There is no time for niceties, both of you know it—and you're not letting your weird qualms get in your way, not with the fire spilling between your legs just at the brush of his fingers against your slit.
It's uncomfortable to maneuver under your jeans without unzipping them but Ino would endure even digging in a cooling-down concrete if it meant he could finally touch the place he longed for the most. He curses under breath, his words moist against your neck, and finally finds an angle that satisfies him. His thumb traces your slit, spreads your labia and toys with your clit—touch undeniably pleasant but also palpably rushed, especially for a man who could finger you for hours, until you were nothing but a puddle melting in his hands. He's rather seeking for your arousal than working for it; you're more damp than wet but that's enough, it was before, and your thighs quiver by his sides when he teases right at your entrance.
Tension itches at the back of your head; when Ino's eyes seek yours you nod with agreement, maybe even too sharply to pass as genuine. Under other circumstances he would point it out and ask to be doubly sure, to read the sweet consent from the timbre of your voice, but his senses are as hazy as yours—and he's not thinking with the right brain anymore.
He adjusts the position of his hand one more time—and slides two fingers into you, at once.
Instead of the expected surge of pleasure, your body spasms and you hiss sharply as you try to stop your hips from jerking away. The tension hasn't worked in your favor; yes, the moisture would be more than enough if you were at home, lazy and relaxed, but here it fights against his fingers, access suspended, no matter what your soul and mind are craving.
Ino immediately notices.
"Oh baby, did I hurt you?" He withdraws his hand and lifts himself on both arms now, giving you more space beneath him. The wildfire in his eyes has turned warm and docile, and he's looking at you with nothing but concern—and guilt, creeping at the corners of his big, puppy eyes.
"No, don't worry, I'm alright." You scratch at the back of his head, yourself not sure if to calm down him, yourself, or both at once. You don't know how to explain your current situation without sounding too intricately and ridiculously. You're tempted to joke that you would feel more at ease if there was a curse in the next room, but that's not really the strategy you're looking for to salvage the mood.
"A false start?" Ino finds the right words first and exhales with relief when you agree. "Shit... I was so focused on time... My bad. I'm sorry."
When he reaches to your lips again, the kiss is softer, asking for your forgiveness, but as enthusiastic as before. There's still plenty of heat in between the two of you, so it doesn't take long for your moves to turn sloppy and hungry anew. He's more cautious, though, and doesn't budge from his position any further than needed to sip from you. No matter how tempting you and your mewls are, he's not caving in, not until you're nice and putty in his arms.
It seems it's been hours when he finally asks if you want to continue, and you nod with such enthusiasm that your vision goes blurry for a moment, the tension at the back of your head already too lazy to perk its head, peeking curiously at the situation instead.
A soft kiss on your cheek later, Ino climbs off the bed and, finally, strips off his hoodie. The view itself does wonders to your mood; his athletic and lean body is a work of art, begging to be touched, licked, and caressed. You stare at his back intently as you work your pants and panties down—and count its crevices and lines of defined muscles you're going to trace soon. The tension lets out only a warning thrum when your partner starts digging in the basket with love hotel goods, but it's pretty much its last spasm.
With a comically triumphant noise, Ino turns with a bottle of lube and a condom in his hands—and stops in his tracks at the sight of your half-naked body. He takes a harsher breath when you roll your shirt over your waist; from the weight of his stare, you know he's inches from pouncing on top of you again. Nerves and will of steel, forged in heated battles against curses, pay off in a situation like this, he shrugs the temptation off and snuffs out the wildfire running through his veins.
Everything for your sake.
"You spoil me." The mattress dips under his weight as Ino approaches you on his knees, opening the lube with his teeth at the same time. He spits the cap out on the floor and sits by your side on his heels. He takes his time studying your curves, almost motionless if not for his chest heaving with need and his abdominal muscles tensing and twitching. He might be controlling himself, but it doesn't come with ease. Each breath is a fight against his instincts, racing thoughts, and pulsing hardness relentlessly pushing on his jeans.
"Show yourself to me, pretty girl." He finally snaps out of trance and pours lube, almost everything he has, on his fingers. A smile grows on his face as you listen, bending your legs in knees and spreading them wide for him. "Yes, just like this... Fuck, you're so hot..."
Scooting closer, Ino moves in between them, eyes fixed on his goal, warm and ready for him—but still takes his time to adore you properly. He leans close to your thigh, kisses your knee with sweet affection and advances further down, until he has you giggling and mewling with anticipation—so close to your core yet so painfully away.
One flick of gaze up later he finally reaches between your legs again—the strategy and technique all the same but slower and patient. He spreads lube along your slit as he caresses it, working his way past the last knots of your hesitation. He teases and asks for permission until he's sure your gasps and spasms are genuine in every way possible, and even there, he takes his sweet time playing with your clit. In the heated rush you've almost forgotten how sadistic and stubborn he can be if only he wants to spoil you beyond the expectations. Soon he has every single one of your nerves taunt and at the mercy of his fingertips and midst your hazy mind you're thanking the conditions for giving you two so little time, otherwise he would boil you right there for painfully long hours.
Right as you're ready to beg for more, Ino finally makes his move, starting with a single finger this time.
"There we go, smooth and easy..." He's slow and careful, his eyes fixed on your pussy as he fills you up to his knuckle. "Such a good girl, Y/N..."
He adds another one and smirks down at your expression. Not caring about the mess, he tosses the bottle with lube away and lies beside you, chest flush to your shoulder. You feel his warm breath right by your ear, heavy and right on the verge of a needy groan; prolonging the fast has its great price and he's paying without a blink. It's so unbelievably hot to have him so worked up with only two fingers in you, to be so adored and needed that he's taut like a string on the verge of snapping, and his tongue is tying into knots as he's whispering dirty encouragements for you.
"My... You're getting so wet now..." His voice is throaty, tense and almost breaking, in the most sensual way. "Sucking me in... Can you squeeze a little more? Oh yes, that's right, that's a good girl, working so hard to take my fingers. Do you think you can take another one? I'll be gentle. You need to take it, if you want my cock, pretty girl."
His breathing hitches when you, indeed, take the third finger. Rutting against your side, his hard-rock length twitching in his jeans, he moans, loud and pathetic, at your cunt fluttering around his knuckles. His patience is on the verge of crumbling; even the gentlest and most loving boyfriend has his limits and Ino has pushed past them ages ago. Even midst the hot-red haze mantling your mind you can feel him struggling. His moves turn less precise and sloppy, once almost ceasing, once rushing and seeking that one last nerve to graze and snap. Along with willpower he's losing his focus, putting it instead whole into not cumming into his pants.
And yet, despite everything, he puts you in the first place.
"Fuck..." Ino flounders between words, trying to play two roles at once and win his prize in both of them. "It's so hot... Pretty girl, please? Can I fuck you now? Look, you're taking my fingers already... Fuck— You're taking them so well... Will you cum on them? I want you to cum. Please, cum for me, sweetheart."
He whispers a please after a please into your ear, abandoning stretching you for the sake of moving the remains of his focus to your clit. He rubs it fast and sloppily, far from ideal but makes up for it with desperation and not ceasing until your heels start to dig in the mattress and your thighs to spasm and shake.
"Do it now, sweet girl." He trips over his words as if he was as close to the release as you're now, but he finds enough willpower to show dominance one last time before he finally pushes you over the edge. Your whole body spasms, the buildup and anticipation resulting in a strong, mind-numbing and exhausting orgasm. For a moment there's nothing for you but blank, overwhelming pleasure, white silence and dry, itching pain in your lungs, as if you forgot how to breathe when you were crying out his name.
You return to your senses with stickiness all over your skin and his hot breath pressed to your sweaty neck with a silent pleading for more.
Ino licks his lips when your gaze meets and smiles, as cheeky and proud of his work as impatient. His eyes are glossy, feverish, and his cheeks are flushed so much they're beaming with heat, "Are you okay?"
You nod, not quite having power to say something yet.
"Do you want more? Can I take you?"
Another nod—and a bright smile at his sudden, childish pounce at given consent. Ino's hands are shaking when he unbuckles and unzips his jeans; his fluffy happy trail leads your gaze towards his heavy, twitching erection and precum beading at its head, threatening to spill everything at the slightest friction. He doesn't do much better when rolling a condom on, almost dropping it straight out of the wrapping and dragging a dry spasm of laughter out of you.
"See what you're doing to me, you little minx?" He says once finally successful and squirts the last dollop of lube along his shaft. He spreads it with a few strokes—biting on the bottom lip as he's doing so, so close to his finish that even a loose, almost mechanical jerk of a hand is overstimulating—then finally takes his place between your legs.
He spreads your knees further open, pulls your hips closer and helps you rest your calves against his chest. Before he guides your ankles to his shoulders, he brushes a gentle kiss against the elastic band of one of your socks, then the mark it left before it slid down.
"Ready?" He asks, voice shaking, as he's rubbing himself against your puffy, sensitive clit: shallow, pleading thrusts that could as well just get him off right over you.
You nod again and your eyes flutter in pleasure as Ino wastes no time and slides in, with ease and a loud, guttural groan. He stills mid-way in, intense twitching inside of you calling for a fast finish, but he manages to calm himself down enough to press further, leading your knees towards your chest until he meets your limit.
"Holy shit..." Eyes closed, Ino bites on his lips almost to blood. Sweat pearls on his forehead, first droplets trickle down his temples, and his arms, supporting your legs, start shaking. "This is... Fuck, baby girl, I missed it... I missed you so much..."
He twitches harder when you trace his back, lets out a single dry sob when you run fingers through his hair and pull him closer to yourself. It's okay, he has worked hard for it, he can let go and just enjoy himself. You want to say all of this aloud, but only breathing and soft mewls feel right now—and he's too lost in it to hear all of that anyway.
His control snaps, from tranquil and nearly motionless he switches into the highest gear in seconds, and his deep, harsh, desperate thrusts pierce your body deeper into the soft mattress. It's primal and selfish, and the closest to using you Ino could ever get, each day of loneliness and pent-up tension written in the frantic and sloppy rhythm of his hips. It could have been too much for your body, so spent after an intense orgasm, but he doesn't last long, soon whining and moaning, and finally coming, with fingers digging into your thighs and head falling into the crook of your neck.
He's thrusting into you, at the end only rocking gently against you, until he has no cum and power left in him. He lets your legs slide by his sides and sprawls himself on top of you, heavy, sweaty, so hot against your barely pulled-up shirt and his jeans lowered just below his hips.
"Holy shit, I needed that." There's a trace of smile in Ino's voice—and even in his groan when he fails to pull out of you and has to collapse on you again.
With a pleased, agreeing hum you wrap arms around him and giggle when he finds some steam in him to nibble on your neck. The room is filled with your breathing, mixed musk of your bodies, and the barely audible but steady buzz of the electronics. Now, when nestled cozy with his body close to yours and his lips affectionately tasting your skin, the worry and tension that got in between the two of you feel so irrational that you want to laugh. How could you possibly feel so out of place when you had Ino by your side all this time? The rhythm of his heart and smell of his cologne alone have you feeling at home, safe, cozy and loved.
"How much time do we have left?" Ino fishes his phone from the back pocket, furrows his brows, displeased, when he glances over the screen. "Hey. Do you think we can make it with one more round, shower and a lunch in less than an hour?"
"Do you still have power left after that?" You giggle when he wriggles to find a comfortable position, tickling you while doing so. "You're crazy."
"Nah." He sinks teeth into your shoulder, playfully, but hard enough to leave a little mark. "I'm not just crazy. I'm crazy for you."
thank you so much for reading ❤ i'll be really happy, if you reblog it and/or leave some feedback! you can read more of my jjk fics here.
tag list: @lale-txt @honey-deku @ohnococo
#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x you#jujutsu kaisen x you#ino takuma x reader#ino x reader#jjk ino x reader#ino takuma x you#ino x you#jjk ino x you#bas writes#sinful#in the heat of spring#female reader
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hello kaia! this is for your 555 follower sticky and sweet event ! congrats !
i would like to order a chocolate mousse, cotton candy, churro, candy necklace, and shortbread cookie with caramel and number 1 from the secret menu. for zoro from one piece. (I am a sucker for him istg.) tysm!
hello, hello! thank you v much (◍•ᴗ•◍)❤ it's all so surreal tbh lmao thank u for being patient, this was a labor of love so to speak (i love zoro too, i'm sure u can tell).
2.5k words, gn reader (no pronouns), nsfw, 18+ mdni, zoro is a dumbass and needs to do better - although, according to him, a lil rough makeup sex is the way to go; feat. a lil jealousy, lots of angst, smut, maybe some fluff if u pretend idk i'm bad at it; also an appearance from sanji!
freshly baked cupcakes sit on a large tray on the kitchen table; you watch, in awe as he prepares the frosting — swift, precise, and graceful. you wish you had an ounce of his talent, even mumble that when you attempt to sample a cupcake. because he is so apt at detecting movement in his kitchen, without looking over his shoulder, he scolds you.
“y/n… you can’t have one yet. they’re too hot.”
you roll your eyes and leave the cupcake alone, sighing loudly, dramatically drumming your nails against the table, which earns you a few chuckles from the skilled chef as he puts frosting into individual piping bags. you suppose he has a point; why bother consuming the small piece of cake without any toppings? you’re not luffy, you can keep your urges at bay — for the most part.
“it’s taking too long,” you whine and hop up from the chair you previously occupied, needing something to do with your hands. “can i help?” normally, you just watch; you know he’s particular about his craft and rarely lets anyone assist him, but he seems to be in a charitable mood, so he extends a smaller piping bag for you to practice with.
after fooling around for a few minutes, you get the hang of things, and sanji allows you to frost the first batch of cupcakes without assistance. before you’re allowed to touch anything else, he makes you thoroughly clean your hands and even goes so far as to inspect them afterwards. you don’t take offense to it, of course — it’s a habit of his. he likes things tidy and safe; he doesn’t need anyone getting sick on his watch.
“don’t rush,” he warns when you squeeze the bag too hard, “be gentle. consider them as delicate creatures that need to be handled gently.” you blink repeatedly, let out a loud laugh, which causes his cheeks to flush a dark shade of pink.
“sorry, sorry. i’m not laughing at you, not really.”
the pout on his face means he doesn’t believe you, but you ignore that and frost the cupcakes under his careful guidance. you struggle with the last one, so he places a hand over yours to steady it, giving you a tip on precision — one he learned many years ago from the surly cook he studied under.
after training in the sun for an extended period of time, roronoa zoro opts to cool off inside by fetching a cold glass of water from the kitchen. brows furrowed closely, he watches how easily you laugh with the idiotic cook, how you haven’t pushed him away from you, how you seem a little too comfortable standing that close to him. as someone who prides himself in keeping his composure, especially under times of duress, this shouldn’t be an issue.
and yet, his irritation seeps out of his pores, follows him as he walks to the refrigerator, guides him as he pulls out the pitcher of water, and instructs him to slam the door once he’s done. both you and sanji look up from the table, startled at his intrusion — but you know that look on his face; something’s pissed him off. you open your mouth to greet him but he breezes past you without glancing your way, confusion swirling inside of you, making you think ridiculous things.
sanji takes note of your deflated expression and the way your lips tug downwards; frowning doesn’t suit you, he decides, but, like you, he’s confused over zoro’s childish behavior. you don’t question him when he pats your head gently, murmurs that you can take as many cupcakes as you like — which does perk you up a bit — before his long legs carry him outside of the kitchen and over to the one place he knows zoro is probably holed up in.
zoro is in the middle of a one-armed push up when sanji finds him.
while he knows the swordsman hates having his sanctuary desecrated by the stench of sanji’s cigarettes, he lets it slide; he’s too worked up.
his voice is gruff when he asks, “what do you want?”
sanji exhales deeply, sliding a free hand into his pocket as he leans against the wall closest to the door. “you’re an idiot, you know that?”
a scoff tumbles out of zoro’s mouth and he keeps on with his pushups. it’s not uncommon for them to bicker out of nowhere, but he’s in the middle of training and doesn’t have time to listen to whatever fanciful stories the cook has for him today.
“anything else?” he stands up and stretches his arms before heading to the weight bench.
a vein bulges on the side of sanji’s head at zoro’s ignorance. “y/n wanted to bake something special for you,” he starts, voice even and calm as he speaks in between puffs of his cigarette, “but as you know, none of you are close to my skill level, so i did most of the work.” zoro blinks, stupidly, at his crew mate, eye narrowing as he contemplates his statement. “also… something about an anniversary? i’m not sure.” which is a bold-faced lie, but zoro doesn’t need to know that.
maybe if he lights a fire under his ass, zoro might grow a clue.
despite being one of the more perceptive members of your crew, zoro is hopeless when it comes to romance and communicating his feelings. you know that, you understand it, even — the rejection hurts all the same. you’ve eaten five cupcakes and are on your sixth when you decide to take a bath and soak away all of the negativity.
a heavy knock against the bathroom door shakes you out of your thoughts; you assume whoever it is, they’ll go away once they realize it’s occupied. the knocking persists even after you yell “what?”, even after you climb out of the large bathtub and throw a fluffy towel around your body, and when you yank the door open, you’re fully prepared to tell them off but hesitate when you see that it’s him.
he stares at you for a moment — watches the way water drips down your neck and onto your chest, how you shift to pull the towel around you tighter as your hand grips the door handle tightly. it takes everything in you to not slam the door in his face; but you won’t, you can’t. it wouldn’t be right, and you, at the very least, have a bit more tact than he’ll ever have.
you raise a brow, annoyance simmering deep inside of you, desperate to climb out — but you push it down, as far as you can. you won’t let your emotions get the best of you. because if you do, you’re not sure if you’ll ever be able to salvage things with him.
he opens his mouth, but closes it just as quickly, the words he saved for his apology lodged tightly in the back of his throat, paralyzed due to his inaction. you place a hand on your hip and roll your eyes when he still doesn’t say anything.
“know what? forget it. i can’t do this right now. i’m in the middle of a bath.” it’s quite obvious that you were, but you still feel the need to say it; and even then you hold out for zoro to say something. he runs a hand down his face, exhaling his frustrations — with himself, with you, with the meddlesome cook — half-expecting you to fuss at him all over again. but when you don’t, he considers leaving you to your bath, maybe he can try again another time.
his hesitation makes you snap, and before you can stop yourself, your mouth is on the move again.
“coward.”
the word cuts into his skin, halts his movements entirely; there’s a sliver of rage, but it’s mostly confusion mixed with anguish at your terseness. it’s his fault, really, and he’s coming to terms with that, but still, he never thought you out of everyone important in his life would ever call him cowardly.
while you expected to feel some sort of elation at having the last word, you don’t. there’s a heaviness that you desperately want to get rid of, so you move to the side and motion for him to come in. this time, he doesn’t hesitate, especially as he closes the door behind him and reaches a large, tanned hand out to grab onto your arm.
you try to keep your head clear, but whenever you’re this close to him, it’s like your body has an agenda of its own. his grip is firm, hand rough against your skin, but you like it — a lot more than you’re willing to admit right now. he struggles, again, to get the right words out, and while you want to stay mad at him, you can’t. his brows slope downward as he attempts to formulate a coherent enough response for you, but you stop him.
“you’re an idiot,” you say with a nod; he grunts but reluctantly agrees with your opinion, his gaze softening as you take a step closer to him. “and, you’re going to make it up to me.” because you don’t like him jumping to conclusions without properly talking to you; although, you suppose the way you and sanji were standing together might have seemed intimate. you sort of understand his line of thinking, and in hindsight, everything about it is so damn silly.
“also,” you turn and wrap your arms around him, press your cheek against his firm chest, “you’re the reason why i ate five cupcakes in a row.” your cheeks flush at the confession, and he chuckles as he moves a hand to the back of your neck.
“does that mean you need to burn off the calories?”
you whip your head to stare at him and slap a hand on his arm, his audacity shocking you into silence, until you take in the heated look he gives you. oh. oh. you hadn’t realized what he meant and took his words literally; again, your cheeks flush terribly, making it impossible to look at him. “you’re the worst,” you mumble, feeling bashful for some reason, which only encourages him to tease you some more.
“i’ve been told that a lot, lately.” mostly by you, but he takes each jab as words of endearment, really. and even though you really don’t like how vulnerable you feel right now, you’re happy that you’re finally on the same page as him. your towel falls to the floor, but you don’t bother picking it up. instead, you lose bits of your resilience when zoro pulls you in for a kiss, the residual sweetness from the cupcakes you inhaled earlier still on your tongue. he’s never been a big fan of baked goods or overly sweet things, but he loves kissing you — and, more importantly, tasting you.
breathing becomes irrelevant, as you press your body closer, desperate to consume him the way he consumes you. you’re well-aware there’s something bizarre with that line of thinking, but your logic doesn’t function properly when zoro kisses you like it’s the only thing that makes sense to him. everything about you is soft and delicate — reminding him of one of those cute pastries that sanji whips up to impress the others — almost as if he could easily break you in half without trying.
but when your curious hands slide in between you and rub against his growing erection, he remembers that you’re not at all what you seem; much more impish than innocent — sassy and extremely playful. you tug on his sweatpants impatiently, bringing it lower until you pull out his cock. he pulls away briefly, breath ragged as he pushes you against the wall, hand moving around to firmly squeeze around your throat.
you gasp in surprise, but his mouth is on you almost immediately — all tongue and teeth, roughly tugging and licking, your body yearning for more. you fuss with the remainder of his clothes and when they’re cast aside on the floor, he presses kiss after kiss along your jaw, your neck — bite marks visible along your clavicle and chest. you know there will be bruises later, but you don’t care. you stroke his cock, enjoying the way his hips jut forward at your touch, his moans quiet, but loud enough to send shivers down your body.
his hands settle on your ass and you wrap your legs around him when he picks you up, peppering kisses on his face, dragging your tongue down the length of his throat, biting him back and sucking on the skin. his cock is thick and heavy against you, and you’re not sure what possesses you, but you greedily whisper, “hurry,” against his lips. zoro lines the tip of his cock with your entrance, both of you pausing as he inches inside of you. pressing you against the wall, he thrusts into you once, pulling back before thrusting into you again. you let out a strangled cry, nails clawing at his back as you moan his name repeatedly, hips rolling as his thrusts get harder. he knows he should probably slow down, take his time with you, but he’s too far gone and you’re experiencing too much bliss — the high from zoro fucking you will last for hours, it’s why you let him have his way.
but, since he feels a little bad about earlier, he presses his lips to your ear, telling you that you’re doing so well and fuck, you feel so damn good and also you can take a little more, i know you can. his words infiltrate your body, settle in your mind, covering you in a lust-filled haze, one that burns you relentlessly. skin slick with sweat, you clench around his thick cock, small bursts of pleasure erupting within both of you at the sensation. zoro powers into you, ferocious and unapologetic, hips rocking against yours as his cock kisses a spot that’s far enough to have you in tears, thighs trembling under his firm grip, his fingers digging into your plush skin. what pushes you over the edge is the tender way he’s kissing you, and maybe it feels a little romantic to simultaneously cum at the same time as him.
you should feel a bit of shame for the lewd way you keep clenching around him, but you don’t; and how could you? you like him and he likes you, that’s all there is to it.
you’re an intoxicating fixture in his life, one that has him acting up from time to time — it’s not because he doesn’t trust you, but rather he thinks you’re too damn good for him; and maybe you are, but you still want to be with him all the same, his rugged demeanor has grown on you, his brutal honesty an admirable trait that you won’t find with anyone else. you know it’s not love, and you’re not cynical enough to call it obsession, but it’s a mix between the two, one that is overly complicated for everyone outside of your relationship to try and understand.
thankfully, they don’t bother you too much about it, and since zoro hates explaining himself, they don’t bother him about it either.
#fic request#milestone event#500+ followers event#🍭✨🍨sticky & sweet event🧁✨🍭#one piece x reader#one piece x y/n#roronoa zoro#roronoa zoro x y/n#roronoa zoro x reader#zoro x reader#zoro x y/n#vinsmoke sanji#zoro smut#one piece smut#one piece angst#zoro angst#one piece imagine
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for my request I would like Corrin and Keaton to go to a restaurant and they eat something strange that causes increased hunger and weight gain.
Had like a ridiculously short outline and then had like 200 words for the longest time cause I didn't know what exactly to write lmao
And also was probably a little burnt out from writing but finally came back tot his and I hope you enjoy it! I always love writing about the furry bait characters asdfasvs
Warning: This is a fetish story!
“This place doesn’t seem that lively,” Seated in his chair, Keaton glances at the rest of the restaurant. The wolfskin doesn’t get a chance to see much, him and Corrin having a private, closed off room just for the two of them.
Corrin smiles at his husband from across the massively large banquet table that separates them. “It was pretty normal to me. It was packed even,” Corrin reads through the menu; all the plentiful options whet his appetite, his eldest brothers clearly knowledgeable when it comes to finer things.
The restaurant is a newer fascination in Izumo, the fine dining establishment having recently made a name for itself with its combined approach of cooking with magic; so much so, that the place had even caught the eyes of Ryoma and Xander, the couple then recommending the place to Corrin.
Which led to Corrin inviting Keaton to such a high end place, the wolfskin far from accustomed to such a thing. Though only now could they go to it with the restaurant being so far away from Valla, Corrin's earlier business in the still new and rebuilding Kohga allowing them just enough time to plan and make a reservation.
The reservation had been completely unnecessary, the staff and owner eager to have a third king at their establishment. Promptly rushed to their own spot, the two now wait to be further attended to after already being given a bevy of wines and other refreshments.
Keaton chugs down the glasses of wine left on his side; each cup that he sets his sight on doesn't last for long. "It's too clean in here," He grumbles. Reading the menu, the item is sideways in his hands.
"It's supposed to be clean, it is a restaurant after all. But, we should have some time for a little treasure hunt after dinner," Corrin sips at his drink, the sugary concoction mixed with enough citrus and acidity to balance it out to where he only comes close to wanting to pucker his lips.
"Alright! They better come back soon then, cause I'm-" The sliding door that separates them from the rest of the establishment suddenly opening immediately shuts Keaton up. The wolfskin perks up in his seat.
Despite neither having ordered food, their waiter walks in with two entire trays; he balances the expensive silverware without a trace of an issue, his face calm.
And another two servers enter the room shortly after him. Both of them also carrying well loaded trays, the table is promptly filled up by various meals by the three workers. The entire menu is handed to the two men, far too many plates to be eaten just between the two of them served without either even asking.
“The Archduke wished for you to enjoy ourselves after all you have done for Izumo. So, your entire meal will be complimentary as he wished. If you require anything else, simply write what you wish on this tome. Your request will show in the duplicate in our kitchen,” The waiters bow and take their leave.
The head waiter hands Corrin a small letter before he leaves. The thick parchment is embellished in several insignias, all similar in design with only minor differences in each as if the creator could not settle on a single design. Corrin pulls the tome away from Keaton’s eager self, the wolfskin amazed by such a feat of magic, and opens the letter left for him. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots Keaton huffing to himself, slouched in his chair for a moment before he starts to dig in.I hope you’re enjoying the place so far. Aren’t you glad that I was cunning enough to know even you would come here? It is the place everyone’s talking about after all. Who can blame them when the food is truly amazing thanks to yours truly? I’ve got to keep up my good looks so I decided to research and test magically infused food to keep away those pesky pounds. It even makes everything taste better; I’m just that amazing! So, dig in and pig out! If you don’t take advantage of my generosity, you’ll really make a guy feel bad.
-The best Archduke ever, Izana
Corrin gently closes the letter back up. He places the letter onto the table next to the book.
“You’re shtill not eating?” Keaton asks with a full mouth.
Corrin’s attention is turned back to his husband, his eyes wide at the sight.
While Keaton has always been rather vulgar in, well everything, his eating habits are far from the best as well. But even then, his slobbish habits only became noteworthy at the end of each meal. Now, Keaton’s face is a canvas covered in art pieces of food. He has portions of various plates on his face from being unable to dedicate himself to eating just one at a time. Dribbles of orange sauce are on his left cheek next to specks of rice while his right cheek has some tomato sauce and small bits of ground beef. Keaton’s face even seems a bit more filled out; his angular cheekbones have a slight curve to them.
“I guess the food is great then,” Corrin feebly gestures at his own cheeks, wrists limp as he smiles at his husband.
But Keaton’s focus has already shifted back to the food in front of him. He reaches for whatever is in front of him, taking a few bites from the nearest plate before moving onto another and continuing the process.
“Oh well,” Corrin’s smile widens. He decides to enjoy the free banquet of food given to them; he looks at the options in front of him. There is so much food in front of him, far more food than he and Keaton could eat combined and even double that amount. He starts off a bit small by grabbing the bowl of shoyu ramen. The broth emits a faint hint of steam that brushes against his face. Corrin’s nose wrinkles at the moisture but he catches the homely, aromatic scent. His stomach grumbles at that moment. He digs into his meal without a second thought.
The umami flavor practically jumps into Corrin’s mouth the instant he plops a heavy bundle of noodles into his mouth after cooling it for a quick moment with his breath. He perks up in his chair, already straight posture becoming even more rigid as he sits up straight. Corrin’s eyes light up; his cheeks are stuffed full of noodles and some of the transparent, brown broth, but only for a moment since he barely chews more than a couple times before swallowing the deliciously, savory dish. He promptly goes back for another bite, also slurping down the broth to go with the noodles and toppings. Corrin doesn’t bother to stop and enjoy the food he devours, the finely cooked pieces of chicken and vegetables swiftly devoured with every heaping mouthful he eats.
“The food here is great,” Corrin huffs in between a mouthful after almost finishing the entire dish. His stomach now bloated, he doesn’t even notice it as he chugs down the rest of his ramen.
Keaton is in the exact same situation as Corrin; he only bothers to respond after he finally finishes his second dish. “Told ya,” Several other dishes around half eaten are littered around him, Keaton very much intending to come back around to them. Keaton’s figure is much more affected by the food. His distended belly pools forward. His black vest is taut against the firm little tummy. The fabric of his long sleeve button up is pulled up; the tiniest portion of his budding belly fat is visible, the pudgy little flab sticking out.
Corrin pays no attention to the rapid effects of the food on his waistline —an effect completely contrary to Izana’s claims— and Keaton does the very same; the two of them are so absorbed in their eating that they fail to realize their growing situation. Neither care with delicious food that’s far better than anything even the head royal Vallite chef can prepare right in front of them and in such high quantities as well, the two barely having made a dent into the entire spread of dishes. The food clearly researched and developed involving regular humans, the intended effects don’t work on Corrin or Keaton, Keaton a wolfskin and Corrin having far more dragon heritage compared to the generations diluted blood in his adoptive siblings. Food that is meant to be as non-fattening as equally as it is flavorful fails in the former aspect for the two; so much magic crammed into each and every meal reacts with the two’s genes to nullify the excessive calories, hundreds of calories in each bite. The food even exaggerates their appetites, neither able to be satisfied from the food and only left wanting more and more unlike everyone else along with instantly converting the far too excessive calories into generous pounds of lard.
The two happily eat without a care, both quickly packing on the pounds in what should take years.
Keaton still reaches for whatever he can get his hands on, proudly letting himself burp in between obscene mouthfuls of food that would never pass proper decorum like the rest of his behavior. He currently has three plates in front of him—a half eaten hearty, meaty steak, a loaded plate missing around a dozen of hors d'oeuvres, and a decadent cheesecake topped with fresh strawberries with a chunk missing from it, all clearly inspired by Cyrkensia’s lavish cuisine and lifestyle. Keaton uses his flabby arms to alternate between each dish. Arms that grow larger and more sluggish overtime with his excessive binging, not that Keaton pays much attention to his growth. His stomach does all the thinking for him, the churning, gurgling now sizable gut yearning for more. His stubby little tail excitedly wags despite his desperation. His tail seems even smaller with his more pronounced rear. Keaton’s earlier request for a chair without armrests to accommodate his energetic nature pays off, his fat ass already beginning to come close to seeping off the edges of his seat. His pants unknowingly unbuttoned a couple dozen pants ago, the button forcefully ejected onto the floor by his growing thighs and gut, his pants staring against his ass. His legs are just as impressive; the fabric is extra thin around his chunky thighs, the upper portions of his thighs somehow squeezed into the material despite the strained stitches. His stomach is now completely visible. Already only having a portion of his vest and shirt buttoned to show off his pecs, Keaton now instead shows off his rounded, portly breasts. The sides of his bountiful chest are still covered by the fabric, but the fleshy curvature of his heavy chest is visible. Most of his buttons are now gone, his attire holding onto the last of its kind; a singular button strains the best it can to keep the fabric together. The button digs into the upper crest of his gut, Keaton’s blubbery lower stomach free for viewing along with his navel.
Corrin is less far along in his growth. He has multiple plates in front of him that he intends to eat all of, but he goes one by one. Just finishing a plate practically overflowing with spicy curry, he only pats at his plump lips with a napkin before tearing into his next plate —a bowl filled with various cold, creamy ice cream topped with fruits and syrups that is only a stopping point before even more plates. Despite eating at a reserved rate considering the food’s unintended effects on him, Corrin has no hopes of stopping the weight that piles onto his twinkish frame; not that he has any thoughts about it in the first place, only caring about fulfilling his greedy, piggish desires. Corrin’s attire meant to fit snugly against his svelte yet built frame, the black material hugs every roll and curve that he has. His clothes only grow tighter as he eats more. The fabric slowly inches up higher and higher on his growing stomach, a once flat abdomen turning into a cute pudgy little tummy before becoming a full blown belly that still continues to fatten and grow as Corrin eats and eats. His belly is topped with a budding pair of breasts that strain his shirt; the fabric is wrinkled and scrunched from trying to wrap around Corrin’s girth. Corrin’s lower half is even more impressive however. His ass digs into the armrests, flab once grazing against the wood only for it to gain more heft to press against the furniture. Corrin’s tight pants fall down his ass, the material not stretchy enough to encompass all of him. His thighs take up the entirety of his chair, the two wide, doughy legs pressed up against each other. Bits of his flab escape the soft material of his pants, holes formed on the sides.
The furniture is clearly not made with such large patrons in mind, why would it be with food that should make it impossible to gain weight? The chairs hold the two growing occupants without a groan or a creak, but the limited space does make it harder for them. It makes it much harder for Corrin, the obese king slowly but surely growing fat enough to eventually become wedged in his chair. It doesn’t take too long for him, but the more cramped space is far back in the recesses of his mind much like the sound of fabric tearing and ripping. All he cares about is satisfying his insatiable hunger, needing and wanting to eat more of the delectable food. Keaton fares better despite weighing around a hundred pounds more. Absolutely bloated and past the quarter ton pounder mark, the morbidly obese wolfskin still happily eats away. Unfortunately for him, he comes close to finishing everything he can reach. Trying to reach for more after finishing his last round of dishes, Keaton slowly comes to his senses with a lack of more food getting crammed down his mouth. He slumps back in his chair, hands on his belly as he lets out a burp.
“Ough,” Keaton absentmindedly rubs at his belly. So tired yet hungry, he allows himself to catch his breath. Enjoying himself, he grumbles to himself. Not from his weight. No, he pouts as he realizes all the food is on Corrin’s side. “I guess I’ll be fair,” Keaton mutters to himself. His tail still waggles despite that. Chins smushing together as he looks down at himself, he grins. He gets a faceful of his own chest; the two blubbery water balloons for tits wobble as he gropes himself. Each moob fills up the palm of his hands and overflows them. The rest of his frame jiggles from the motion, his belly sloshing in his lap. What should be a massive and comfortable spot for someone to sit on with Keaton having such meaty thighs is completely overtaken by his massive stomach. His uncovered gut spreads across the enormity of his legs. Keaton’s belly even sags off the sides of his own thighs. His thighs completely take up the entire width of the chair and sag off the sides. His position is uncomfortable with his fat digging into the chair. His ass is also uncomfortable with it crammed against the backrest. Keaton’s enormity makes it so that he doesn't even look like he’s sitting on a chair, his flab covering up the small seat. He fixes his situation by standing up, a task that requires him to grip and push on the table to support himself. Despite still practically feeling famished, the food still somehow sits heavily in his gut. His clothes in tatters, Keaton huffs as he stands up. He grins at his still eating husband as he waddles his way around the banquet table to him.
But not before grabbing the book and scribbling a barely coherent sentence with his demand.
Corrin is completely stuck in his chair. Despite his trapped state and his tattered clothes, or most likely because of them, Corrin’s face is a vibrant red hue as he still eats his last plate —a platter originally stacked with a tower of donuts but is now only left with around half a dozen. His thighs are completely wedged in between the armrests, his blubbery flab flowing over the wood and the sides as well. The armrests are slightly bowed from all the weight. His stomach also overflows them, his gut resting atop his massive thighs. Corrin’s thighs have completely destroyed his pants; the legging-like attire is in tatters, the fabric simultaneously half littered on the floor and across his body. His ass is also exposed, the large rear wedged into his chair like the rest of him. And yet, Corrin still keeps eating the donuts, needing to eat even more now than when he first started.
His attention only shifts when he feels a heavy weight on him.
“Keaton, please,,,” Corrin whines.
Keaton waits for Corrin to come to his senses, all the food in front of Corrin now similarly eaten. He does press some of his weight on Corrin, his fat ankles tired from the walking and needing a bit of rest. He ignores the creaking of the chair, no furniture made with the intent to withstand around half a ton of men.
Keaton resting his gut on his husband, he also holds the very last donut in his hand. “You want it that badly?”
“Y-” Corrin’s response is muffled as Keaton shoves the maple flavored donut in his mouth. Corrin eats the entire donut, forced to devour it all at once.
“This shouldn’t,,,” Corrin whines as he comes to his senses. His face is still red however.
Keaton ignores Corrin’s whimpering and instead reaches to grab his husband. Hands on his thighs, Keaton gropes and pinches as much of Corrin he can reach. Though in his fervor he forgets about the creaking chair.
The two promptly come tumbling down to the floor. Corrin’s fall is cushioned by his blubbery ass, the large rear wobbling like the rest of his rotund self; Corrin also helps cushion Keaton, the fatter male’s lard pressed up against his own. The two simply stay like that for a moment, the two wheezing and panting.
They only get interrupted by their waiters returning with more food.
Clearly listening to Keaton’s demands of another round of everything on the menu and extra spontaneous creations from the chefs, they stop upon the sight of their now suddenly obese clients on the floor. So many rolls of flab pressed up against each other, the two resemble seals more than their former slim selves.
“Tch, who said,” Keaton rolls off of Corrin but struggles to get himself up, pinned by his gut while he tries to build enough momentum to roll onto his gut, “you could stop bringing food,” Keaton huffs as he manages to lie down on his stomach. He slowly gets himself up, pushing with all his might.
“Please, your food is just so good,” Getting up is much easier for Corrin but his gaze is focused away from the waiters and even the food. He rubs his gut in anticipation.
The waiters simply shrug before placing all the food on the table, not wishing to upset a client, much less a king. More waiters also come in, replacing the chairs with a more accommodating seating arrangement. Though the space is still restrictive; a shared booth between Keaton and Corrin is rather tight both width wise and table wise, their flab digging into the wood.
The two start digging into their food before their waiters can even close the door.
“Eating contest?” Keaton asks as he crams an entire sausage into his mouth.
Corrin chugs his soup even faster in response. “Mmhm,”
The two don’t even bother keeping tally on who eats what, the two obese men simply craving to satisfy their hungry appetites as they begin to eat and grow fatter again, Corrin and Keaton completely content.
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AEW Dynamite 3/6/24
Hook (c) vs. Brian Cage for the FTW Championship -- Super fun match. Good spots with the barricade and the tacks. Hook with some impressive feats of strength, including t-bone suplex on Cage. Hook locks in Redrum, Cage falls back and drives Hook into the tacks, but Hook holds on and Cage taps! Rating: 3
Kyle O'Reilly is backstage with Renee!!! I could cry just looking at him!! He says he has nothing but love for the Undisputed Kingdom, but he thought he might never wrestle again, and now that he is back, he has to choose which path to take. Teaming with his friends would be the easy path, so he has to do this on his own now. Hype!!!
Schiavone introduces the Bucks. Schiavone mentions the ass-kicking they got at Revolution. Nick freaks out. They tell Schiavone to get the hell out of their ring. Matt announces that Hangman Page is suspended from the Elite without pay for putting his hands on two refs at Revolution. And Kenny, who hasn't made any of his dates lately for no apparent reason, is fired from the Elite. Lmao. Eddie Kingston comes out to shut them up. Then Okada's music hits!!! HE IS HERE!!!!!! AAAAHHHHHH!!! Okada lays Eddie out with a Rainmaker!!! WTF!!!!!!!!! The Bucks announce that Okada is the newest member of the Elite!!! Wow!!!!!!!! Didn't see that coming, but it has great potential, especially if Omega ever gets back. What a great segment and introduction for Okada.
Kris Statlander vs. Riho -- Really great match here. Loved the contrast of Stat's power and Riho's quickness. Rating: 3.5
Schiavone introduces Darby, who enters with the tag titles and without Sting for the first time in what feels like forever. I am emotional. Darby says that he said he would stop at nothing to make sure Sting got the retirement he deserved, and he feels like he did that. He says he was homeless five years ago, but last weekend he main evented one of AEW's biggest pay-per-view events with the Icon Sting. He says he is preparing to climb Mount Everest at the end of the month, and he may not come back alive, so just in case, he wants to thank the fans for making this dream of wrestling possible for him. He says he is relinquishing the tag titles, rather than finding a new partner, because he cannot replace the Icon. 🥺
Jay White comes out. He says Darby jumping off the ladder and going through the glass at Revolution was stupid. He left Sting to fight the Bucks in a two on one situation. Jay asks what is Darby without Sting? A little lost puppy with no one to hold his leash. Jay says he doesn't need to wrestle Darby next week, instead Darby can hang out with the Bang Bang Scissor Gang. They already have a nickname for him, Darby Scissorhands. Darby asks if Jay is done. He says Jay main evented the Tokyo Dome twice and won titles all over the world, but since coming AEW, he has done nothing but play with cardboard cut-outs. Darby doesn't believe the hype. Darby will see Jay at Big Business, and if Jay is as good as he says, he will come alone. Nice segment here!!
Will Ospreay vs. Kyle Fletcher -- Fantastic back and forth here with lots of nearfalls between two guys who know each other very well. Ospreay finally gets the pinfall with an avalanche poison rana and a Hidden Blade!! Awesome match. Rating: 4
Danielson's music hits, and he comes out to stand with Ospreay in the ring. He is smiling!!!! Hype!!!!
#aew#aew dynamite#aew lb#kyle o'reilly#kazuchika okada#matt jackson#nick jackson#the young bucks#the elite#kris statlander#riho#darby allin#jay white#will ospreay#kyle fletcher#hook#brian cage#bryan danielson#tony schiavone#aew dynamite 3/6/24
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ooc. nehe~
because b.each e.pisode (now i have to censor that too..thanks p.orn b.logs;;)
if u ever felt like down because of your swimming outfit look please remember a.kihiko chose this because of 'speed'
ok dropping how some muses b.each look and stuff~
aki: as previous picture. SPEED! POWER! B/ANANA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
aldo: alde will probably ...not go for the beach because 'cat-like' but if he was to wear something to humor his friends hmm.. probably something like [this]; to cover his whole body. there is no canon look for him which is a surprise by now but hey he is the only protag in a mobile game so far who does not have million clothes. he got only one look XDD well, if u count IDA school outfit then...two...and like only his normal style and ascended style which is same look ...sigh...why are they stingy with my boy? HE IS THE PROTAGONIST PLEASE LEARN FROM GRAN/BLU AND GIVE HIM MANY MANY CUTE AND COOL OUTFITS AAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
b.alan: nope. u can drag him to hell but not to the b.each. if he like magically was taken there he would most likely still be wearing his normal clothes or something like a legging, shorts, long shirt and a jacket. a hat for sure and sunglasses magically over his glasses XD
c.aleb: u know he gotta flex his abs and muscles. AVAIATION BOY NEEDS TO FLEX TO IMPRESS. the usual shorts with or without open shirt ~
d.ate: no beach for him. nope. i will talk about [him because all he wears is obnoxious and colorful if he was in his s.aito body but somewhat obnoxious and weird ass patters in his normal body]
e.dea: my guuurl!!! LOOK AT HER!!! PERCEIVE HER. BOOTIFUL. listen anything cute and with a bow is her go to. something that could accentuate her cuteness! coughboobacough.
e.dward: literally will sink if he goes into water but hey. i remember he had an official art back in 2003 but i cant find it but here is the mobile game look [this]
f.orte: MY KNIGHT! her official look is simple and cute ;u; edea and forte team simple bi.kini.s with bows~
f.rey: listen. at least there are no weird ass straps u know
g,aius: my dude be rocking the candy look~
k.ula: the kawaii overload look uwuuiwieuwsjks also chiro's art is canon for me. instantly adapting everything into my k.ula. bless her soul for the k.ula art (that is not loli or questionable) i had been denied for years.
k.yle: is grandpa... he will drink bear and nap there. he is def short and open shirt guy.
l.indow: OHONHONN THE SEGGSY MAN OF THE EAST DEN WMWHEHEHEHEHE i dont think he got a beach alt in any of the mobile games that came out or i could be mistaken SINCE MOST OF THEM ARE JP REGION LOCKED FLUCK! but same obnoxious date style of H//awaiian shirt and short. please dont let them meet!!!!!!!
l.issa: can't believe we dont have an official art for her but we got a cute maid one lmao feat. gr.ima and maribelle XDDD anyway cute style she is similar to ed.ea in style so weeee~
l.ucina: on that note the whole official art is [this] L.UCINA AND MARI ENJOYING THEIR TIME WHILE THE OTHERS ARE FIGHTING THIS ART IS SO FUNNY I OPEN IT FROM TIME TO TIME TO LAUGH.
as you can see we have a l.uci b.ikini look and in heroes we got another look and in cipher we got another. tbh if there is a beach episode it will be defaulted to her cipher look because i think it is the prettiest and closets to how i personally write her. though the other two can come up only for partners and the like.
l.yndis: ..........shes cruel.....
l/onqu: similar to g/aius' shorts but he wears open jacket/shirt or whatever. honestly it will be ...a miracle if he went to the beach. his gynophobia will kick in at full speed dlkfjs
m.ax: HE JUST FLEX HIS MUSCLES TO IMPRESS JUBELLIAN. SILLY CAT MAN.
r.aquel: mhmhmhm my sickly girl ;a; she will definitely join but not for too long ... so something is cute yet practical hmhmh maybe something like [this] perhaps she can tie something to her waist to make it longer and cover whenever she is not in the water hmhm
r.en: the chaotic amamiya. he might copy l.indow's style to piss him off that he can pull it better than him but he generally hoodie and short kind of style.
r.okurou: THE MAN THE MYTH THE LEGEND. check him out!!!!!!!!!!!!
s.enel: isn't his outfit already a swimming one? ............ senny you water nerd. but look we got from mobile games
s.hutaro: HE AINT GOING TO THE BEACH BRO HE WILL DIE. HE WILL PERISH. HE WILL JUST POOF FROM EXISTANCE. HE IS A VAMPIRE BOY. but ..sobs.... like... he is the bermuda kind of young man with jacket because i feel like he was somewhat insecure about him not being that strong looking. even after becoming vampire boy he is like ;u;
s.yaoran: whatever kids wear man. most likely bermuda too and jacket.
t.iz: MY HOME BOY. listen. he does not think that much. anything will work. shorts and he will jump into the water (bumpkin boy like) but u know if he was given choice he might go for something like [this] or [this] similar.
t.ressa: oooh tessa!!!!! something cute and practical like r.aquel because i feel like she is the kind of ...on the job all the time XD she will find a way to profit here and there ehehehe [this] i see her one piece but then with enough encouragement she will try the two pieces. most likely only if she had someone in her life u know otherwise being practical wins.
v.ictor: oh sheet segggsyyyy dead daddy. ok. i feel like he is ...like this XDD sorry luci.fer stealing ur look
x.oaishi: DIVE BACK IN TIME~ T-T-TIME~ anyway CHECK HIM OUT! tots not matching with boyfo but lets pretend we dont see.
yoeng: listen... she does not mind showing off because she is not embarrassed or shy about her body!!!!!! she knows what works well with her body type and will pick something that accentuate that powerful look. expect her to pick one for friends outing and another one if a mission required her to be in one and this one will be super practical so she can hide knives and all sort of stuff she needs in a mission. friends outing will be something like [this] or similar // mission swimsuit like [this] / [this]
z.ack: ENTER THE AMAZING PUPPY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1
f.eiruz: LISTEN. SHE IS A MODEST LADY. SHE WILL ONLY SHOW MOST PARTS ONLY FOR HER HUBBY OK? i tried to draw something over a body art (not mine).
e.inar: byakko's popsicle~ definitely something like this to cover his magitek arm. even though it looks like a normal arm, he needs to be careful still. ofc he prefers solid colors (only post game he will let u know he likes cat prints shhhhh)
no i didnt take the whole day to think of swimsuits...weh. probably not all my muses;;
#building up.|#ooc.| faty speaks#[lays on the ground...i hate when i wanna do something lots of things keep popping here and there#[waa...#[anyway..looks at varus...YOU....YOUUUUU......I CARE FOR YOU DUMDUM
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