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#like small change already makes me eh but all this

ghosts-cyphera · 7 months

Note

Size. Kink. Ghost. That’s all I have to ask.

my hand may have slipped over the keyboard. thank you for that, you thirsty, sweet anon. 💌

content/warnings: simon ‘ghost’ riley x afab!reader, possibly slight humiliation, size kink, fingering, mentions of safe words. no use of pronouns. words: 838.

18+, minors do not interact!

a/n: it doesn’t matter how tall, or short, or big, or small, or thin, or fat, or curvy you are. Ghost is bigger, even if that means that he’ll be sized up to 7’5”. if you want to feel small compared to him, you get to feel small compared to him without changing your own bodytype. you’re good as you are.

“My darlin’s so fuckin’ desperate, yeah?” Ghost’s chuckle was a low rumble, as he breathed in your scent.

With your back pressed against his chest and your thighs spread wide open in his lap, you were a sight from his fuckin’ daydreams: his little love, so goddamn sweet as his single finger fucked into your dripping cunt.

So warm and wet around him, your arousal coating the palm of his hand as he curled his finger in you. And there it was: the soft fuckin’ breath that escaped your lips each time he did.

So fuckin’ adorable.

For nearing what must’ve been ten minutes he had played with your pussy like this. A single finger, slow and steady: the man enjoying every breath and gasp and hopeless plea that slipped from your lips as he did.

He knew it would not be enough to push you over the edge. To get you to scream out his name, as your body trembled and shook against him.

Yet it was building up. Your desperation for more: your hopelessness evident in the way that your body, so fuckin’ small compared to his, was beginning to quiver against him, the feeling alone enough to get his cock twitching in his jeans.

Fuckin’ hell, all the things he was willing to do, just to get to bury it in you right fuckin’ then.

Yet he knew. He knew how fuckin’ much it was for your body to take: his darlin’ needing his patience in getting ready to take every last inch of him.

Fuck, you both knew that he would not be able to hold back once his cock was buried into your sweet little cunt, didn’t you?

“Ghost, please—“

He chuckled against the top of your head, his lips planting deep kisses into your hair as he raised a brow.

“Tell me, sweetheart.”

“More. Please, more.” Your voice was so soft and sweet: laced with your arousal that made you clench around his finger, too, as the deep laugh rumbled from his chest.

“Sweetheart, you're already so fuckin’ tight around my single finger. Sure my little one can take more?”

The hum that passed your lips was thick with desperation, yet you knew better than that.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” he shook his head, as his hand began to pick up its pace: sliding deeper and faster into you with such ease, that he could not help but feel proud of how well you were taking him.

“You know I wanna hear ‘em pretty words, yeah? So tell me, love. Tell me how fuckin’ much you want my thick fuckin’ fingers to stretch you to your limits, yeah? Tell me how desperate you are to be filled so goddamn nice and full that you’ll be fuckin’ cock drunk for days to come, eh?”

The way that you rushed into speaking was one of his favorite things about you. Your rambling, soft and pathetic: your desperation something so goddamn good that he could not be blamed for a touch of impatience on his behalf, now could he?

“That’s it, darlin’.”

With a deep chuckle he slid his finger out of your dripping cunt, and as he slid it back in—not fucking slowly, alright��it was not a single finger anymore.

Three fingers in your throbbing cunt were enough to get you to cry out his name. Enough to make you squirm against his body. Enough to coax the sweetest of breaths and gasps and moans from your glistening lips, as he picked up his pace while his other hand hugged you tighter against his chest, holdin’ you nice and close to him.

“Such a sweet little thing, eh? Such a good fucking darlin’, all for me.”

You were crying now from pure bliss: your walls clenching around his fingers as he curled them inside you with each flick of his wrist.

“That better, love?”

“Yes—“

“So nice and fucking full, yeah?”

“No.”

Ghost laughed with a shake of his head. You had managed to stay nice and sweet for him for a record time, hadn’t you?

“I need you to fuck me,” you managed, breathless.

“Wanna come around my fuckin’ cock? ‘S that right, baby?” His fingers did not slow their pace, as his laugh rumbled from his chest. “I won’t be able to take it fuckin’ easy on you.”

“I know.”

“So if it’s too much—“

“Red for stop,” you spoke, and he could hear the smile on your lips even before you turned your head to look at him. “Orange for slow down. Green for all good.”

“That’s my darlin’,” he praised, as his lips found yours for a kiss deep and burning, thick with not only his need, but also the adoration that he felt for you.

Fuckin’ hell, if you weren’t everything the man had ever wanted.

“Come on, sweetheart. Turn around for me, yeah? Wanna see ‘em pretty eyes roll back when you go ‘n take every last inch of my fuckin' cock like the good little darlin' you are.”

part 2 | masterlist | requests are open 💌

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley smut #lo answers

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lowkeyremi · 4 months

Text

jjk men and aftercare pt 2 ft. Yuji, Megumi, Sukuna, Yuta, and Toge.

a/n: part 2 babyyy hope u guys enjoy, everyone (except sukuna + megumi) are more on the softer side in this i think (here's part 1)

cw: slightly suggestive, how they are after sex basically :) (all characters are aged up!!)

Yuji Itadori

He's kind of clueless at first. No doubt he's heard about it because he was nervous about his first time and called up his long time best friend Megumi to ask about.

Of course he told him to look it up himself, which he did but he wasn't patient enough to read through it thoroughly, so he scanned through the article to get the basic idea.

"Ummm, do you want snacks? Water... uhhhhh... um.." he struggles to remember what he'd read.

"Some water would be nice to start out." To start out? What does he have to do next?

Instead of stressing though, he hops up off the bed (naked), "Okay! I'll go get you some water!!" He's quick to leave the room and retrieve a nice, cold bottle of water.

As he's about to hand it to you he snatches it back and cracks it open, "Don't want you to strain anything."

"Yuji, baby, I can open a water bottle." You giggle at how cute and careful he is.

"Oh, right! Here you go." Your fingers touch his as he hands you the bottled beverage. A small smile rises on your face and his smile widens when he sees you smiling.

You gulp down the water quickly which was a terrible idea. Small sips is always the way to go, but sex has left you parched for some odd reason.

"Do you wanna hop in the bath?" His head perks at your questions.

"Oh yeah! You probably wanna get clean, right? I'll give you a massage too if you'd like!" Who are you to tell this beautiful man, "no"?

"Of course, Yuji. Thank you for taking care of me." Pride swells inside of him at the thought of taking care of you.

Megumi Fushiguro

Sigh. Like father, like son. He's not as bad as Toji, but when you guys first slept together he rolled over and fell asleep once you came.

When you told him why you were upset his response was "at least you came, right?"

Which he admits now that that was NOT the best thing to say. He's changed since then, though.

"Here," he throws pain killers and your favorite snack at you. You'd just finished showering about twenty minutes ago. Yes, you invited your boyfriend to join you but he had to resist your offer. He knew he wouldn't be able to keep his hands off of you and you already expressed your tiredness.

Anyone else would probably be offended if their partner threw stuff at them, but this is Megumi's way of expressing his love.

"You good?" He asks when you don't move to pick up your snack.

"Mhm, but you know it's best for me to take pain killers before sex. They're useless now." He dodges the pill bottle when you throw it at him.

"They won't reduce the after sex pain? Thought they did. Well anyway, you wanna watch something? I actually started getting into that one show you like."

The way your heart fluttered at his question left you all sappy and excited.

"Yeah get over here."

He's not perfect at aftercare but he's yours and he makes sure to tend to your needs in his own way.

Sukuna Ryomen

Honestly I don't even think I need to write anything for him but ima try my best!

He was confused about the way you stared at him when you joined him in the bathroom. He was brushing his teeth.

"What brat?" He asks staring at you through the mirror.

"You literally split me in half and didn't even bother to take care of me afterward.." You state awkwardly as you sit on the covered toilet seat.

"Eh? What happened to all that independent woman shit? Can't ya do it yourself?" He asks, the toothpaste and toothbrush in his mouth made his words a little bit hard to understand, but you get the gist.

"I mean I can do it myself, but it's more intimate when you do it with your partner!" Honestly it was useless trying to explain yourself because Sukuna is stubborn as hell.

"We had plenty'a intimacy when I was eatin' your pussy like less than ten minutes ago." There's sass in his voice and he rolls his eyes.

It was best to give up, because he wasn't going to listen. The walk of shame was super embarrassing and you made yourself a little spot on the couch to sleep on for the night.

Fifteen minutes later Sukuna's stomping into the living room.

"What're ya doing out here on the couch when we have a whole bed?" It's obviously a rhetorical question, he has a good idea of what you're mad about.

"You know why I'm pissed. You're an asshole, Ryomen. I don't even want to talk to you right now, so go away." The malice in your tone was evident and he switched up upon hearing you call him his full first name rather than that dumb nickname he will never admit that he likes.

"Ugh... so whiny. If I take care of ya, all the domestic shit. Will ya bring your ass back to bed?" He asks, a hand on his slutty waist.

"Yes." You quip quickly.

"Fine. Come on."

That was the start of the aftercare you deserved, and surprisingly he was good at it. When you asked him where he got all this experience from he said, "I was a human with feeling at some point. I know how to care for people, when I want."

Yuta Okkotsu

He didn't want to fuck up so he researched any and everything. From hydration to what foods are good to eat afterwards and so on.

"Thank you Yuta, this is delicious." It really is good, his cooking is phenomenal. It always warms your heart. You'd started on dinner but Yuta distracted you which led to having your legs spread on the counter for him.

"It's the least I can do for you for treating me so well." He says with a suggestive smirk and you know exactly what what he's implying.

"Also food is important to build your stamina back up after sex. Did bathing with those bath salts help any?" He's read that they're supposed to relax and calm the body. He made you soak for twenty minutes.

"It did, I don't feel as sore as I did earlier." And it's true, Yuta knew more about how to care for yourself better than you did which surprised you to some extent. Sometimes it felt more like a nagging parent than helpful advice but he usually doesn't get to that point.

"Make sure you're taking care of yourself too, babe. It's not all about me." You remind him.

He nods while chewing. "I always take care of myself after you. I'll wash up after we tackle the dishes."

Toge Inumaki

Toge is a worrier when it comes to aftercare. He wants you to be satisfied with his efforts.

Never again did you fall asleep without cleaning yourself up or letting Toge help you do it. Last time you did he commanded you to get in the tub so he could scrub you clean.

He wrote an apology on a piece of paper afterward. He just wanted you to get clean.

He cares a lot about you and your emotions, and obviously it's hard for him to do that in words, so he tries his best to do it through his actions.

Tonight is no different, he's washing your hair in the shower. The water is the perfect temperature and you can feel Toge pressed up against you. The way his finger tips graze your scalp are just right/ You about fall asleep.

"Mustard Leaf." He says in worry. He doesn't want a repeat of last week, when you fell asleep in the shower and you slipped almost causing a concussion if he hadn't caught you last second.

"I.. I'm awake. I won't fall asleep again, promise." You yawn and the worry dissipates for the most part. He trusts your words.

"Salmon." He responds and you smile lazily.

Your most earnest moments are when the two of you are in the shower. You feel the need to rid yourself of anything from the day so you tell him everything. He nods along and gives you comforting touches to assure you.

"I love you so much, Toge. Thank you for cleaning me up."

Your white haired boyfriend nods his head at you with a smile. Your eyes follow his hand as he writes " I ♡ YOU" with his finger, on the glass door of the shower.

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scribblesofagoonerr · 11 days

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Like Mother, Like Daughter

After that angst, here's something less angsty...

Let me know what you think about this one! Do you guys prefer fluff or angst?

Pairings: katie mccabe x child reader Warnings: a child being a menace to soceity

You were your mam's mini-me in every sense of the world, from your brunette hair to your own determined demeanor, you were the exact replica of your mammy, and even at a young age, just like Katie, you had a fierce spirit that couldn't be contained.

It was a sunny afternoon in London for a change and deciding to make the most of it, your mam and you decided to take a trip down to the local park to try and burn some of your energy off before it was time to settle down for the night.

Arriving at the park, you were quite happy to join in with the other kids' a bit older than you as you raced around with them, being indepenant that Katie was able to just keep a watchful eye on you from the nearby park bench.

However, it wasn't all too long before trouble approached, when a kid just that bit older than you were, started to make rude comments about you that you just weren't going to stand for.

Without missing a beat, you stepped forward with your tiny fists clenched at your side, "You take dat' back!" you demanded, your voice filled with righteous indignation.

The kid kept on goeding you and before Katie could step in and intervene, you had already launched yourself at them, your punch landing with surprising accuracy for someone so small.

"Y/N!" Katie gasped in shock, rushing towards you to scoop you up into her arms and pull you away from the situation.

"Let me ave' him, mammy!" Your small voice demanded, pounding your tiny fists on your mams' back as you weren't ready to back down just yet, "I can fight him, mammy. I can ake' him!" You insisted.

"No, no, kiddo. We don't hit other people" Katie chided, trying to stifle her own amusement and remembering the fact that she was a responsible parent in this moment, "You need to apologise and say sorry now, please" she motioned to the kid, who was just that bit older than you.

"M' not sorry, he made fun of my accent" You whined pitifully, you never liked it when people made fun out of you, but you were strong enough to hold your ground, "Ou' always told me to stick up for myself, mammy!" you insisted.

It was moments' like this when Katie was in sudden realisation that she couldn't very well tell you off when she was known to get into a few scraps herself on the pitch and you'd been witness to some of them.

After profuseley apologising to the little lad and his mum who wasn't best pleased about it, the two of you left the park in silence.

"I beat him! I beat him!" You boasted happily, running through the front door as you burst into a fit of giggles.

Katie shook her head in amusement, she knew she should discorauge the behaviour but she also couldn't help but feel a sense of pride, "You did, kiddo" she chuckled, "You definitely your ma's girl, eh? Like mother, like daughter" she joked.

#woso x reader #woso fanfics #arsenal x reader #woso #woso imagine #woso one shot #arsenal women x reader #katie mccabe x reader #scribblesofagoonerr #arsenal wfc x reader

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cherrywrecked · 3 months

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teach me — j. wonyoung x m. sakura

synopsis: sakura finds innocent!wonyoung watching porn, mirroring the porn star's actions.

warnings: stepcest. guided masturbation. wonyoung calling sakura ‘unnie’. kkura praising wony. fingering. slight choking. pillow humping. innocent!virgin!wonyoung. micromanipulation?

cross posted on ao3.

sakura never would have thought she'd come home to her stepsister watching porn, in their living room floor, with a pillow in between her legs, desperately trying to replicate what she was watching. wonyoung, this poor girl, she doesn't even know what she's doing. but sakura kind of expected that already. wonyoung had always been the good, innocent one. the one mommy and daddy raised with undivided attention. a straight A student, never been clubbing, never went to parties, hell, the girl only has what, four or five friends, even, so it definitely is a shock to see her doing... this.

“hng, why doesn't it feel good... no...” sakura hears the girl whining before changing the video with the remote. wonyoung doesn't even notice sakura standing just by the doorway, she just tried humping her pillow again. she looked so desperate and about to cry—it was funny. the older couldn't help but laugh at how frustrated the girl was. “it doesn't feel good because you're doing it wrong.” wonyoung yelped in shock, body jumping just slightly off her pillow when she heard her sister's voice. “u-unnie! you're home? why? i mean–! why are you home so early, yup! that's what i mean.” wonyoung was obviously panicking while trying to find where her shorts went. sakura just laughed as she dropped her bag on the couch.

“wonyoung-ah, relax.” sakura sighed as she crouched down, facing wony's blushing cheeks. “why are you doing this, mhm? did someone ask you to do this?” sakura asked with a soft voice, holding wony's hand. wonyoung shook her head as she bit her lower lip before answering; “it's just... i don't know! all my friends have been talking about how good this would feel and i don't know... so i asked yujin about it and she laughed at me for not knowing!” sakura coos at wony's frustrated words, a small smile forming her lips. “that's why you wanted to try it out on your own, is that it?” wonyoung nodded slowly.

“alright, look at me.” sakura brings a hand to cup the girl's cheek, making the younger look at her. “it does feel good, unnie's tried it before.” sakura started her other hand caressing wonyoung's leg. “really, unnie? why can't i do it? can you teach me, unnie? please?” the younger girl's words made sakura laugh internally. god, was she that desperate? she didn't even have to manipulate wonyoung into anything, wonyoung wanted her to teach her. “of course, baby. but we have to keep it a secret, do you understand?” wonyoung nodded excitedly before sakura pulled away. “okay, baby. take your top off for me.”

“eh? why do i have to? most the other girls in those videos have their shirt on.” wony tilts her head as she settles herself once again atop of her pillow, innocent eyes looking up to meet sakura's. “trust me on this, princess. i know better than those girls, mhm?” sakura took one bed pillow from their couch, which she assumed was brought by the younger as well and straddled on it, facing wonyoung. she then took her top off, completely leaving her half naked as she straddled on the pillow, just like her younger stepsister. “alright, wony. first you have to play with your boobs, like this.” sakura cupper her tits and started fondling them. wonyoung, as meekly as as could, started doing the same. wonyoung kept her eyes on her older sister's hand, watching every move her fingers do, so it was so easy for wonyoung to do the same when sakura slipped her nipples in between two fingers, pinching on it gently. this made wonyoung squirm—fuck, she's so sensitive. sakura noticed how wonyoung was biting back her moans. “wonyoung-ah, it doesn't feel good because you're not feeling yourself... let yourself go and just moan! it feels so much better doing this without having to worry about anything.” sakura said, one hand now cupping wony's cheek.

wonyoung could only look at sakura's eyes, she doesn't know what to do. being this close to her sister made her feel hot... naughty, even. she started to move her hips slowly against the pillow. parting her lips, she breathes out softly, “k-kkura unnie...” she whimpered and sakura couldn't help but to drag her hand down from her cheeks to wonyoung's neck, gripping on it briefly before replacing wonyoung's hands over the younger's tits with her own. “good girl, wony. you're already getting a hang of it.” sakura teasingly whispered against the younger's lips, letting her tiers brush against wonyoung's before pulling away.

the sudden loss of sakura's hand from her tits made her whine, but before she could even complain, sakura was quick to tell her the next step. “alright, now that you're... doing that, try using your palm too.” confused, wony tilts her head. “like this?” she repositions herself, now straddled slightly above her palm too. wonyoung could feel how warm her pussy is... she's never felt this before, she doesn't want to stop. not even waiting for sakura's reply, wonyoung just went ahead and started humping both her pillow and palm. the feeling of the fabric against her clothed cunt and the pressure her palm was giving her was enough to make wonyoung moan, lips parted as strings of soft moans and words to call out for sakura escaped past them. sakura could only watch in awe through her eyes full of lust. sakura too, could feel herself get wet just by watching her sister touch herself.

“u-unnie, i want more, please.” wonyoung says as she looks at sakura with her innocent, doe eyes. how can sakura say no to that? sakura gave wonyoung a smile and got up from her position from before, removing wony's hand from her cunt. no words were exchanged between the stepsisters, but sakura took the liberty to slip her hands under wonyoung's pair of panties, making the younger gasp out with the sudden touch of sakura's soft palm against the softness of her bare, wet cunt. “mhm, you sure were enjoying that, weren't you?” sakura teases making wonyoung blush even more and look away. sakura hated that, she uses her free hand to force wonyoung to face her. “watch me. watch this.” sakura didn't waste any more time and went ahead to moving her palm in circular motions against wonyoung's pussy. wonyoung, on the other hand, had her brows furrowed as she moans out for her sister. sakura places her free hand over wonyoung's waist, as if telling the younger to move her hips against her palm.

wonyoung, like the obedient girl that she is, moves her hips along with the movements of sakura's palm against her. it was driving her insane, but even more so when sakura took one of her nipples into her mouth and started kissing the sensitive bud. wonyoung pushes her chest more against sakura's mouth, as one hand supported her lower body while the other firmly gripping on sakura's shoulder. “u-unnie! that... that feels so good, a-ah! more, please...” wonyoung says in between moans. the younger lifts herself up and removes her panties, now completely naked for her sister. sakura liked how eager she was. as a reward, sakura sucked on a patch of skin just above wonyoung's right nipple, marking wonyoung as hers. this made the girl wince in pain, but that was soon brushed off as she lowered herself back against sakura's hand. however, when sakura's middle finger slipped right inside wonyoung's hole, the younger almost jumped in pain and shock. sakura was in shock too, but was faster to recover and started wooing the younger. she knew wonyoung was innocent, but she never actually thought the girl was a virgin? wonyoung hasn't even tried to touch herself. not once?

“you're okay, baby. unnie's here, wonyoung-ah, sshh.” wonyoung sniffled back her tears, wanting to be her unnie's good girl. “it's okay, princess, it'll feel better, mhm?” wonyoung could only nod at her sister. to make the younger feel better, sakura used her other hand to ease wonyoung's clit, rubbing on it in slow circles. “you're so naughty, wonyoung-ah. look at how hard your clit is for your older sister.” wonyoung squirms under sakura's touches and soon enough, she was moving her hips on her own. wonyoung couldn't even think at this point. she felt so tight around sakura's fingers and it felt so good inside her. even more so when sakura started to curl her finger inside as wonyoung practically fucked herself in it. the older can't help but to start touching herself too. using her free hand, sakura started to rub herself to her sister's moans.

“a-ah! f-f-fuck... finger... so good... unnie...” wonyoung couldn't even form a proper sentence, for god's sake. pain, lust, embarrassment for being this desperate for her sister's touch—she was feeling everything all at once and it was driving her to the edge. wonyoung clenches her cunt and tightens her walls around sakura's lone finger making sakura groan. “s-something's coming, unnie... stop, please! feels weird!” but just as wonyoung stopped moving her body, it was sakura's queue to make the girl cum. pushing wonyoung down to the floor, sakura straddle's the younger's frame. sakura sat just above wonyoung's thighs, her finger never left wonyoung's hole. the older started to hump wonyoung's thigh the same time she slipped another finger inside wonyoung, which made wonyoung wince in pain and tried to push her hand away. but sakura was stronger than the girl. “take it, wonyoung. you're unnie's good girl. take it.” sakura's words were endearing but her tone was firm. it didn't give wonyoung a lot of choice but to just accept what's she's given.

wonyoung started to feel a knot forming her stomach and her pussy getting more sensitive with every thrust of sakura's fingers. her moans are getting louder and needier. “cum for me, angel. cum for unnie.” and true enough wonyoung was squirming violently under sakura as she came hard around the older's fingers, coating the digits with white cream, which sakura absolutely loved. the older helped wony ride her high and as wony's breath stabilize, sakura pulled her digits out and sucked them clean with her mouth. wonyoung was eyeing her the whole time and wanted to have a taste, so wonyoung pulled her sister down and kissed her sloppily—she didn't know how, but she loved the taste of her innocence in sakura's mouth.

#kyna writes #le sserafim smut #ive smut #wonyoung smut #jang wonyoung smut #sakura smut #miyawaki sakura smut #sakura x wonyoung #sakura x wonyoung smut #girl group smut #kpop smut #gg smut #gxg smut

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bunnyteetharry · 7 months

Text

Full Throttle

summary: Harry get’s into a bad crash during a race which leads to the exposure of your secret relationship

warnings: none-ish

pairing: formula1driver!arry x bossesdaughter! reader

————⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆ —————⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆ —————⋆ ˚｡⋆

The sound of people chattering and cars zooming loudly filled your ears

You were sat in the box with he other race engineers, all eyes glued to the big screens that were mounted onto the wall, you fixed the position of you headset you don’t know how many times already, your leg was bouncy up and down like crazy

Growing up surrounded by this environment you would think you would be use to this already but of course that changed when it was someone you cared about on that race track

Your Dad was The Managing Director for Ferrari, since you can remember, you and your sisters would always tag along and watch the races sometimes out in the stands with your Mom or by the technical team, watching them fix up the cars quickly in the box and getting overly excited when they rushed back into the race which blew a huge gust of wind your way and brushed your hair all over your faces

You met Harry when he was freshly up incoming for Mercedes at 21 years old, whenever you come around during the summer and help your dad, while learning some things about the different roles when it comes to the sport, he would roam around till he found you in the snack room and you started talking since

Well mostly him bugging you any chance he could, when he won in The Australian Grand Prix, he hopped off the car and ran straight towards you “I think a congratulations kiss is in order” his smirk was spread wide across his face, you rolled your eyes, arms crossed against your chest “Beat it before my dad see’s you over here Styles” he smiled and ran back to his team, jumping on them to give them a hug, resulting in almost crashing all of them into the ground

Four years later he joined Ferrari at 25 years old, you were currently finished with being an intern and joined race engineers, imagine the look on your face when you walked into the schedule meeting and see the sly smirking British man sitting there next to your dad

“Where’s my welcome to the team kiss?” He was leaned again the wall of the snack room, right where it all began “Can’t push me away now since we’re teammates” you rolled your eyes “Are you here just to annoy me even more? Cause this is a huge step that may resolve in a restraining order” he shrugged and picked up a water from the mini fridge “Who knows but I see this as a win win situation” before he was about to leave the room he turned back around and leaned down to your ear whispering “No getting rid of me now sweetheart” he pecked your cheek, smiling wildly out the room leaving you stun in your spot

Throughout his time with Ferrari, there was an odd thing going on between you and Harry, everyone noticed it, but you tried to ignore it as best as you could, sure you couldn’t help the sigh of relief you let out each time he finished a race in mint condition or the small smiles you would send each other across the rooms

At one point you finally admitted to yourselves that you had attraction towards each other and went on a few dates, at night of course as you didn’t want to bring an up roar in the morning with the press if you were seen with one of Ferrari’s top driver, especially with eh position your dad is in, you just knew the headlines would be wild

Even with secretly dating for a year now, it’s hard to do anything, let alone hold hands, it’s a good thing you’re families okay with it or else this would make your relationship ever harder then it already is

“He’s going to be okay love” your dad squeezed your hand tenderly, you tried your best to hide your worries into your smile “I know, it’s just you know how nervous I get sometimes” he nodded and smiled “He’s the best of the best, nothing can go wrong even with his track record” he said before heading back to his spot next to the track

The beep of the starter lights began to sound off

All three of you scooted to the end of your seated and breath hitched once the lights turned green

Half an hour in and the charts were looking good, Harry was close to second place coming behind his teammate Leclerc, right when he’s about to hit that mark Lewis Hamilton looses control of his breaks and crashes into Harry’s rear right tire, sending both of them tumbling toward the edge of the track

“Fuck” you mumbled quickly standing up from your seat, “Harry, you alright mate?” Roger the technical manager called out from the headset, it was quite for a minute but it felt like years before Harry answered “Yeah I’m good” he coughed, from the corner of the screen you could see the Marshalls already on the scene to make sure Harry and Lewis were safe from the impact

Minutes later Harry was back in the box, his face covered with debris and scratches

Everyone came up to him to congratulate on a good job he did so far before the crash happen, after the crowd settled down you dropped your headset onto the counter and ran towards him

He immediately reacted and wrapped his arm tightly around you, the other clutching your head, “I’m okay baby” he whispered pecking your forehead, every stood and starred at you both, a look of shock scattered on their faces

Letting go you cupped his face, looking for anymore injuries he may have “Hey, hey I’m fine love” he smiled softly bringing your hands down and wiping off the tears on your cheek

“Don’t ever scare me like that again” you lightly punched his chest “No promises” he smiled down at you

a/n: sorry for the long wait (and the quick ending), I was so busy with college I lost track of time but I’m trying to get as much writing as I can done, hope you enjoyed this one! <3

#harry styles #formula 1 #harry styles x reader #hshq #harry styles x y/n #formula 1 x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb

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benkeibear · 8 months

Text

⋆꙳✧༄ Meeting your parents

❖ Characters: Benkei, Sanzu, Wakasa

❖ Reader: genderneutral

❖ Summary: They meet your parents for the first time and hope for their approval

❖ A/n: don’t want to miss a post? Sign up for my Taglist in my Navi! | repost.

☰ Benkei:

ꕤ He was so nervous because what if they think he's a criminal because of all the tattoos??

ꕤ Benkei, my bear... You ARE a criminal!

ꕤ Good okay, your parents don't need to know that part but yeah

ꕤ Benkei will get your mom her favorite flowers and some wine or whiskey for your dad

ꕤ He will hold your hand so tight, you fear it might break but you know he's just nervous

ꕤ Has the biggest smile on his face when your parents open the door and welcome him into their home without any weird looks or remarks

ꕤ He will shake your dads hand extra hard because a good man gives a good handshake, it was too hard but your dad got the point and laughed it off

ꕤ Hugs your mom back like she's some fragile butterfly and appreciates how welcoming she is

ꕤ Gets flustered by how friendly your parents are and how they already see him as part of the family

ꕤ Feels like an elephant in a porcelain store, scared to destroy something or say something wrong

ꕤ Benkei will look at baby pictures with you mom and begs her to keep one for the fridge, chuckling when she shows the funny pictures and sharing a great time with her

ꕤ Shares a few beers with your dad and gets his approval, lots of praises as well since you told them so much about him he's caught by surprise but in a good way

ꕤ You two leave happy and Benkei gets added to the family group chat the second the front door closes

ꕤ Parents approval!

☰ Sanzu:

ꕤ I don't even know how this wouldn't end in chaos

ꕤ Let’s just say it was important enough for Sanzu to show up sober and properly dressed

ꕤ He would definitely wear his mask at first, scared they will hate him due to his scars or make any backhanded comments about how you could have done better

ꕤ His hands were shaking so bad as you walk up to your parents house, holding hands just to make him feel at ease

ꕤ Your parents were a bit taken aback by a pink haired man with a mask but welcomed him loving anyways, he's the man you love after all

ꕤ When the time came for lunch and He had to take his mask off, you saw panic in his eyes and told your parents whats up, not wanting them to stare at him

ꕤ They didn't even bother staring, your mom just frowned "i'm sorry Haruchiyo" escaping her lips, not pitying him but feeling bad he was scared to show his face to them

ꕤ When your little sister came home she jumped Sanzu like a little monkey, acting like she knows him forever already and does this a lot

ꕤ He tensed up but thought it's funny, knowing from Senju how younger siblings can be but he appreciated it

ꕤ He went to play princess dress up and attended your sisters tea party. He even wore a small crown when you checked in if everything is okay

�� Your parents took all their worry back since he's such a friendly guy, getting along great with everyone

ꕤ Your sister calls him Princess buttercup and he adores it so much because she not once said anything about his scars or appearance in general

ꕤ Parents approval but they're a bit worried.

☰ Wakasa:

ꕤ Waka is really chill about it, not getting why he should be nervous… or at least that's what he tried to tell himself

ꕤ It's not like their opinion will change your relationship in any way but he still wanted their approval obviously

ꕤ He greets your parents very formal which made your mom laugh "we're family Wakasa, please don't call me miss" and he blushed a little, feeling like an idiot

ꕤ He also helped your mom set the table, eyes landing on the small workout room of your dad

ꕤ Your dad saw and smiled, dragging him there "you like to work out eh?" He would ask Waka with the biggest grin, wanting to show off

ꕤ He explained that be even owns a gym and offered for your dad to just swing by so they could work out together- free membership included

ꕤ That's what got your dad, in love with him, calls him son when he gives his shoulder a good squeeze

ꕤ Your mom just loves how gentle he is with you and how he tries to help where he possibly can, appreciating how he nags you from time to time just to make you smile and laugh

ꕤ She calls him your anchor because of his calm attitude and she's more than right

ꕤ Parents approval! Waka got two fans and gets invited for family dinner on sundays (yes, HE gets invited, offered to bring you along, their own child)

Networks: @enchantedforest-network @themovingcastlez @planetonet

#tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers fluff #benkei x reader #sanzu x reader #wakasa x reader #Benkei fluff #sanzu fluff #wakasa fluff #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo rev fluff #tokyo revengers sanzu #tokyo revengers wakasa #tokyo revengers benkei #keizo arashi x reader #keizo arashi fluff #keizo arashi #sanzu haruchiyo #wakasa imaushi

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2knightt · 1 year

Note

IM SORRY, I KNOW U GOT A REQUEST ON THIS SO MUCH ALREADY BUT…

Your motherly!reader fics are so good 😭! can you pleasee do another? platonic with the gang!! no romance 🥰 thank youu ❤️❤️❤️ your work is amazing btw!

the gang x motherly!reader

!warnings!

1.i did headcanons i hope thats okay😭

2.fem!reader

3.swearing and a small mention of violence.

Johnny Cade ;

like i’ve said before in other fics, he loves you so much.

honestly, you might be one of his favourite people!

when he walks down the street and he just so happens to see a cute flower, he picks it and gives it to you!

when he first met you, he refused to see you when he was injured in anyway. he thought you’d think he was weak and never see him again.

but as time went on, and you showed that you genuinely cared for him, he showed more of his vulnerable side.

johnny likes it when you patch him up now!

he thinks it’s calming, relaxing, and a, ‘nice change of things rather than lettin’ mother nature cure it.’

when he unknowingly/accidentally vents to you about his home life, he does get embarrassed.

he didn’t want you knowing, but when you hugged him real tight and told him sweet nothings?? he teared up ngl.

johnny wishes you could’ve been his mom.

when or if you have kids, johnny wishes they don’t take the, ‘how was your day?’ and the, ‘how’s school going?’ for granted.

because to johnny cade, that would be his perfect fairytale.

having someone as sweet as you to turn his life around, makes him excited to see tomorrow.

Dallas Winston ;

another bitch with mommy issues who is glad to have you.

mrs.curtis was definitely the mother he never had but always wanted and when she died, he was devastated.

but when you came along and started being that mother he missed??? he was both annoyed and over the moon.

he didn’t like that every time you bailed him out of jail, he got an ear full. however, he did like to know verbally that someone cared about him

he doesn’t show you any sort of affection, but he will tell you how he feels when drunk.

“thank you, so much y/n. i-i don’t know where i’d be without you.”

for mothers day, he doesn’t do anything special.

BUT—you didn’t hear this from me, before the clock hits 12, expect to hear like a cute little knock at your door, and open it to see a single flower on the ground with a pack of cigarettes.

dally ran off before you or anyone else could see him.

even though he didn’t sign his name, you knew it was from him. so, next time you see him, say thank you.

Ponyboy Curtis ;

he’s like a toddler around you???

ponyboy definitely pretends to be like, your own bodyguard.

but really, who’s scared of ponyboy?

he tries though!

when he watches a movie and some character reminds him of you, expect that to be the first thing he tells you.

“ya know, when i went to the drive in, you really reminded of this one character.”

“oh? why’s that?”

“well because-“

and now you have to sit there and listen to him.

he’ll draw for you so much :(.

if you tell him your favourite flower, he WILL give you a drawing of it the next day. he’ll stay up all night if he has too!

Sodapop Curtis ;

he’s literally your #2 fan. first place goes to johnny.

he’s your biggest hypeman??? omg???

“gee, y/n! you’re lookin’ real fancy!! gonna get all the guys, eh?”

when ponyboy and darry argue and he just can’t take it anymore, he calls you and asks to come over.

and of course, you say yes everytime.

so please, PLEASE, just let him cry into your arms!!!!

when he’s done, he’ll try to go home but i’m begging you to tell him he’s welcomed to stay the night.

and if he does stay? ponyboy will be at your doorstep too.

he’ll share his famous chocolate cake with you!! he’ll make sure steve doesn’t touch it.

“STEVE THAT WAS FOR Y/N! ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!”

“OH SHIT SHIT SHIT! WE MAKE MAKE ONE TOGETHER! THE MORE PEOPLE THE FASTER THE CAKE WILL BAKE RIGHT?!”

“DO I LOOK LIKE A SCIENTIST??”

Darry Curtis ;

he is so thankful for you i legit can’t stress that enough.

you keep the gang in check, you keep ponyboy happy, and you help him around the house. what more could he ask for?

you legit force darry to relax while you look after the gang to make sure nothing bad happens.

“we’ll be fine, darry. go to bed, your dark circles are gettin’ darker by the minute.”

“yeah super-man! we’ll be fine with y/n!”

“yeah!!”

“fine, but if she wakes me up to tell me about any of you, so god help me.”

if you welcome him home with a newspaper and his favourite cup of coffee after a long day at work, he might ask you to move in.

Steve Randle ;

steve pretends that he doesn’t like you that much.

but he really does. like, the second he hears some soc threaten or insult you? he’s after them.

shit, he might be chasin’ after them in two-bits car while two-bit yells at the person.

he will legit go to war for you if you asked him nicely.

he will rant to you about cars if you let him😭.

he’ll rant to you about anything, honestly.

“and then the old bastard asked for a refund! the ‘no refunds’ sign was right on the door! how could that old bat not see it?!”

“steve! don’t call people that, but yes, it was very rude of that man to do that too you.”

“RIGHT?!”

Two-bit Matthews ;

he forces you to relax and watch mickey mouse with him.

he says it’s for your own good but when really, he just wants to spend time with you without the gang interrupting.

“guys! you’re stressing her out with all your STUPID questions! c’mon, y/n, mickey mouse is calling our names. can’t you hear it?”

“or maybe its the booze you had at 10AM.”

“i will sock you in your fucking throat steve.”

he plays with your hair…he finds it fun!

please tell him how to do some styles so he can go home and impress his little sister :(.

he offers you beer every once and awhile just so he can say he got you to loosen up.

“so y/n…you want some?”

“oh! no thank you, two. you know i don’t drink.”

he calls you mom in a joking way, ya dig?

“momm! steve called me a dumbass!”

“steve, be nice! apologize.”

“what the fuck?!”

author notes ;

1. i like totally rushed near the end LMFAO.

2. i never thought you bitches would eat motherly!reader up like this??

3.are you guys okay??

4.THANK U SWEETHEART OMFG??

5.i think theres no romance??

may 15th, 2023. 6:39PM

#2knightt #the outsiders #the outsiders x reader #dallas x reader #dallas winston x reader #johnny x reader #johnny cade x reader #ponyboy x reader #ponyboy curtis x reader #sodapop x reader #sodapop curtis x reader #steve x reader #steve randle x reader #two bit x reader #two bit matthews x reader #platonic the outsiders #motherly!reader

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iwritefandomimagines · 4 months

Text

BLIND DATE — JAMIE TARTT

masterlist

pairing: jamie tartt x reader

description: you and jamie never saw eye to eye. when keeley offers to set you up on a blind date and it’s him that turns up, you’re irritated. but you’re soon to find out that maybe she’s right… maybe he has changed.

warnings: enemies to lovers if you squint bc there’s not much angsty content it’s more implied, swearing, alcohol consumption, fluff at the end because that’s my mf baby

author’s note: i live and breathe enemies to lovers jamie tartt content so this is sooo self indulgent and fluffy ish at the end.

———

“You have got to be fuckin’ kidding me?”

You’d already been reluctant when Keeley Jones begged you to let her set you up with someone she knew.

Your best friend had been going on at you about needing to ‘get yourself out there’ for ages now — and the only reason you had given in to her request was so that she’d back off a bit.

But now, as the one and only Jamie fucking Tartt approached your table, your dress felt especially clingy and your palms felt especially sweaty.

“Y/N,” Jamie smirked, having always enjoyed getting under your skin, “You look fucking stunnin’, and really fucking happy to see me.”

You rolled your eyes as he sat down, “Why the hell would Keeley set me up with you of all people?”

Jamie pushed his hair out of his face, and you couldn’t help but take his whole look in as he removed his jacket and adjusted his shirt.

Okay, he may have been a massive prick — but not even you could deny that he wasn’t exactly a chore to look at. Just a chore to listen to.

“See, Y/N, I hear ya voice complaining,” he quipped, leaning forward to rest his chin on his palm as his other hand waved over a waiter, “But you’re still checking me out. Like what you see, eh?”

Before you had a chance to snap back at the walking irritant in front of you, the waiter was at your table taking your drinks orders.

A large glass of wine to cool your nerves would do nicely was what you had decided before he’d arrived — but now a bottle seemed more appropriate.

Of course, when you asked for this Jamie just smiled smugly, “Yeah, you know what? Me ‘n the lady will share. Bring us your most expensive bottle of Pinot Grigio, yeah?”

You tried not to cringe at his mispronunciation.

You sighed, sipping at the table water you’d already been brought as the waiter nodded and rushed away.

“Now where were we, love?”

“You were being arrogant, I was still trying to figure out how I’ve ended up sat opposite you… Just like old times.”

Jamie scoffed, “Oh no, I was simply observin’ that you checked me out. Don’t worry, love, I was checking you out too. Like I said, you’re stunnin’.”

You hated that he could so obviously see his words had affected you — a crimson blush immediately staining your cheeks as he quirked his eyebrow in acknowledgement.

“I can think that you’re attractive and still think you’re a prick, Jamie,” you shrugged, a small smile on your lips as he screwed up his face, “I do have eyes.”

He licked his lips, “See, makin’ progress already. Never admitted you fancy me before, but if it helps, love, I fancy you too.”

You scoffed again, “I said you’re attractive, not that I fancy you.”

“Same thing,” he shrugged, leaning further forward, “Look, I know you think I’m a twat, but I’ve been working on how not to be.”

You looked at him for a moment, not sure what to make of his words.

He’d always been an egotistical arse, always convinced he was God’s gift to earth, and his shameless flirting whilst also being an arsehole had always just grated on you.

You’d had some semblance of a crush on him once, almost admiring his confidence (and of course how gorgeous he was) but his attitude had led you to a prickling disdain for the man instead.

He knew he got under your skin, so he would flirt outrageously and nitpick at things you did and said to piss you off and rile you up.

Keeley had insisted he took the whole childhood ‘if they’re mean to you they like you’ bollocks all too seriously, but you’d brushed that off considering the fact that he was still very much lapping up any and all female attention he received elsewhere.

Given that you only attended events as Keeley’s friend, it hadn’t been hard to avoid him since — deciding that it wasn’t worth letting him get to you.

“So Keeley’s been saying,” you narrowed your eyes, “I know you flirt with, like, anything that breathes, but I’m surprised you’re not more disappointed by her decision to set us up.”

It was Jamie’s turn to scoff now, his eyes never leaving yours as you felt suddenly shy under his close watch.

“She didn’t set us up, I asked her to.”

You furrowed your brows, confused as to why the fuck he’d do that. Sure, he’d flirted with you before but you were certain it was just to piss you off.

“What?”

“I knew you didn’t like me, ‘cos you only know the old Jamie Tartt,” he pouted, and you fought the urge to chuckle, “So I asked her to pretend it was just some mate of hers she wanted to send you on a blind date with. Just to see if you’d give me a chance, ya know?”

You were almost touched by his words, but still remained wary about his intentions, “Why— what made you that determined for a date with me?”

He laughed, a big loud laugh that drew the attention of many surrounding tables.

The waiter returned now, interrupting you again.

He poured you both a glass of wine and placed down the wine cooler as you and Jamie thanked him whilst never looking away from each other.

“For the third time tonight, you’re fuckin’ stunning Y/N. And I like that you never took my shit back then. Just figured it was time to try me luck and see if ya’d change your mind about me,” if you didn’t know him better, you’d think he was nervous, “‘S why Keeley’s been talkin’ me up to you so much. She’s known I’ve had a thing for you for, like, ages.”

You were gobsmacked — not only by his confession, but the sincerity his voice held.

“Why’ve you not reached out sooner, then? I haven’t seen you in months, not since the last charity gala,” you bit your lip.

You remembered that night very well, given that you’d almost shared a drunken kiss with him until you came to your senses and left the party.

He only smirked again, “You remember the exact last time we saw each other, huh?”

“Jamie…”

“Alright, alright,” he raised his hands in defeat, “I was gutted you didn’t kiss me at that party, even though it’s fair that you didn’t. Keeley told me you deserved better than how I’d been treating you, but that she knew if I got me shit together we’d make a good couple. So I waited ‘til me shit was, well, together. And now here we are. With my shit sorta together.”

You were almost speechless, “Jamie— that’s, well, that’s actually really sweet.”

He rolled his eyes with a smile, “Glad ya think so, love. Been hard as fuck and I’ve almost called you a fuck load of times, too, but Keeley and Roy have been really good with helping and that.”

Now you were really surprised, “Roy’s been helping you work on yourself? Fuckin’ hell, things must have changed since I last saw you!”

Jamie laughed, pursing his lips as he shrugged and let out a breathy sigh, “He won’t admit it but we’re, like, friends now. Don’t tell him I said that though. He’d go fuckin’ mental.”

“Oh I know,” you chuckled, “But I hope you’ve been doing this for yourself as well, not just trying to change to make other people happy.

The smile on his face spread warmth through your chest, and you could feel the walls you’d built up to protect yourself from Jamie’s old self beginning to crumble.

Your face was lit with a smile now, a wide and sincere smile that you could tell boosted his confidence about this whole elaborate plan.

“Nah, it’s been good,” he nodded, “And you’ve never smiled at me like that, not even when we first met and you were trying to be nice before I fucked things by being all Jamie Tartt. So I’d say it’s, like, more than worth it, to be fair.”

Your smile only widened at that, and his matched it almost exactly.

“I don’t even know what to say at this point, but I’d be lying if I said I’m not actually glad I’m here now,” you bit your lip, maintaining steady eye contact with him and placing your hand on the table.

He was quick to place his own hand atop yours, “‘M really glad to hear it, Y/N. Can we treat this like a fresh start or whatever? Like a real blind date? Want to show you I’ve changed properly, that I’m a new Jamie.”

You giggled, poking your thumb out to rub the back of his hand with it, “Sure. I’m Y/N Y/L/N, and it’s nice to meet you. Sorry if this is forward but you look really good tonight, stranger.”

He beamed like a proud child at those words, “Jamie Tartt. You look fuckin’ phenomenal, Y/N. Since we’ve like, never met, this might be weird,” you rolled your eyes with a laugh at how seriously he was taking the starting over thing, “But I hope this ain’t our only date.”

“Play your cards right, Jamie Tartt, and it won’t be,” you smiled, standing up and leaning over to press a soft kiss to his cheekbone.

“Because, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, I hope it isn’t either.”

———

eeeee i hope you enjoyed that, i love jamie tartt a ridiculous amount so couldn’t help myself ! here’s my masterlist if you want to read more of my jamie fics or any of my other stuff!

also kinda feeling a part two where you’re secretly dating and turn up to a richmond squad event with him? let me know if u would like that!!!

#ted lasso #jamie tartt #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt fluff #soft jamie tartt #ted lasso imagines #ted lasso imagine

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togegiri · 3 months

Text

✎ᝰ ❛ Y/N'S DRAGON BUTLER ! ❜ — malleus draconia.

ੈ✩‧₊˚ featuring. malleus draconia x gender neutral reader.

.ೃ࿐ WARNINGS ! gender neutral reader. you/your and they/them pronouns is used. master is used but still is gender neutral reader. — not proofread ( 1.3k words )

content. You never knew that your drunken state would hire a dragon butler accidentally.

As the sun began to show up, the shine shoned at the blinds of your window. The alarm made a sound making you furrow your brows. Opening your eyes you slowly groaned as you stopped the beeping of your alarm as you got out of your bed.

“Ahh… my head hurts,” you complained, feeling your head hurt from having a migraine like autopilot mode. You did your usual routine, like changing to your usual working clothes, eating a simple breakfast, brushing your teeth.

Meanwhile, there a tall male looked at himself in the mirror, putting on an all black and cool looking butler uniform. On the table on the side there placed a magazine and there a male posing as a butler is seen. Looking at any imperfection he looks at himself, “there, good,” he huffs with a smile. Pride on his face as he feels that his looks are good enough.

“Ooh~ little malmal is all grown up now huh?” a small male said putting his weight on the door looking at the taller draconic like male before him. “Yes, well then I'll be on my way now.. I don't want my master to wait for me,” with that he opens the big windows. Feeling the cold winds of the day.

“Well then good luck to your job little malmal,” the vampiric like male said waving at him as the male jumped at the window. Turning into a black dragon as they flew away. The pink-black haired person chuckles, “must be nice being a youth in love~”

Back to you, you looked at the mess of your apartment that was filled with cans of beer making you sigh. Putting on a coat you take your bag as your eyes widen at the time, “uwah, I'm gonna be late.” you say as you make your way to the door of your apartment.

The dragon male placing himself infront of your apartment, as you open the door your eyes widen. A gust of wind came to your face as your eyes met with a deep shade of green ones. Breathing heavily as you blinked your eyes. 'eh?’ you thought as the dragon disappeared. Appearing as a tall, handsome male with a butler uniform, “ehh…?” you say aloud.

Malleus smiled at you, “hello, It's me, malleus draconia your dragon butler from today onwards,” he closed his eyes. Suddenly sparkles went behind him as your brain tried to compute what just happened. Thus a reason came to your head, 'ah… a dream?’

“Please do come in,”

You open the door for him, letting him walk in (hospitality is always good to have.)

“Thank you,” malleus walked in as you followed him closing the door, you sat down at the chair as he too sat down. You looked at him weirdly as you bit our lower lip feeling awkward, “so uhmm who are you?”

His eyes widen, chuckling as he tilts his head to the side, “oh? I'm pretty sure I have introduced myself already (name),” he spoke in a matter-of-fact tone.

“y- yeah you did… but I'm pretty sure I didnt hire a… butler you know,”

“oh…” his tone was laced with disappointment.

“I even don't remember how we met,”

His brows furrow as his lips curl up in a small pout, “you don't remember? we met in the mountains,” you tilt your head cluelessly at this, “mountains, mountains… mountains?” you repeated the words until your eyes widen remembering the events happened last night.

—

“hehe… hehe~” you laugh, your face feeling hot as you stumble upon the rocky road on the mountain. The place was scary if said by a bystander. You didn't know that, you're drunk right now. With the fog on the mountain, the trees seemingly do not have any leaves and have pointy branches.

“Oho? a human, tell me why have you come here?” malleus eyes widen seeing a human casually comes in the mountain, nevertheless in his territory. Especially in a very drunk state, “hmm? oooh? ah! hello! hello! want a drink?” you smile stupidly waving at him with alcohol on the other side of your hand.

He lets out a chuckle amuse at your actions, “I supposed why not,” you smile as you take a cup in your pocket(why did you even put that there?). Pouring him the alcohol, “Hehehe! drink up! drink up!” you encourage with a big smile on your face.

“I am, I am,” he chuckles as he drank all the alcohol in the cup in one go, “oooh! you know how to drink huh? I love it!” you giggled drunkenly patting his shoulder making his eyes widen at the contact. His surprised face turned into one with adoration.

“hahaha what an interesting human you are,” he laughs as you cocked your head to the side, “I am..? hehe thank youuu~ say you know about butlers?”

“hm? a little bit,” malleus tilts his head at the sudden topic about butler, “you should know alot more about them they—” thus you began a long rant about how great butlers and the many more facts about them. Rambling like a passionate mad man about butlers.

“Say.. Why do you live here alone?” your sudden question caught the draconic male off guard, “haha how do you know I live alone?” he asks cocking his hide to side as you smile at him, “its easy to tell you look lonely after all…”

His eyes widened at this as he smiled back at you, “well I do have some servants here but… It does get lonely from time to time, humans are… well quite scared of such things as, I,” malleus grip the cup with a little more strength as he looked down sadly. “live with me."

His green eyes looked at you with suprise as you smiled at him, “pardon me?” in his eyes suddenly you were bright and sparkling, “live with me, I'll make you meet with many people, and I promise you… you won't be lonely with me by your side malleus,” a warmth spread on his heart as he felt his face hot, “oh…”

The sake is certainly not the one for this flustered state of his.

—

“sorry but… I- …I can't keep that promise, I didn't even say I want a butler,” you mutter the last part though malleus heard it quite well. “Oh the butler part was my idea, I wanted to surprise you but… I- I see.. no worries (name), it was my fault for barging in so suddenly,” he looked down as he smiled at you sadly apologizing as he got up the chair.

Your eyes linger towards his retreating figure seeing a tear forming in the corner of his eyes feeling guilt in the pit of your stomach, ‘wait if this isn't a dream… that means!’ your eyes widen looking, remembering something as you look at the clock in your arm.

Running towards Malleus who was near the door, you yelled his name, “Malleus!” you took his wrist as he looked back at you in surprise. “Yes?”

“Can you fly?”

“y- yes?”

—

“Uwaaaah! too fast!” you say that as you feel the wind hit your face too hard. Making you close your eyes, “apologies, I didn't hear what you just said.” malleus says in his dragon form. There you sat on the back of a black dragon. “I say too fast!” he slows down.

“Right, I'll try to not be too fast,” feeling the wind slow down you open your eyes seeing the great view of the city up here, “hmm… guess I can hire him.” You say aloud making the dragon perk up, “really?”

You let out a low chuckle, “so you can hear me,” making the dragon sweatdrop. Though soon your eyes widen as you feel a bone crack in your lower back, ‘ah… this kind of transportation hurts my back.'

“oh well… I guess I could use some dragon butler plus I promise you that you won't be lonely, so might as well keep that,”

The dragon underneath you smiles feeling the same warm feeling blooming in his heart. He shouldn't have doubted you from backing away from your promise.

“Sorry for cowering away at first but I swear I'll do my best malleus,”

“Me too, I'll do my best, master,”

You smile looking at the sky. Today is a great day.

#˃ᴗ˂ . . . signed by; ren #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #malleus draconia x reader #malleus x reader #twst fluff #twst imagines #twisted wonderland fluff #twisted wonderland imagines #malleus draconia x reader fluff #malleus draconia x gender neutral reader #malleus x y/n #malleus x you #malleus x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader #malleus x reader fluff

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carionto · 4 months

Text

The duality of Man, or triality? quadrality?

Alien to Human about New Human: Correct me if I'm wrong, but they appear abnormally large for your species?

H: Yea, he's a biggun alright, even without the EV suit I'd say... 7'3'', 310 pounds, bet he power lifts.

A: Umm... not to be rude, but, uhh... he seems, well... how should I put this...

H: Intimidating? Terrifying? Evil? Yea, if this station didn't have high screening standards I'd be totally pissing myself if he started walking towards me. The mohawk and eye tat totally make me believe he could snap me in two with a single glare.

A: I feel ashamed that my instincts are telling me to flee. I wish nature were easier to change.

H (shouting at NH): Hey buddy! Could you come over here for a minute please? You look awesome by the way!

A (whispering nervously): what are you doing?!?

H: Gotta overcome those fears somehow, I believe the best way is a direct confrontation.

NH approaches, somewhat slowly, looking around at all the other aliens in the station that are chatting, waiting around, or doing some work. He finally approaches A and H, and in a very deep and husky voice says: Um, hi, hello. T-thanks for the compliment, I, uh, was a little worried I would stand out too much here.

H: Oh you totally do, my friend over here is practically about to pass out from how much like a gothic viking of death metal you look.

NH: Oh no, I'm so sorry, I-I just grew up in Sweden-Delta and both my parents were huge into classic local music, so I just, uh... it's complicated. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare anyone.

H: Hey, relax pal, we're all good people here. Anyway, what you here to do? I'm planning on starting a bakery, still testing out what kind of flour most species here can actually stomach. My friend here is on the team working on Moon theft preventative measures.

NH: Oh, that's cool. I'm here as an exchange student with the department of applied astrophysics. If all goes well, I can finish my Bachelors degree remotely and stay here as an intern with the head researcher.

H: Oooh, that's cool. (so cool yea that you're apparently half my age but oh well guess I'm a big fat time waster like my father before me and oh god change the subject before I get depressed in front of strangers) That's a real big bag you got there, carrying some super secret science things, eh?

NH: Oh, that... uhh... guess it can't hurt to tell, security vetted it already anyway.

NH proceeds to unzip the bag and hold up a large white piece of clothing with light blue rings and accents, alongside a strange white cap with what looked like small fins, and a curious little backpack.

NH: It's uhh... um... my... Ika... musume... cosplay.... (oh gods I can't believe I said it out loud again)

After a moment of awkward silence, NH slowly puts on the backpack and presses a button on it's strap, and suddenly numerous light blue colored tentacle-like appendages sprout out from the backpack and move in line with NH's movements.

NH: I, uh..., got my engineering friend to make them articulate and interface with my contacts. I can make them do all sorts of things, like make various shapes and animals with them, though works best as a shadow theater.

H:...

NH:...

A now frozen out of confusion than fear:...

H: That's so

NH: (oh I know it's so lame, but I love that show)-

H: COOL! I don't know what a ika musume is, but those things look amazing. You said articulate? How precise can they be? I'd love to have something like that instead of my useless assistant. Poor lad can't make a piece of toast if his life depended on it...

NH: Y-you like it?

H: I LOVE those things. My daughter does cosplay too sometimes, but she makes her Dreadnought suits herself from scraps. One time the military came to our house and installed a limiter on the gauss cannon she found in a crash site, said it would otherwise start to generate small doses of radiation if used too frequently. But she replaced it with a handmade rail gun before the next convention. Do you go to those? Did you see a 7 meter tall hulking metal monstrosity with a bunch of candles all over? That was her.

NH: Oh, I think I've seen video of that, but no, not in person, I go to smaller events. I don't really like big crowds.

H: Oh yea, I get ya, you do seem a bit on the shy side now that we've been talking for a bit. Hey, no worries, like I said, we're all good people here.

NH: T-thanks, but I think I should be going now, the teacher is calling me over.

H: Oh yea, go ahead, didn't mean to take up so much of your time. Have a fun stay and I'm sure you'll ace that paper or theory? Or whatever astrophysicists do, you seem like a solid kid.

NH: Oh, uh, thanks. Good luck with your bakery. And you with stopping those weird people from stealing more moons. Bye.

H: Bye bye, come visit, don't be a stranger now, I'm set up just a short bit from the main lift on floor 14.

NH: R-right, I'll, uh, be sure to stop by soon.

A is finally able to process what they just heard and says: What was all that just now?

H: What? Just a friendly chat with what is apparently basically a kid. Man, this kid's got so much going on, while I'm almost 50 and I have an oven. Life, man, it can go in so many ways. Anyway, let's go grab a drink, I'm parched.

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urmichiee · 10 months

Text

Timeless

:: How they confess to you! (spoiler, you like them back)

With: Suna Rintarō and Kageyama Tobio x gn!reader (separately)

! reblogs are appreciated | wc: 1.8k+

➵ Suna Rintarō

While you’re just hanging out, he would randomly say it

It wouldn’t be related to what you were saying

Is straight to the point

It comes out of nowhere, and you’d just be left there, shocked

You have to process what he just said

It never did cross your mind that you would be friends with a popular volleyball player. Nor did it cross your mind that you would have feelings for said volleyball player.

Suna is a good-looking person, if that wasn’t obvious. He has a few fan girls, always present in his matches, may it be in Tokyo or Hyōgo. He is what you could say nonchalant, not showing much emotion most of the time. He provided short answers and quick observations when needed. But, he was most talkative when he was with you.

Atsumu can say that he has never seen Suna talk more to anyone than he did you.

Suna met you in his first year in Inarizaki, while buying ice cream at some shop. It turns out, you’re in the same school and year as him. It was like you were meant to meet. You two became closer, meeting each other in between periods and after classes, sometimes accompanying him while he practiced.

Suna asked you if you wanted to go with him for ice cream after classes end, as he had no practice and you didn’t have any club meetings. So, you said yes. It would have been rude to say no, especially if it was your crush asking, no?

You had gotten the cookies and cream ice cream while Suna got chocolate ice cream. You thought it was weird, especially since he usually orders the same as you. It turns out he doesn’t like cookies and cream that much… Then says he has never tried it before?

“You know, cookies and cream is actually really good. I like it-”

“Yeah? And I like you,” what?

“Huh?” To say that he didn’t mean to confess to you right there wasn’t entirely false. It was Suna, after all. He does unexpected things that he’s been meaning to do for a while.

“Nothing. Come on, let’s go,” he says, slightly embarrassed, and walks even faster, making you just stand there and process what he just said.

“Hey! Wait! The hell did you just say?” You run up to him as he was already further along.

“I said it was nothing.”

“Before that, dumbass!”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he wasn’t giving you a break, huh? It was an amusing sight, really. A person trying to stop a boy, giving their all trying to stop him.

“You know exactly what I mean… Stop walking so damn fast!”

“Forget what I said. I said nothing,” contrary to what others may think, he didn’t care about if you liked him back, he just knows that somehow, it will spread everywhere in a matter of seconds. How THE Suna Rintarō confessed. How THE Suna Rintarō actually likes someone. How Suna Rintarō-

“And if I said I liked you too?” you cut his thoughts off with eight words, and he didn’t think he would be more relieved to hear them.

“Eh? Really?” Frankly, he could barely believe it. Someone like you likes him? He must be in a dream, he must be.

“Yeah! For a while now. I thought I would have to tell you, but you beat me to it,” he had finally halted in his tracks, not believing one bit that his crush likes him too. And for a while? How come he didn’t notice?

“Oh. Then, can I be your boyfriend?” Straightforward, as per usual. It didn’t seem weird for Suna to be so forward.

“Sure, Suna."

“Rintarō,” he corrects you.

“Alright, then… Rintarō,” you cast a small smile on his face. It just seems so natural to you. So casual, even if this is a big change for both you and him.

The rest of the way towards your next destination, he had your fingers intertwined with his, swaying it ever so slightly. Yeah, ice cream has never tasted better.

➵ Kageyama Tobio

None of it was meant to happen

A certain team mate of his was just being a little too loud for his liking, resulting in whatever situation you were in now

To other people, you and Kageyama were polar opposites. You were sweet, nice, there to give a hand to people who need it, loving. He, on the other hand, was feared. Whether it was his aura or appearance that scares people, he was still feared. It didn’t sit right with people how you two were so close, never mind being friends. People would have thought you would be better friends with Hinata, if they had to pick.

Due to your welcoming personality, people are bound to like you. Letters and gifts stack your desk every day, Valentine’s Day being a day when you're bombarded with confessions and flowers galore. It was why Kageyama had never admitted his little liking towards you.

It didn’t take long for his teammates to figure out why he acted so differently around you. The way his eyes would glisten at the sight of you. How he stutters more in your presence. How he seemed to work harder at practice when you were watching. How his sets get more accurate, if that was even possible, if you were watching the match.

It also didn’t take long for his teammates to tease him about it, sometimes even his coach.

“Oh, ho! Looks like loverboy’s back from hanging out with the love of his life!” “Kageyama, you act sweeter around [Name]. How ‘bout you act like that around me!?” “Look at the king! Stuttering around poor little [Name]!”

The comments did faze him, but he looks at you once and he somehow calms down. The team begs you to watch their practice when you can, they didn’t want their setter to be such a hassle.

It was already late in the afternoon, around when his practice was supposed to end. You offered to wait for him as you also had a club meeting to attend, not wanting to walk alone.

Opening the gym door, they were doing a practice match, three versus three. So, they were focused on the game and didn’t look at who entered and who exit. The first to notice you was Nishinoya.

“Oh, guys, look! It’s Kageyama’s crush!” He shouts to the team. Now, all eyes were on you. Wait, what did he say?

“Huh!? Excuse me?” You blurt out. It didn’t take a genius to know that you had no idea about his feelings towards you, even if he was completely obvious that it was embarrassing. The ball drops beside Kageyama, who was supposed to set it to Hinata before… this.

“Noya, bro, run!” Tanaka shouts to him before Kageyama could pounce on the 5’3 libero.

“Oh, shit,” Nishinoya realizes what he did and bolted out of the gym, leaving everyone stunned. If you didn’t know better, he would have thought Kageyama was frozen dead as his arms dropped beside him, his mouth agape.

No one dared utter anything. It was just complete silence. The coach, who was also just as surprised at Nishinoya’s actions, decided to dismiss the team. Kageyama was the first one out of the gym and into the club room, wanting the ground to swallow him whole. He swore he was going to kill Nishinoya, even if he was his upperclassman.

Twenty minutes later, after the whole team comforts him, saying it would be alright, he decided to be brave and walk home. Maybe you went home already?

Nope. It turns out, you sat on the stairs waiting for him. God, damn it.

You stand at the sight of your friend. You two just stare each other down, neither one wanting to move from their position. You decide to motion him to follow you. He merely follows what you tell him, trailing behind you as you walk together.

It stays an awkward silence for a few minutes, stopping at a green light, waiting for it to turn red.

“...So. Uhm, do you want to tell me what happened there…?” You ask him.

“Uh…” It was clear as day that he was, most definitely, scared. And you didn’t think you would see Kageyama Tobio scared.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, that’s fine,” you said. Although you really really wanted to know what he had to say, you didn’t want to force him.

“No, it’s fine… Okay, you have to listen to what I’m about to say, alright?” You nod your head at his words, was he dying?

“I really really really like you. For a few months now and I was scared you didn’t so I didn’t tell you, but Noya didn’t seem to get the message and accidentally screamed you were my crush. It’s alright if you don’t like me back, can we stay friends?-”

“Tobio, calm down,” he stopped talking at the sound of your voice. Hm, you still had the same effect on him, even when he was confessing. Wait, Tobio? That was the first time you called him that.

“Let me speak. Do you know why I reject every single confession I get?” You ask him. He shakes his head from side to side, visibly confused at the sudden question.

“Heh, even with the number of confessions I get, you would think I accept at least one, right? That’s what people think. There is one person I would say yes to if they ever did confess to me,” his heart shatters. You had your eyes on someone already? Damn it.

To say he wanted to disappear right there would be an understatement. He’s frozen in place, he can’t be bothered to move.

“Listen to me, Tobio. That person is you, alright?” Wait. Pause. Stop the time and rewind. You liked him back?

“For how long you’ve liked me, I’m sure I’ve liked you for longer,” you sigh as you confess your feelings to him. His eyes widen at your words.

“Wait, you like me back?” He asks you.

“Yes, keep up!.... So, what are we now?”

“...Dating? Only if you want to, though,” that last part was added as a measure.

“Well then, Tobio. Would you-”

“[Name], would you want me… to be your boyfriend?” He cuts you off, asking the question you’ve been wanting to hear from his mouth. You smile, a faint blush creeping up your face.

“Yes.”

Bonus!

The next day

“Huh!? You’re dating?” Sugawara says in surprise as they kept pestering him about what happened yesterday.

“Yeah. They said they also like me, so we’re dating,” he hung his head low, not wanting his teammates to see the red from his cheeks as he remembers the memory.

“Damn it, I wanted to confess to them…” Hinata mutters under his breath, but much to his dismay, Kageyama hears.

“Hahhh!?”

A/n: Happy speak now tv release day! :D

#mich’s works !#suna x reader #suna #suna rinatro #kageyama #kageyama x reader #kageyama tobio #haikyuu #haikyu #haikyuu!!#haikyu!!#haikyu x reader #suna fluff #kageyama fluff #haikyuu fluff #hq #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu kageyama #haikyuu suna

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ira-hydrangea · 1 year

Text

Replaced Mc? Not Really... Never Part 3

Summary: Everything is now ready. Just one final strike before they can take the fruit of their hardworks.

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 4

Obviously with the rumors plan failed. Nobody believes Eva and now her reputation is at risk. So she changed her plans. To get rid of MC once and for all.

Since no one believes her, she just needs to make it so they will have no choice but to believe her.

Luckily, she has a puppet fit for that. There is this one boy that is naive enough to believe her no matter what. He is annoying but if can change your words then making him do your bidding will be an easy feat. Who else but Kalim?

"Eh? What do you need to do with that kind of flower?" Kalim asks surprised. Eva is meeting with him in his dorm.

Currently, Eva trying to convince Kalim to bring her the Moonlight Flower. It's a special flower that only bloomed once every year and the time for each flower to bloom is different. The flower has a beautiful blue petal with a red hue right in the middle. Almost similar to the lotus.

"I'm just curious~. This world has always fascinated me and especially the flowers. At least before Mr.Crowley found the way back, I want to see every magical thing in here. Can you please do it for me, Kalim?"

Kalim then stays silent for a while before smiling. "Sure~ I don't mind. Besides, MC never really sees that kind of flower too so I can also gift it to them."

Eva clenched her fist when hearing about Mc's name. What is so special about them? They are also the same magicless human as her yet why do people here always put them in the greater light.

"Thank you so much, Kalim~. And speaking about Mc, can you tell me more abou-"

"Kalim. Your father called and wished to speak with you on the phone as soon as possible." Jamil said while emerging from the shadows.

Eva didn't fond of Jamil. Sure, he is beautiful but in the end, he is just a servant to Kalim. What she wanted is to marry into a rich family in this world, preferably royalty so Jamil is on her blacklist.

"Oh? In that case, I'm sorry Eva but I need to go now. Don't worry, I will send the flowers to you tomorrow."

Eva waves her hands with an angelic smile toward Kalim before hardening her eyes and smirk.

"Yes... Deliver it to me soon, my dear sultan. And I would use it very well~"

The Moonlight Flower although beautiful, they have some composition to make it quite a strong poison. Not lethal but it is enough to convince anyone that the symptoms are very serious.

Eva planned to use that potion for her plan. She can make the potion on her own because she only needs to follow the books.

Now she can't wait for her plan to begin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Mc! Thank you for accepting my invitation to my small tea party!" Eva said with a beaming smile.

"Thank you for inviting me, Eva. I'm so excited to finally able to talk with another person from my world." Said Mc.

Eva then pulls Mc towards the seat. On the table, there were already so many sweets and tea that she prepared especially for today.

They talk for a very long time while laughing. When students see this scene, they would think that there both are old friends.

"So, Mc... You have stayed here longer than I, right?" Eva asked as she stirred her tea.

"Yep. I have stayed here for almost a year now."

"Oh! That would explain the fondness that most of the students have for you." Eva said and her face turn cold.

"And I truly despite it..."

"... Eva?"

"Mc, I really didn't like how you easily win the affection of the student without doing any effort. It's... Annoying... That's why." Eva then calmly sipped her tea before smiling back at Mc.

"I need to do this." With that, she suddenly coughed while standing up making the table turn around and spill everything on top of it. The sound immediately attracts the few students along with the dorm leaders as they immediately go to check.

There they saw Eva kneeling on her feet while Mc looked horrified. Before hearing a shout from Eva.

"I- I never intended to take away your friend's attention. B-but how can you *cough* be so cruel to poison me *cough* *cough*. I thought we are friends." Eva said as she collapse and Lilia immediately caught her. She smirks in her heart thinking that this finally works.

"N-no... I'm not-"

"Mc! How could you?! To think you would be this cruel to do something like this!" Riddle immediately shouts.

"No! You all get it all wrong! This is a trap!"

"ENOUGH! Mc, I'm usually very lenient towards you but this has already gone too far! You disappointed me too."

One by one the supposed friends of Mc starts to reprimand them as Eva smile victoriously as she watches the show from the side while snuggling towards Lilia. Until Ace can be heard laughing at the scenario.

"Pfft- I'm just can't Pfft- Bahahaha! Oh! To think this is the ultimate plan that girl can plan. Where did she even get this idea? A novel?" Ace laugh while Eva look confused.

"What?"

"Ace... You are not supposed to laugh. And to think I spending so much time teaching all of you to act." Vil sighs desperately. Lilia then chuckled.

"... Wh-what is going on?" Eva look confused as she looked at Lilia but Lilia just looks at her coldly with glowing red eyes and drop her from his arms.

Sebek immediately runs towards Lilia with a sanitizer ready and a box of tissue. Lilia accepts it gratefully.

"Ha... To think I would touch something so dirty with my hands. You better pay for my hard work very well, my dear." Lilia said.

"Just what on earth is going on? *cough* Why are you all looking at me like I'm at fault? It's not me but Mc is the one that tries to poison me."

"Hey. It's kinda pitiful seeing her like this, right Cater?" Ace asks as he smirks towards 'Mc'. Eva watches with widened eyes as Mc start to change form toward one of the familiar students, Cater Diamond. He just give a peace sign towards Eva.

"Too bad, dearie~ But the one that you want to frame is currently sleeping safe and sound inside the Diasomnia. It's really a waste of your good acting though. But don't worry, you still have something very useful for us." Cater said with a smile. Eva just look at them dumbfounded before processing Cater words.

"What do you mean... Useful?"

This time Vil is the one that steps up and kneels to her face level. "You see, Eva... You have something that is needed to ensure our love Mc survival in this magical world. The poor one has been sick recently and needed a cure. This is why we need you. More specifically, your heart~"

Eva just slap Vil's hands away in fear. If that means that everything has been planned all along. Her arrival in this magical world has been staged just so MC can survive all along. So she is only a puppet? A sacrifice?

Eva starts to think about the worst possibility until she starts to cough again but this time, she let out some kind of weird black ink. She looks horrified.

"Ah... It seems the fruit will soon be ripe for us to pick." Lilia said with a smile.

"P-please! Anyone save me!" Eva then looks around to see every single student but can only get scared as every single student have this smile towards her.

Why? Why? WHY?! She just wants to have a happily ever after!! She was supposed to have it and live like a princess just like in the fairy tale. THE PROTAGONIST SHOULD HAVE BEEN HER! B-but why... She gets turned into a villain!

Her coughing starts to get worse. As more and more ink flows out from her mouth. Malleus then stood in front of her and with a smirk looking down at her.

"Be hateful my dear. Hate the fact that you easily fall for us and our story. And hate how you have been playing around just like a lamb."

That is the last time Eva remembers before the darkness consumes her. The last voice she remembers are...

"Don't worry we wouldn't kill you~ You can still live without your heart~"

Okay. So the next part will maybe the last part of this AU. I'm will open a brain rot for extra chapters later. Hopefully, this is up to your expectations. AND THANK YOU FOR EVERY KIND WORD AND SUPPORT! Reading your comments always makes my days even better.

This is the taglist but I'm sorry if there is someone that still not getting tagged. I try to cross-check it so many times to make sure that none is being missed out.

Thank you for the support and maybe leave a comment and don't forget to reblog!

Taglist:

@ladykitsunesworld @shutsuyuri @lilqi @fancyhawk45 @probablynoposts @justakiro @blue-yucca @love-thanatopsis @sxftiebee @salty-salty @zlatolait-writes @feiktn @redrosetrappola @littlewitchwonderland @ilikefanfics4 @deemayaz @unre-lated @deessenya @viostar2095 @sumiko0-0 @clovers-anxiety @fluffimemes @celestialbluebed @deadflycomputerlogs @percea @mouchie @nadjababygirl @migirizuki @h3apm3ch4n151m @rebloging-everything @crazyyanderefangirlfan @mikkies @iameliseposts

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland headcanons #replaced mc au #twisted wonderland replaced mc au #twisted wonderland au #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader

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edajcheel · 1 year

Text

TW: Yandere.

Imagine this, you're just an average student in night Raven College. You blend in very well with all the idiots and high-mighty men, thus, being a background character.

But suddenly, a person by the name of "yuu" comes and asks you for help for one of their assignments, you sit next to them and share multiple classes with them.

Soon, you began hanging around this person and grow a friendship with them.

But you always feel eyes behind you, piercing into your back as if you were prey.

After you finished your lunch with Yuu, and go your separate ways. You get cornered in a hallway that's clear of all students.

The infamous brothers, the leech twins, corner you from behind and front, no where to escape.

"Heyyyy small fry, do you have a deathwish?" Floyd Leech, the more aggressive twin pipes up.

"Oh, don't be harsh Floyd. We have yet to question them."

Seems like they have a unhealthy obsession with your newfound friend, Yuu, is what you figured out. They were planning to dump your corpse somewhere, and get rid of you for talking to their "Angelfish"

But you somehow came up with a good reason that let you live... "Uhh.. hey, I can bring you undiscovered information about Yuu if you let me live.." You quietly mumbled out.

Both of the twins looked at each other, seemingly sharing unintelligible words and emotions that you can't seem to decipher.

"We will accept your offer on that, but on one condition, you will not touch them nor handle them in any such way." Jade leech, the more "calmer" of both the twins said.

Although... You wouldn't call that calm.. more like he's just trying to hide his feelings of aggression towards you. He could snap your neck in any second if you so much as make the wrong move.

So it began, you being the "spy" for the twins. Trying to scope specific information from Yuu was hard. Personal information. It really seems like they aren't even THEIR own person. More like they just follow a script on what they like and do.

"what's your favorite color?"

"hmm.. I like all colors!"

"What's your favorite food?"

"it's hard to pick, everything tastes great to me."

You went back and forth to the twins, telling them the information you gathered till this day. You've seen and know how they react to most things, they're obsessive, cunning, possessive people that you don't want to mess with. Being with them, suffocated you a lot. You had to make sure not to get on their bad side, or do anything rash.

You avoid the touch of Yuu as much as you can. You avoid talking to them about other topics except for the topics that the twins tell you to speak about. But for crying out loud, whenever Yuu sights you out from the crowd, you can see them full speeding towards you. Can't you get any rest from this place?

You take safety measures and always find a way to escape from Yuu's grasp.

You really don't understand what your relationship has come to with the twins. Soon, all three of you begin hanging around at Mostro Lounge. In addition, you give them good information about Yuu while they sneak you free drinks. A win win. Their drinks are over expensive anyways, so it greatly benefits you.

You just hope that their house warden, Azul Ashengrotto, doesn't find out. Or you'll be in a deeper hole than you already are.

As the three of you hang out more, gradually growing loose with each other, even asking them for help with homework. You soon see yourself smiling in their presence, actually having fun. You don't know what their thought process was with this sudden change, but they dont seem to mind much.

They call you in for another small meeting, probably telling you what topic to cover with Yuu.

"Alright! What's my next mission impossible?"

Jade shows his infamous "gentleman" smile as he softly places his hand to his chest "We desire to see what you've been up to lately."

You quirk your brow in confusion. "Eh? What do you mean by that?"

"You're sooo slow guppy! It's not that complicated, we want to know what you've been doing these past days!"

Ah shit. Do they think you're plotting behind their back? You really thought that you gained their favor, and maybe became actual friends. Seems like they still don't see you as anything other than their information giver.

"I haven't been doing anything with Yuu, if that's what your speculating..." You address them calmly and seriously. Making sure that you sound convincing.

"No, you've misunderstood. That question is purely for you, Y/n." Jade's hand was boldly placed on the side of your face, as if to caress it. "You know, guppy, we've been bored lately.." Floyd shows his jaggered teeth, resembling a sharks.

They both grin. Floyd donning a smirk, while Jade's sharp teeth was out in display.

"We've grown interest in you, dearest Y/n."

"More than we've grown interest in Shrimpy.. theyve been boring these past few days..."

ANNNNNNDDD THATS WHEN YOU HAVE TO DEAL WITH TWO YANDERE FUCKERS, THE DAMN LEECH BROTHERS, EVERYDAY IN YOUR LIFE!!! GOOD LUCK!! Cause they won't be hiding their affections and obsessive love towards you like they did with Yuu. Well, at least you have two tall, handsome bodyguards right? Not just one, but two. This was longer than I expected it to be..

This was inspired by the manhwa, I Love Amy, go check it out! It's 5 stars!

#Jade Leech x Reader #Floyd Leech x Reader #Yuu #Twisted Wonderland #Yandere #Azul Ashengrotto #Weird shit #Jade leech x reader x floyd leech #double twin whammy #imagine

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drewsbuzzcut · 6 months

Text

All Treats For The Barzals

mat barzal x model!fem!reader

a visceral in doses blurb

warnings: alludes to sex

“Mommy! I want to go to this house please!!” Nolan shouts, already on his second sugar high.

It’s about 9 pm, on your final lap for trick or treating with Mat, you, and the kids. This year’s family costumes are Marvel superheroes. You’re dressed as black widow, a tight black suit, red hair and all. Mat is captain america, Nolan is Ironman, Angel is spiderman, and Sloane is spider-gwen, even though nobody will necessarily see her costume as she’s bundled up in her stroller. Angel passed about 30 minutes ago, also in the stroller.

“Are you sure you want to go in, it looks pretty scary,” Mat says to Nolan, adjusting him in his arms and wiping some of the sweat off Nolan’s forehead.

“Daddy, I’m so brave. Remember you tell me when I was scared of the monster under my bed,” Nolan rambles, hands on both of Mat’s cheeks to make sure he’s paying attention.

“You’re right, you are brave. Do you want me or mommy to take you?”

“Mommy’s turn!” You hand the stroller over to Mat, and take Nolan out of his arms.

The chills spreading over your body disappear when your husband’s hand lands on the small of your back. Even through the latex of your costume, you can feel his warmth.

“Make sure my little spiders stay warm, cap,” you whisper, sultry and softly, kissing his lips before you walk off with Nolan.

Mat lets out a deep sigh, hoping his hard on isn’t noticeable through his costume. He knew he was going to struggle the very first time you showed him your costume.

Angel’s cries break him out of his mental images of you spread out on your bed after he rips that costume off of you.

“Daddy, they had full size candy!” Nolan cheers once you both are back with Mat.

“He got really excited, almost ran himself into the side of the house,” you giggle.

“Wow, buddy, that’s so awesome. Are you going to share it with daddy?” Mat plays around, earning a small grimace from his mini me.

“Mommy said no candy for daddy,” Nolan states, holding or hiding behind your leg.

“Eh, did she? I guess I will have to have a conversation with her then,” Mat looks at you with a playful glare, making you smirk.

“What’s wrong with my little man,” you turn your attention to AJ, who’s cuddled up against Mat’s chest.

“He’s tired and cold.” You reach out to smooth your baby’s hair out, pressing a kiss to his head.

“I guess it’s time to go, sorry Nolie. It’s late, we have to get you all to bed,” you softly say to your oldest.

He looks up at you with that familiar Barzal pout, but you know that soon he’ll be the one cranky and tired.

“Sorry, my love. We have to go, c’mon, I’ll carry you the whole way,” he immediately leaps into your arms and settles against your body. He’d be out in no time.

“So, no candy for daddy, eh?” Mat comes up behind you, hands resting low on your hips.

You turn around, shushing him as you just put Sloane down in her crib. She’s sound asleep and you don’t need her daddy waking her up, especially because you still had to get ready for the team’s Halloween party.

It’s when you turn around that he finally notices that your costume is unzipped and hanging at your waist. Your chest is completely bare as you just got done breastfeeding your baby girl.

“You can have something sweet, just not candy,” you mutter, tossing your arms around his shoulders and kissing up his neck.

“Fuck, you’re such a tease,” he lets out a low guttural moan and you quiet him by pressing your lips to his.

You back him out of Sloane’s nursery and into your bedroom across the hall.

“I’m not teasing,” you say.

“We have to do our costume change and greet the babysitter,” he warns.

“30 minutes is all we need. As for being on time to the party, we can be a little late,” you say, simply taking off your costume and laying out on your bed.

a/n: This was rushed and I don’t necessarily like it, but I do hope y’all enjoy it!

#mat barzal #mat barzal fanfiction #mat barzal fic #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal blurb #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal fluff #mat barzal angst #mat barzal smut #nhl imagine #nhl fic #new york islanders #visceral in doses

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yeyinde · 1 year

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SEA, SWALLOW ME | Simon Riley x GN!Reader

No one wrenches you open, leaving you raw and exposed, like Simon. A wound that never heals. A sickness that never dissipates. You carry the weight of him between your ribs and thundering heart. A place of safekeeping, protecting this precious knot that gnarls inside of you from everything else out there that might want to hurt it. It thrums now, dizzy with the feeling of him so close to you.

》 WARNINGS: 18+ – MATURE, SMUT | GN!Reader: no use of pronouns, gendered language or anatomy; very soft smut; light breath play/choking but. It serves a narrative purpose.

》 WORD COUNT: 9,4k (of pure, unadulterated nonsense)

》 NOTES: UM. This was meant to subvert standard D/s | Predator/Prey dynamics for Ghost but became a mess of nonsensical metaphors instead.

As far as missions went, this was slated to be amongst the easiest assigned out to your group—a standard hostage rescue of a foreign diplomat.

It's a sequence you've played out many times over in basic training. The steps, drills, are already ingrained in your memory with minor changes to suit the situation unfolding in a place you'd never been before, and probably will never see again. Rudimentary. Boring, almost.

The chance of injury was minimal. The probability of death is even infinitesimal.

And yet—

He pulls you into an alcove in the safe house you've been holed up in for the last twelve hours, alternating between bouts of sleep, and pouring over each minute detail of your roles.

Price's voice cracked an hour ago.

It was Gaz who called it with a soft chuff. "Guess that means we're good to go, eh, cap?"

"Off with you, then," he groused, reaching for a bottle of water. "We'll head out in an hour. Be ready."

You meant to sneak away to the gym and exercise some of the anticipation pooling inside your veins—a physical outlet to exert the antsy feeling that made your fingers tap a soundless beat against your shaking thigh; a post-mission ritual to saturate your brain in those feel-good chemicals caused by the rush of adrenaline.

But you were stopped by a hand on your wrist. One that snaked through the tenebrous of the storage closet that housed the guns, weapons, and ammunition, all spread out on the walls with a bench in the middle.

Simon leans back against it, guns spread out on the surface behind him. The hand not curled around your wrist is pressed flat, bare, to the granite top, only inches away from the collection of knives he meticulously tends to before each assignment.

His sleeves are rolled up to his forearm, ink coloured in a hazy smear of yellow from the lamp spilling across the table in the corner. Your eyes are drawn there first—the shadows cast over the thick veins running along his forearms, hidden beneath the charcoal.

The other flexes around your wrist, rough skin scorching when it presses against yours. Seeing the bulk of his palm swallowing the entirety of your wrist and half of your hand has your mouth running dry.

There's something about him, about the fold of his massive frame condensing itself into a nook much too small for him to fit, that feeds into a part of your head that aches to fly. To scale mountains, to reach the summit. To be the first person to stand on top of the highest peak, and gaze down at the world shaded in blues, greens, and greys below.

Staring at Simon fills you with summit fever.

"Did I scare you?"

It's hard to rip your gaze away from him with so much of his flesh bared to you. He's usually dressed by now in his jacket and vest. Always prepared for the next slaughter. This—

This is new. Unusual.

You huff, rolling your eyes toward the domed ceiling, and struggle to stave off the influx of anxiety that gnarls inside of you. A break in the routine. It unsettles you. "Hardly."

He makes a low, starchy noise in his throat, muffled partially by the balaclava covering his mouth. "That so?"

He runs his thumb over your pulse, drawing your attention to the rapid thud of your heartbeat under his finger. It's a slow, meticulous circle, and his eyes dance with derision when you scoff, a touch embarrassed, and curl your fingers into a fist as if that would somehow stop the thundering in your chest.

"Whatever," you murmur, defensive. "I drank an espresso. It's just a natural, bodily reaction—"

His hand twitches again, fingers lifting from your skin as he slowly peels away from you. The chill against your flesh makes you shiver, already missing the intensity of his heat.

"If you say so," he volleys, settling his hand back on the table, palm cupping the thick ledge, fingers tucked under the surface. The motion makes his muscles quiver.

Goosebumps prickle along your flesh. Your throat runs dry.

"Got somethin' for you."

It's standard, benign—the words are flat considering the weight behind them, the potency. They're all he'll allow in this brief window of privacy when everyone else is busying themselves with their pre-mission rituals.

Price leans against the wall in the corner of the room, fingers curled into the straps of his tac-vest. His chin is dipped low, eyes fixed on the table a metre away where the files lay open, floorplans exposed. Despite the evenness of his brow, and the squared set of his shoulders, you can see the weight of everything circling in stormy blue.

The success of this will be shared amongst everyone, but the loss will be solely his own.

On the opposite side of the room, Soap picks over every centimetre of your weapons and tactical gear. Scouring every iota in an effort to make sure nothing will fail anyone.

Gaz, as the youngest, shoulders it all, and pours over the blueprints, committing each exit and entrance point to memory. He won't be caught unawares if a route is compromised. He'll get everyone out to safety.

By stark contrast, Ghost does nothing.

He doesn't look over the documents, but he doesn't need to. The blood vessels streaking through jaundiced white speak of a sleepless night staring at the photos of the men you're supposed to hunt down. The people you're supposed to rescue.

Before he slips on his gloves, you catch ink stains on his thumb and inside his forefinger. The thick scent of gunpowder and oil clings to him. His weapon is sleek: gunmetal grey and cleaned. Meticulous. His attention to detail is unyielding.

He did everything he was supposed to do last night when he didn't come and sneak into your room.

But he never does. Not before a mission.

You sometimes wonder if he likes to torture himself with the if only or the what if that lingers whenever you split apart, left to your devices and wholly dependent on yourself for survival. He keeps his distance. Doesn't want, nor need, the distraction.

Some might think it cruel that he avoids you like you're already caught in the clutch of the Reaper; skin shading a sickly grey as your blood rots from within. But you know him. You know Simon.

And when he hands you your gun, you can feel that it's already been loaded, and tended to. There's a fine sheen of oil glued to the tight folds of metal from where his meticulous cleaning couldn't reach.

Your tac-vest is packed with everything he deems necessary for your own survival (and even a few things he doesn't but you do).

He hands you a knife, too—one you know is from his personal collection. It fits into the palm of your hand like it was made for you, and you wonder—with a small smile blooming across your cheeks—how long he took looking over them before picking this one. A perfect fit.

"Thank you," you murmur, low and soft. No one is paying attention to you at all—there is no time to do so when you can feel the seconds ticking down. "I'll do my best not to get your pretty knife dirty."

He snorts. "Defeats the purpose, doesn't it? And it ain't mine."

"My knife, then."

You glance down at the smooth curve of the blade, sharpened to a deadly point, and twist it in your hand to stare at the handle. It's black. Two stems jut out from the hilt, extended a bit longer than the blade. It's triangular and pitched in the centre before tapering off to a sharp point. It's the length of your forearm. Longer than the tactical knives issued by the weapons branch in the SAS. Bound in leather. The stitches look much too similar to the ones he threaded through your gaping skin in Jakarta.

"Fairbairn-Sykes," you say, glancing up at him. "Thought they stopped using these?"

He rolls one massive shoulder. A man with his girth shrugging insouciantly is a strange sight. You almost expect to hear the distant roar of an avalanche.

"Much better'in the cheap ones they give you."

"Oh, yeah? Kinda hard to hide, though—"

"If you don't want it—"

Simon reaches for it, but you pull it close to your chest, grinning.

"You can't take my knife away."

He huffs, lowering his hand back to the table. His eyes are piercing. Heavy. "Then stop complainin' about it."

A fly buzzes by your ear. A bead of sweat drips down the nape of your neck. Something about the look in his dark, shadowed eyes sets your teeth on edge.

It wells on your tongue, then—soft words not meant to be uttered in a room saturated in contracted death—and the astringent flood strips your enamel until your teeth ache with the urge to let them out, or swallow them down. You wonder what he would say if you let them free. If they slipped from your tongue and filled the room with the stench of your poisonous wants, ones left to rot inside your chest, your throat.

The burn of them blisters your esophagus, leaving behind open wounds leaking infection into your bloodstream, into the vessels that run to your lungs, your heart.

The tremendous weight of them makes your knees quiver, struggling to stay afloat in the thick atmosphere that sits, oppressive and unignorable, between you.

It's all one-sided, of course—a hunger felt only by you. He doesn't acknowledge the gossamer of tension that bleeds into the room, wrapping tight around your neck like a phantom noose. To Simon, nothing is amiss; nothing is wrong—

And it isn't, you think. This spooling knot inside of you, wound tight into a ball, isn't wrong. It isn't bad to feel this way, but it's terrifying.

Being with Simon is a bit like climbing a mountain.

But there is scaling one in a harness, secured safe and sound with ropes and pitons, and then there is this:

A free solo up the side of a chossy.

The chalk on the tips of your fingers clumps together under the stickiness of your damp palm. One slip, and you'll be a wreck at the bottom before you can even try to hold on.

Jagged rock at the bottom gnashes its teeth together in anticipation, eagerly waiting its chance to grind your flesh into pulp, and offer your spilled blood to Thanatos.

Melodramatic, maybe, but something about Ghost brings out a sense of morbid sentimentality from within you. The feeling is a harsh juxtaposition to who the man really is.

A mythological being who lingers in the foreground like a psychopomp, but gives you whittled knives from his personal collection, carefully whet to a fine point, and cracks stupid jokes in a deadpan manner as if the world around you wasn't raining bullets and reeking of gun cotton.

Your gaze wavers, falls. There are a lot of things you are meant to say now, and many more that are forbidden. None of them brim through the humus that sticks to your throat. Disturbed dirt in a lonely graveyard.

A flurry of motion snags your attention. In the corner of the room, you catch sight of the fly sitting on top of an intricate web. It runs its hands together, waiting. Mischievous. A morsel of food is still tangled in white lace. It feasts without worry, unaware of its impending demise as its feet glue to the threads woven below, shaped like the cracked skulls in a catacomb.

As the fly feeds, the spider cocks its head up from a darkened crevasse, a multitude of eyes gleaming in the flushed light hanging overhead.

It waits.

Poor thing.

"Thanks," you say again, wrenching your eyes away from the opening maw of the ossuarium in the corner. The sight unnerves you.

It's not meant to be any more sincere than the first utterance of your gratitude, but you say it—if only to fill the stifling silence, and wonder if that carefully curated mask would shatter into pieces, revealing the bare-faced man (human: flesh, bone; vulnerable) beneath, if you uttered the words pulsing against your vocal cords like a pizzicato.

He levels you with a flat look as if he, too, hears the whine of c minor screaming in your chest.

"Hilt is new. Try not to get it dirty."

You fight a shiver. Force yourself to give some facsimile of a smile in response.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Lt."

(A liar.)

You tuck the pretty knife in a tawny leather sheath into your pocket.

"I'll take good care of it."

(A thief.)

Behind smeared grey, charcoal black, his eyes narrow. Pensive. Considering. Something rears, lurks. Hidden in shadows. Cut into brimstone. It's the same shade of death that only surfaces when he's on the battlefield—no longer Simon, but—

"See that you don't."

A ghost.

(Just warmer than most.)

Your eyes stray back to the corner of the room where the black spider prowls closer to the hapless fly struggling to be free.

Yeah, you think, a touch dazed. Your fingers tighten around the leather-bound hilt of the blade. Me, too.

You dirty his knife.

The chance for an injury is minor, but never zero. You find this out when someone grabs you from behind, knife pressed to your jugular. There is no fear, no terror.

Just—

Embarrassment. Stupid. You know better than to leave your six unchecked.

It ends with a paper-thin cut to your skin, and your knife buried in flesh.

The hilt is bloodied. Authentic leather stained red. Grotesque. Garish. You can't tear your eyes away from the droplets that stain the handle.

Plastic, usually. You know this because you looked it up. Polymer-covered wood.

The leather was handmade. Sewn with thick, black thread. Glued to the stripped wood.

Wrapped up pretty just for you.

(Just for you.)

And you ruined it like you promised you wouldn't.

(A liar. A thief.)

It makes you wince, and the burn in your chest hurts more than the sting in your neck. You thought you heard death and his fiddle this morning, but who knew his boney, rotted fingers would wrap around your wrists like it was the hilt of a conductor's baton.

Simon doesn't say anything, but there's a weight in his silence. A soundless ticking in the background as he watches, placid, as you make your way to him.

Nails bite into your palm until they're sticky with the blood that pools between your fingers. It's meant to be grounding. Replacing one hurt with another, but the biggest injury is the one to your pride, your ego. It's burned, blistered, and not even the swell of something you feel roiling through you at the sight of Simon, steady and sturdy—faultless despite the roaring that seems to echo around, the scream of the tide trying to pull you under—is able to quell the sting of humiliation.

Your hands are stained just like them. Scars mattered across soft tissue, and despite the way they spill over your flesh like Orion, you still feel the pull of torn flesh beneath your armour.

This—

This was an accident. Unfortunate. Unforgiving. It lingers between aching teeth, and tastes of raw wire.

You won't let the shame dip its talons into your pride despite the bruise forming on the side of your veneer.

Your chin lifts: defiant, almost. As if waiting for him to say something.

Anger, you think, is easier to wield than culpability.

There are a number of derisive, droll words he can pin you with, and your mind runs through the possibilities, the ones you heard barked out over the comms. Things like: rookie mistakes. Shoulda checked your six. How'd this happen? Thought you were better than this. Another scar to add to your collection, then? Better stop before you end up lookin' like me.

It surprises you, then, when he says none of them.

"Alright?"

His hand lifts, and a weight settles against your jaw, lifting your chin. It's barely a cat scratch, and doesn't even need stitches, but it stings something fierce when he stretches the skin around it. Pulling, tugging. You clench your teeth, swallowing back a wince.

He catches it, anyway.

Stupid.

You wait for the rest. For the or what? that traditionally follows a simple alright, but nothing comes.

His hand drifts, palm cups the side of your neck, and—

It's indescribable. A rush, maybe. A raw, pulsing wound throbbing inside your throat where his heavy, rough hand sits. A plinth. You can't lower your chin with it in the way. Stuck, you think, and then—

You shiver. It's instinctual. The curve of your neck is vulnerable; a sacred place. Animals protect their jugular, their soft bellies, from attack, and something primal in you tenses up. Waiting for the strike. For the snapping of jowls into your soft skin.

None come. Stupid. Of course—

"Jus'a little scratch."

His hand leaves almost quickly as it appeared, and you drift aimlessly, unconsciously, after it.

Snapped out of your strange reverie when Price calls out your name. Paperwork, probably. You've been hurt, and as a response—or a sneaky punishment—you have a mountain of forms to fill out, t's to cross, i's to dot.

The weight of Ghost's gaze on you is almost as heavy as the heft of his hand, and you linger for a moment in that strange, phantom noose, wondering what it would feel like if he held on just a little bit—

"Go on, then," his chin jerks toward Price. "Get cleaned up."

Something shifts inside of you. The open of a proverbial floodgate.

It's instant:

The weight of his palm, the press of his fingers—you feel them against your skin, a phantom whisper. A breath.

There's something almost comforting about the danger of exposure, you think. About bearing your neck to the biggest predator around.

It's not an act of submission. You'd never submit to Ghost, much less anyone else, but—

There's a sense of vulnerability there. Trust.

(It's that unseen edge of danger: a spark of life in a world that's always shades of muted grey, and draped in the folds of calamity. Death sits only a hair's breadth away no matter where you go. So close, you can feel the ghastly chill on your skin; always cold. Always freezing. You can set fire to your flesh, but your teeth still chatter.

For the first time in years, the skin on your neck burns with feverish heat.)

(The warmth fades. You chase it, pressing your fingers flat to your pulse, but still feel the icy drift of the waiting Sheol against your skin.

Cold to the touch once more.)

His fingers ghost along the skin of your wrist, skimming over your pulse. It’s soft. Gentle. A light brush that has no other meaning or purpose except to gain your attention—

—and oh, doesn’t it just.

Simon doesn’t let it linger. He pulls his hand away when your chin jerks toward him, and slides them into the pockets of his trousers. Hidden away. Out of reach.

Your wrist burns.

"Could've just said hello."

His eyes are heavy under the hood of his sweatshirt and lined with the grease paint he couldn't scour off. Maybe he never even tried to. Glacier blue framed in ashen blonde. His eyes remind you of the sandstone cliffs that line the Corfu shore. Stark white. Deep blue.

They're weighed down with something—exhaustion, maybe. The last you'd heard of him, he was chasing after leads that might link you to Shepherd with Gaz (who sent a dry text in the early morning, between the keds and the dad jokes, I don't know how anyone could be scared of this Manc; and: does the man ever sleep, or is he fuelled on Tenzing and spite alone?). And now—

“C’mere.” He murmurs, eyes heavy and lidded, sparking with something sharp, acrid. Humour, you think, heart stuttering in your chest.

The word is uttered just as softly as the touch against your flesh, and the sound—the phantom memory of the featherlight brush—burns with the heat in his gaze, the warmth that seeps through the gloves, and into your skin. Bone deep. You can feel the burn of him congealing in your cartilage.

"Finally gonna do me in?"

It earns you a dry scoff, the barest hint of an eye roll. "If I wanted to, you wouldn't see me coming."

"You could have just said no, never," you mock, stifling down a grin. "Or—I wouldn't even think about hurting you—"

The rest of the words are cut off when he steps closer. Liquid agility: he moves quickly for a man cut from Everest, sifting through the shadows with no more than a soft thud of his heel clipping the linoleum. Ghost looms before you in a blink, head tilted down to gaze at you.

His hand lifts, knuckle grazing the swell of your cheek. It's softer than he has any right to be. A warm brush across cold skin. The Agulhas current colliding into the Somali. It ripples across your surface and rattles the rotting bones below. The empty husk of you trembles.

"No," he murmurs, words distant and warbled under the roaring in your ear. You watch a flicker of something tremble across his face. A frisson shuddering too fast for your sluggish, mortal eyes to discern.

You can't find the remnants of that ugly, gnarled thing that sometimes stares back at you when he's unaware. A beast hiding in a forgotten bivouac, creeping through the desolate ruins of a travesty that reek of upturned humus. A ghost disinterred from its slumber.

But when you stare at him, bare-faced and uncertain, you see a darkening edge in the cuts of blue: deep canyons and crevasse that warm when your reflection swims in the glossy curve, wide eyes and parted lips filling the tenebrous, the shadows.

The things, disentombed, are at rest. Clouded over by the shocked face that swims in endless pools of blue.

"Never."

"Oh," you murmur, honeyed sweet and viciously coy. "How sweet of you."

(It takes you a moment to realise he's mocking you.

Your heart still thunders like the words were true.)

Simon cleans the hilt of the knife for you, bare fingers scouring away the blood that stains the leather. He lets you watch as he works, content to lean against the wall in silence as he dabs a cloth in a petri dish filled with cleaning solution, and gently scours the stain from the hide.

The motions are gentle, and familiarity bleeds into each swipe. This isn't the first time he scrubbed away the rotting blood of a dead man, and some part of you aches, stupid, knowing that it won't be the last.

A testament to the age-old woes of an occupational hazard.

Watching him work, silent and unbothered by your intrusion ("of all the bloody gits, you're somehow the least annoying. For now;"), fills you with a strange sense of comfort. Of longing.

(Domesticity makes your teeth ache and your cheeks burn.)

His knuckles are bruised. He won't tell you how it happened. Doesn't say much outside of, it's done, already, so no sense in worryin' about it.

You suppose he's right. No sense in dwelling over what you can't change. But the sight of his hands—bruised, cracked and bloodied—makes your mouth dry, and your heart race.

There's something about his hands that captivate you.

You can't stop staring at them. The memory of what his molten flesh felt like against your icy skin sears into you. The weight of his palm on your neck. Steady, solid.

Something predatory had risen from within you, and cocked its head to the side, allowing him an ounce more of your flesh for him to take. To touch.

A bear will seek the warmest cave to slumber after gorging itself on flesh and bone. A moth will kill itself just to touch an open flame.

There's something alluring about heat. Flames. Fire.

(Ghost smells of cedar embers: pyrolysis.

You're cold enough to want to burn the tips of your fingers in the open flame. To immerse yourself in the fire that'll char your flesh, and blacken your bones. Hollowed marrow, now filled with charcoal and brimstone.)

Your knuckles twitch. You curl your fingers into fists by your side.

"Done," he says, sitting back in the chair, and shaking you from your reverie.

He turns to you, the knife perched in his upturned palm. The leather is dark, wet, but the blood is gone.

On the table, the water in the Petri dish is diluted pink.

You let yourself linger when you reach for the proffered knife, knuckles grazing the rough flesh of warm, bare palm. Greedily catching tendrils of heat on the tips of your fingers.

"Thanks."

His eyes brim with something you can't name. "Try to keep it clean, or you'll ruin the leather."

You want to say, no one told you to make it pretty for me in the first place, but you don't. You think, instead, of summit fever, of scaling walls. The view from the top of a mountain must be worth the risk, the danger. To see the curve of the earth, and pure blue of the horizon yawning for you. As close to god as a mortal can climb with their bare hands.

It hits you like a punch to the gut. The rock crumbling. The chossy wobbling. Your feet giving away, fingers scraping against the granite as you fall to the rocks below.

He waits, eyes narrowing in that same shade of pensive contemplation as before.

You're lingering too much. Touching him too openly. Greedily. You wonder why he lets you when you pull away, shamefaced and meek.

(How much of it, you wonder, is an act and how much of it is real. Subconscious submission. Meek and unassuming. It rears inside of you, a skittish animal. But you're not scared. Not of him. Never.

A sick joke. Mortal folly. Something inside of you wants to know you're alive, and so—

Roll over and he'll think you're prey.)

You manage a shaky smile, mind racing to the same tremulous crescendo as the arrhythmic drum of your heart.

You don't meet his gaze. Can't when there's a deluge of something—ugly and awful—roaring through you at the sight of his hands, and the scars that cover them. Some, you note, deep enough to knick bone. False starts. Your teeth ache at the sight. Stomach knotting. Churning.

Something vicious gnarls through the rotten entombment of your living heart.

Gaze lowered. Neck bared.

Hook, line—

"Got it, Lt."

He fractures his fingers in Medellín after chasing a man through the barrios. They're cracked on the concrete when he jumps from the roof and catches it on a metal rod sticking out from the ashlar.

Those same ones that tilted your jaw back, bones creaking under the strain of his grip.

Ghost doesn't flinch, of course—you don't even know they're broken until he asks for gauze and a splint at the safe house you're holed up in. You just see him swing that same hand out, catching the man by the throat when he tries to slip past. Steady. Solid. An expert killing machine, numbed to the pain, the carnage.

Simon holds him tight to the wall by his jugular, barking out coarse questions, demanding answers. His voice carries (who are you working for? Where are the others? Gimme a reason not to snap your neck right now—), and you watch it all unfold from your perch on the rafters beside the alcove.

Watching his six—supposed to be, anyway—but you can't stop staring at the way he dwarfs the other man. The curve of his fingers, long and thick, around his throat. It fits like a scarf. A neck brace.

Simon's so—

Massive. Undeniably so. And seeing it like this is mesmerising. Hypnotic, almost.

Whatever the man says is swallowed by the roaring in your ears; the rush of the wind whistling through the houses below.

He gasps something out, eyes wide, and whatever it is, it makes Simon nod.

Right, then. Target acquired.

The moment his jaw snaps shut, information unveiled, he barely has a chance to beg before Simon's hand twitches.

You hear the sharp snap from your perch above him, and barely have a moment to collect yourself before the man goes limp. Simon pulls away from him, a half step back, and without his support, he falls to the ground with a soft thud.

His hand falls to his side when the man falls, and it's then, in the fading ochre streaking through the concrete, you notice the drops of red staining his gloves. They catch in the light—a Rorschach of brutality and death—and you can't stop staring at them. At his hands.

A small thing, really. It's hardly anything noteworthy considering the litres of blood that saturate any of you on a particularly gruesome day, and yet something about the red smears on the back of his hands, staining the worn, faded white metacarpals catches your attention. Eyes glued to the way he shakes his big hand, as if throwing off the sting of split bones.

(Even with splintered fingers, he was still able to snap a grown man's neck. The thought shouldn't be as enticing as it is.)

Later that night, you sit on your knees between his broad thighs, and gingerly take his bruised hand into yours. The contrast is laughable—his palm alone swallows the entirety of yours up. A cantaloupe to a satsuma. The mental image makes a smile crack on the corner of your mouth, a little twitch.

He catches it. Always, always—

The hand that isn't several shades of indigo and burgundy lifts, settling on the curve of your jaw. Long, thick fingers splay out, stretching from the slope of your bone just below your ear, down to your chin. The entire expanse of your face cupped in his palm.

Simon is a big man. Massive.

(You sometimes forget that he's a direct descendant of Everest.)

Something inside of you gnarls, and tightens. There's always that thread of unease whenever he's juxtaposed to mortal men, to yourself; a lingering remnant, an atavistic fear for the beings that are bigger, broader than yourself. The primal instinct to run from the things that look like they could snap your bones into pieces with just their bare hands.

It's a small thing, considering, and always washed away by the surge of desire that pools in the space it once occupied.

He's big.

(You've always had a fondness for heights.)

"Does it hurt?"

If it does, he'll never admit to it; but you murmur the words, anyway—if only to feel the power in his hands when you move your jaw under his palm; the gentle resistance that meets you when you lower your chin, and hit the warmth of his skin.

"No," he says, and you fight back a smirk. "Are you finished yet?"

His question pulls your attention back to his swelling hand, skin already turning glossy from the tumescence of inflammation. Irritated. Pulpy. The knuckles are split in the valleys; a deep divot of plum red.

He has pretty hands, you think.

Peached-tinged ivory dusted in a fine layer of coarse, flaxen hair, and broken into streams of scars and welts in a mosaic on his rough skin. Thick veins in ballpoint blue run from his knuckles to his forearms; all intersecting rivers that cross and meld into a confluence near the bend of his elbow.

It's layered with fading charcoal ink pushed beneath his dermis.

The slide of his palm is rough with a patchwork of scars that cut through his life line. Jagged little marks from the sharp end of a knife. Pockmarks from cigarettes.

You like the way they feel on your skin. The weight behind them, the heat. The way they bend, and contort. Curling around the butt of a cigarette as he snipes game plans back and forth with Soap. Then the hilt of a rifle when he steadies it on concrete; playing God with gunmetal.

The way they curl into loose fists by his sides when he's displeased, tense and ready for the impending alternation.

How soft they are, then, when he slides the back of his hand against yours. Touches the small of your back, fingers curving around your waist when he pulls you close.

The way he sometimes holds your face between his palms.

You cover them up with the starchy gauze before lifting your chin to catch his gaze once again.

His eyes are stagnant seas.

You might think it's tranquillity that keeps the midnight blue surface from succumbing to the pull of the moon, and the tides; but that would be a fallacy. A death sentence.

There's nothing calm in those depths. Below the thin film sits an endless abyss torn up by currents that carry the same inescapable grasp as the churning hydrology of a waterfall. It'll snatch you the moment you plunge into the blue, ripped through the water until it suctions you into a crevasse.

But—

You hold his gaze as you lift your chin up, notching it higher until his hand slides down your jaw, palm now resting on the side of your neck.

—You've never been afraid of drowning.

"That's good," you murmur, tilting your head to the side until your neck is cupped in the palm of his hand. Algae blooms in those unfathomable depths when your pulse thuds against his thumb. "'Cause I was kinda thinking it would be nice to get your hands around my neck one of these days."

His hand twitches against your pulse.

The usual caustic, derisive barbs and brackish quips are bereft from his hidden lips. You might mistake him as unbothered. Uninterested. But you've always been good at scraping off the veneer people tend to wrap themselves in, burrowing under their dermis, and the flash in those murky eyes—widened slightly at your words until it's a pretty polynya: icy white around a puddle of midnight blue—gives him away.

His thumb slides down the column of your neck until it's pressed tight to the little jut of your jugular poking through thin, delicate skin. Ashen lashes flutter when you swallow against the soft press of his fingers; eyes flickering down, liquifying, as he takes in the way your muscles tense in his hand.

He could close the entirety of his palm around the convex curve of your throat, and—if he really wanted to—his thumb and middle finger might meet in the back, nestled just above your spine.

There's a heat simmering in your veins, stroked by the flex of his fingers as he mulls over what you're asking him for. The smooth, almost pensive way he brushes his thumb over your neck; an unconscious action, you think, with the way his lids dip, cresting over liquid black.

His silence doesn't last long. Whatever conclusions he draws in that brief lull are tucked away, hidden from view, when he shifts in the old wicker chair.

He leans forward a little—enough, you note, to hide the growing bulge in his slacks—and lifts his heavy gaze back to yours.

"That so, pet?"

It's rare you ever find Simon speechless, but you've known him long enough to know how to catch him off-guard.

You swallow when his fingers thread through the loose hair along the curve of your ear, scratching his short nails along the skin of your skull. His thumb presses against the spot below your eye, lower lashes spilling over the tip of his finger when you blink up at him, eyes lidded with the weight of your want. Despite the languid, almost kittenish, way you tilt your chin until it's plinthed into his warm palm, your eyes are razors. Sharpened on the whetstone of your conviction.

"Yes," you breathe. Your tongue runs across your bottom lip, as if chasing the words from lingering in the seam of your teeth. "That's so, Lt."

His fingers twitch at your words, eyes narrowing into those same contemplative slits as before. Then slowly, deliberately, he drags his hand down to rest once more over your jugular.

—sinker.

Your nails dig into the hard flesh of his bicep until the skin breaks: crescent moons pool beneath the tips of your fingers. Red, raw.

It makes him suck in a slow breath, the sound heavy in your ear.

"Keep that up," he rasps, a livewire pressing into your naked chest. "And I'll have to do somethin' about it, pet."

It's not an empty threat. You know Simon enough by now to know he never says anything he doesn't mean. But you still toss your head back, laughter slipping from your blood-red lips. High, you think, on the thrill of him.

"Yeah? Promises, promises, Lt—"

A flash in liquid black. Napalm embers.

One hand lifts, leaving the back of your knee. You know what's coming. Asked him for it, even, but it still takes you by surprise when his massive hand slips between your chin and neck, fingers curling until he has a perfect grip of your throat in his palm. Your head is forced back, pulse beats against his thumb; a frightened bird struggling in the grip of a predator.

He isn't squeezing—not yet—but the hold he has on you is firm.

You meet his stare, quivering in his arms.

"Lay back."

A slight pressure. You gasp. He feels the inhale under his hand, the thick swallow you take when he begins to push you down slowly. It makes him groan again when you lock up around his cock, tight and throbbing like the pulse under his fingers.

"That's it." He holds you against the pillow. You don't test his grip, but you know it's ironclad. You're shackled to the bed. At his mercy.

Tears burn your eyes. It's not fear, panic. The moisture leaking into the crease of your eyelids is involuntary. You want to tell him this, to let him know you want this, want his hand on your vulnerable neck.

You gasp quietly, the air barely slipping past the curl of his fingers—naked, warm, rough—on your skin.

"Simon—"

"Relax," his voice is liquid sin; velvet draped over a kindling fire. The crackle floods you until you're panting, breathless. "C'mon…you can take it."

Your fingers unfurl from his biceps, tips soothing along the irritated flesh, ghosting over scars—bullets, fire, knives, cigarettes: his flesh is a mosaic of history you're barred to ever uncover—but the way his muscles coil under the softness of your hands makes your chest lurch.

You trail them down until you reach the thick forearm bent over your sweat-slicked chest, nails catching on the throbbing veins until you hear the rasp of his breath under the mask.

Your palm is tiny, almost fragile, in comparison to his wrist. Wrapping your fingers around the thick of him is like holding onto the end of a bat. Your hands can only cup the width; a perfect crescent.

It's that—the immense power, the strength of him, buzzing under his storied skin that makes your belly burn with the fever of your want. He's so—

Massive.

Strong.

You can feel it, now. Fingers brush over the veins on the back of his hand, a seal around your throat, and you know that he's holding back. Has to. He could snap your neck with an ease that should terrify you. You've watched these same hands throw knives into men's throats. Watched them wrap around their necks, crushing the bones until the struggling ceased with a gut-wrenching snap, and they fell, limp, to the floor.

His eyes flutter when you swallow, when your small, delicate throat works under his clutch.

He has the capacity to ruin:

Simon—Ghost—can break your neck without a flinch.

And yet—

You meet his eyes, lips trembling, and then you slowly tip your head back.

Submission. You give yourself to him wholly.

(A toil—

come closer, pretty thing.)

Simon's breath stutters in his chest, his hand tenses. Eyes widened. The whites are stained with tendrils of red.

His next breath is a snarl that bludgeons into your core. He leans down, cock jarring something inside of you that has the cosmos burning into your retinas.

When he speaks, his words are raw. Scoured with sandpaper. It's almost animalistic when he growls your name, adds:

"So good for me, pet."

He matches the praise with a sharp jerk of his hips, sinking in deep until you can feel him throbbing in your sternum.

When you clench, spasming around him, his fingers flex.

It starts slow.

He readjusts his grip until you're a perfect fit in the palm of his hand. A little bird begging for respite in the claw of a hungry lion.

Ghost has never been a man of mercy.

(And you'd long learned to stop trying to barter with a hurricane.)

There is no rhythm to the way he fucks you. An interrogation expert, skilled in torture, he keeps you on the edge the whole time. Left to do nothing but cling to him, and take it. All of it. Whatever he wants to give you.

You suck in a breath, but it is stopped when his hand squeezes. Tighter, now. The air in your lungs is compressed, forced out until they're empty.

His pulse beats against your throat. His heat is an inferno, a fever; he presses into you until you're panting, head soporific and gummy under the intense blaze of his body. Hard, firm: there is no give when you notch your knees to his ribs, pressing your caps into his flesh. He's unmovable. Unshakeable.

Liquid pleasure spumes from that unfathomably deep place he batters into with his cock, and the tips of his fingers as he burrows both into your flesh.

It's too much—

His hand drops from your knee, resting on the pillow beside your head. It brings him closer—now, almost chest to chest—and smothers the air from your lungs completely. His eyes, however, steal the last wisp of your breath away.

Standing on the edge of a singularity, gazing into the event horizon. Black holes ready to swallow you whole.

Bereft of oxygen, you begin to crumble in his hold.

"That's it," he rasps, fingers tightening. "Fuck—you're so tight—gonna strangle me, pet—"

Your breath is clinched by the palm of his hand. Futile gasps, hiccups, spill from your lips as he shifts inside of you, bracing his knees on the bed, and driving forward until you see stars. Until you claw at his wrist, back arching like a bow.

The cosmos tastes of gunfire. Smoke. The heavy scent clogs your throat until you're choking on the embers that seep from his skin.

"I'm not done with you, pet." His timbre pitches, low and sultry; a rough graze. A scraped knee. "I could do this for days."

It makes you whimper. Makes you thrash. He means it, too. Always. Always. He'll hold you down until you're drowning in it.

Your head swims. Hypoxia bleeds into your eyes.

"Simon…" you whimper when his hips slot into yours. "Simon. I'm—"

The words are swallowed down when he ruts into you again, driven mad by the clutch of your body, and the vulnerable way you look at him. His head drops, moussed hair tickling your nose.

"Fuck, pet—," it's chiselled out of him. A warning, perhaps. Don't. Don't say any more. Don't—

His voice is polar when it drifts over you. The chill alone freezes the words in your throat.

"You like this, don't you?" Detached. Distant. He can't let himself feel the quiver in your voice, the ache in your throat. If he lets himself have this, even a meagre amount of it—

You don't think he'll be able to let go.

The words are tucked back into the pocket carved out in your ribs just for them. They'll sit until he's ready, until the storm in his Rorschach eyes dissipates—if, of course, it ever does. You'll wait for however long that might be, even if it lasts a lifetime.

(closer, now—)

Your fingers spray wide over his skin, soothing and gentle—calm pets over a ruffled plumage—until you feel the tension bleed from his coiled muscles; softening back into the pliancy you've come to expect from him.

He'll run if you're not careful. Flee. Disentangle himself from the weaved knots spooling between the fibrils of your bodies, atoms merging and moulding together in a joined entity. Severe himself even if it means losing limbs.

You think of old dogs, strays. The ones that weave through the villages with matted fur, and battle scars; the wizened, grizzled muzzles from a short lifetime on the run. Wild, feral. Touches that don't cause hurt are bewilderingly foreign—the idea of a hand that doesn't maim, doesn't break is as unfamiliar to them as living inside of a home.

The only way to gain their trust is patience. Perseverance.

And so, you pull back. Let him breathe.

"I love it, Simon."

The breathy utterance falling from your lips makes him twitch deep inside of you, a groan spilling out of the cage of his chest when he feels the vibrations of his given name against his naked palm.

"Fuckin' hell, pet—," you might call it a snarl, a growl; a mangled curse in your likeness dipped in the palpable ache of his pleasure.

He says nothing more. A man of little words and heavy actions, he shows you what he won't say, what he can't.

His cock hits something deep inside that makes you see white; a nebula of bliss pooling deep inside of you until you're spasming over the absurd thickness of him.

Ghost holds it for a moment, and it's that—the midnight hour pooling in black, covered in grease paint, and clothed under a thick balaclava—that, the subtle way he takes, takes, that makes you all too aware of who is fucking you right now.

You're not fucking Simon. It's Ghost. Deadly. Dangerous. His eyes gleam in the light; dark and empty. Black holes pulling you in.

He drags you to the edge until your eyes cross—hazy and unfocused, slipping into that blurred realm of semi-consciousness—and it's when you begin to slip down that precipice, head numbed and full of him, he pulls back.

His cock bludgeons into you, seated deep, and when the head kisses the deepest part of you, grinding sharp, and intense, his grip on your neck eases.

Air floods your lungs so quickly it hurts.

His name rushes out of you on the deep exhale, a wrecked, aching plea. It sounds like a hymn when you breathe it out, and the reverence of it makes him shudder. Makes his hand clench, and his cock throb.

You feel it all. The deep twitch inside of you. The spasm of his knuckles. The way the air clicks in his throat, catching in his larynx. A thick swallow. Another spasm. You take it all. Everything.

His hand lifts from your thigh, reaching down to snag both of your wrists in the wide expanse of his palm. He drags them up, arched high above your head on the pillow stained with your sweat. The brassbound grip of his hold, locking you tight in the cup of his hand when he presses them into the pillow steals the last vestiges of air from your lungs.

The hold on your neck eases. His long, thick fingers brush over the smooth column of your throat. You suck in a deep breath, letting it fill the vacancy of your lungs, and take the rich, dewy scent of him in until it clots to the fibrils inside.

Filled, you think, to the brim with him.

He smells of chemise, tonyon, and dried hawthorn. Wet chaparral after a wildfire scorched the thicket to cinder and ash.

With him perched above you, now drenched in the fullness of him—his smell, his touch, the way he sounds when he fits deep inside of you—you find the once unutterable words again.

They've been buoying up and down for months now, maybe even years. Always left to rot in their esophageal prison, but as your airways open up, as this moment of utter vulnerability and underlying trust brims inside of you, hotter than the bliss burning through your core, they slip out, tangled up in the way you breathe his name.

The orison rings with the palpable weight of your wants, oiled in the gossamer of your pleasure. It lingers in the scant space between you.

Simon shudders as it tickles against his skin. A featherlight whisper over naked flesh stained with the brine of sex.

You gaze up at him, burning the sight of him arched above you like the fruition of your yearning carved in flesh and bone, and a part of you selfishly hopes the barbed hooks of those words you're barred from saying sink into his pale flesh. Piercing deep enough to sink into his bloodstream.

Infectious. Incurable.

It's dark, and awful, and full of that ugly longing that makes your teeth ache to mark him up for the world to see, to know, that he's been conquered, claimed. Stupid. Silly. Infantile. You can't own a person, can't chain them to you through ichor and offerings, and yet—

Ghost groans when your teeth find purchase in the meat of his shoulder, a rough noise that rattles through your empty bones, and fills the barren space where humanity once beat.

—You spill his blood on the altar. A sacrificial offering. Yours to keep.

"Fuck," he rasps, the word sticking to the side of his raw throat. "Tryin'a give me a new scar, pet? Don't got enough already?"

Despite the weight of the words, they're uttered with a caveat that's almost indiscernible had you not the wherewithal to know him as intimately as you do. Equivalency bleeds in the vowels.

It comes as no great surprise, then, when he huffs in your ear, dips his chin, and then sinks his teeth into your pulse point, just above the place where his thumb rests.

(Matching offerings. A tangled web.)

The sharp sting condenses into a blistering pleasure: a damnable bliss. It's the victory of your acquisition, the satisfaction of your merger. Your release bludgeons into you—a mix of euphoria and pain—and the world around you wobbles, narrows. There's a pinpoint where only the hazy shadow of ashen hair fills your periphery. The dark silhouette of a man you itch to pry open and burrow inside.

A muted noise spills from the back of your throat. His name, maybe (Simon, Simon, Simon), but it's swallowed by his wet groan—blood-drenched and bitter.

Maybe it's the bitter tang of you on his tongue, or the dribble of red on the corners of your mouth, caught when he flickers his gaze up to your own, catching the smear of his blood staining your lips, but he shudders above you. Rumbling like an earthquake. The clash of plates grinding together. It splits you down the middle, and shakes the chill from your bones until you're a molten mess of liquified limbs: polymer bones, bubbling blood.

You melt into the mattress below with a hymn of his name—a blasphemous orison that has no place amongst the debauchery of sex-soaked sheets, and blood-stained teeth, but fits like a second skin when it brushes past your lips.

Simon follows. He says your name—a rough and gritty howl in the back of his throat—and then he's burying himself so deep inside of you that something breaks apart, gives, and the consuming hole, the vacuum he wrought, is filled with him. Him, him. A void. A cenote.

A gaping chasm of rot, need. Unquenchable.

"Fuck—" he snarls like a beast, the words crushing your ribcage, and leaking brimstone in your empty marrow. "Feels so fuckin' good, pet—"

There's something alluringly victorious about catching the biggest predator in the pen. A man made of death now bowing at the knees with just a flash of vulnerability; the slightest tilt of your delicate neck.

A string coils around your finger, pulling taut when you tug.

Bones ache when you move. Muscles scream when you swallow. Still, you lean forward, and syphon the heat from his skin, the blood from his veins.

Your spoils to keep, wrapped up prettily inside a diaphanous web.

Your nails rake across his flesh when you pull him close, curling around him in a spooled knot. When you grin, you feel the thick film of blood on your teeth. Vicious, victorious. "We match now, Simon."

He might run.

But you've always been good at running: a long-distance sprinter in perpetual motion.

(You'll catch up, no matter where he goes.)

And when he breathes your name through the wet fabric of his mask, trembling with his release, you know that some things are worth chasing after.

"You, uh… got anything to tell me?"

Gaz can't keep his eyes from straying to the moulted bruise on your neck—a startling smear of charcoal, flaxen, and indigo, broken in a perfect crescent of teeth—and each glance feels like a physical touch to your sensitive, inflamed skin.

It's childish. Immature.

(You wear it proudly, flaunting your win to the world.)

"Not really," you shrug, body buzzing with heat. It simmers in your veins now. Syphoned warmth that spools in your bloodstream, leaks from your marrow. "Just tamed a stray over the weekend. You know how it is."

There's a strange cut in melted brown. A look you're much too familiar with. One might mistake it as condemnation, scorn, but you know Gaz. The quirk of his lips gives him away.

"A stray, huh?" He intones contemplatively, timbre breezy, light, as he was mentioning the weather in Birmingham. Light drizzle, should clear up in the aft'. "Don't come aggin' to me when this backfires on you, yeah? Some never learn to stop biting."

Gaz pointedly looks out toward the table where Ghost and Price pour over another set of documents—shoulders drawn tight as they toss ideas and plans back and forth—before turning back to you.

"But I guess you know all about that already."

The barb in his tone—equal parts admonishing, and scathingly facetious—prickles against your skin. You offer a small smile, a languid shrug, and let your gaze drift, dragged back to Ghost.

His hands are wrapped in white, his mask pulled over his neck, hiding your mark from the world. Another scar on top of a storied history of others, but far kinder than anything else he'd ever received.

It prickles in your gums when you see him, and makes heat fill your chest when his eyes list to you, to Gaz, as if he can feel your stare, even when you're tucked away in a hidden crevasse, watching, waiting.

He won't come closer. Not when everyone else is around, but you catch the hunger in his gaze when you tilt your chin, exposing the soft, vulnerable curve of your neck, baring the bruise for him to see. It's rough, abrading. His eyes scrape over the varicoloured smear with a rapacious greediness that burrows under your skin.

"I'm learning," you murmur, words muted, heavy with something that tastes like triumph when it slips out. "Baby steps, right?"

Ghost turns away first, tearing his gaze from the bruise on your neck, muscles tensing as he ducks his head, and forces his attention back to Price.

In the corner of the room, a spider reaps the spoils of its fruit: a webbed sarcophagus around an exhausted fly that has long since given up on the struggle to get free.

It opens its maw, fangs glinting in the jaundiced light.

Vicious, victorious: it feasts.

(You drag your tongue over your warm lips, and feel the stirrings of hunger gnarl inside you once more.)