#always had to drop them on the floor or he'd probably bite you

[knifegremliin]

i wish i had a more recent photo of him, but i thought you guys should see the man i lost

these are very old, but still pretty accurate photos. his left ear was crinkled though from a cauliflower ear. pressed pretty close down to his head so he looked like he had a folded ear. and he was much skinnier at the end, though his cheeks were still round.

his name was treasure.

#🔪.text #my pets #treasure #i miss him #he was a sweet bastard #terrible vampire cat when he was younger #but in his old age he mellowed out and became very sweet #but would still try to bite your hand off if you tried to give him a treat #always had to drop them on the floor or he'd probably bite you

[rosedom]

thinking about kneeling between someone's legs, arms wrapped around their waist while looking at them lovingly....... help-

•🪼

this has been sitting in my inbox for days, and i really needed the fluff this imagine gave me ><

and, i know it's probably not where ur thoughts were going, but my mind is flashing with the possibilities . . .

aether, sprawled out on some couch in the teapot as you're sitting between his legs. he's half-asleep, by now, body aching n' exhausted from the day (the week, the year(s), the life) he's had, and he is letting himself indulge in you, his fingers cupping the nape of your neck after he dozed off whilst detangling your hair. his touch would be so gentle, soft sounds falling from his lips as sweet dreams fill his mind. you almost wish he'd open those pretty sunshine eyes again, but you know he needs this rest; so you nuzzle into his thigh and fall asleep, too, warm and comfortable even while you're kneeling between his legs.

diluc, curled over himself on the bed as he braces himself against the tight pain of the bandages you're wrapping around his torso. you're knelt between his spread legs, laying gentle kisses to the unmarred skin of his thigh to soothe the bite that the bandages and antiseptics always bring. you're a little vindictive in it, though, calling it his karma for doing stupid shit at fuck o'clock in the morning. but even still, you're gazing at him so fondly, so full of worry, that he finds himself nuzzling into the top of your head, curled over as he is.

cyno, half-laying back on the mat you've got set beneath your desert tent. you're kneeling, he's got his elbows up under him to prop him up, and your arms are wrapped snug around his waist, bare save for the particles of sand that litter it. the way your fingers gently dust off the irritation from his skin with nothing short of absolute adorance, the way his abdomen strains to keep him somewhat upright all combining to make his tummy swirl with how much he loves you, loves the tender way you care for him. any joke he makes gets silenced, too, by mere proximity of your mouth; you can so easily blow into his belly button to make him squirm should he act a fool.

kaveh, who's working tirelessly at his blueprints while you kneel between his feet, knees saved from the soft floor by the pillow you've nudged under. you've got your chin bumping against the fat of his thigh, hands pulled tight around his waist as you nuzzle his belly, asking, "c'mon, sweetheart." he's whining at you, saying, "just five more minutes," except he said that five minutes ago—and, before that, five more minutes. when you nip at him, at his skin through his thin night-shirt, he finally sighs, drops his pencil with a soft thump. from then on, you'll finally have his undivided attention to smother him with.

alhaitham, using your head as a place to rest his book. he's bracing the spine of it with his hand, your head really only making contact with him himself. it is blissfully quiet, here, the only sound his and your own breathing as you kneel between his spread legs, your arms taking gentle hold of either of his strong calves. after a while, though, you tip your head to the side to kiss his knee, sufficiently dislodging the peaceful atmosphere that had been set as he's forced to set his book aside. he's got a retort on the tip of his tongue, surely, but it dissipates into the air when he sees how adoringly you look up at him. why keep reading that silly book when your eyes are the novel to your very soul?

6 MAY 2024, @rosedom, rosey .

#ㅤ✦【 INBOX 】 #sfw btw !! #nothing but #fluff #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #featuring !!: #aether #diluc #cyno #kaveh #alhaitham #short and sweet #i am a softie at heart ᕙ⁠(⁠⇀⁠‸⁠↼⁠‶⁠)⁠ᕗ

[pretty-red-garnet]

Nightmare

Daryl Dixon x fem! Reader • Prison • Fluff

Little fluffy drabble while I finish a couple other fics I’m working on.

     You woke with a start. Sweaty palms gripping at the metal base of your bunk at a desperate try to ground yourself. Your breaths are short, panicked and teary eyes flying around the room, from the plain grey walls to your side table of trinkets. Trinkets from Daryl, mostly. Little things he knew you'd like. You stare at them an extra second, a try to distract your mind from it's current thoughts.

Your throat is dry and it burns. You make a grab for the canteen of water on your table, but in your haste, you knock it over and it clatters loudly to the floor. You close your eyes for a second, praying that no one would wake. It was pretty tight in the cell block, and the metal canteen echoed obnoxiously when it hit the ground.

Your heart drops when you see the shadow of a person coming towards your cell. Quiet footsteps make their way to your doorway and knuckles lightly rap at one of the bars before Daryl peeks his head in. His hair is brushed aside in a messy manner, like he'd just woken and shoved it back quickly.

"Sorry, did I wake you?" You ask, cringing at the horse sound of your voice. Daryl noticed too, seeing from the pinch in his brow.

"S'alright." He slowly makes his way into your cell. "You alright?" He bends to grab your fallen canteen, handing it to you. "Heard you tossin' and turnin' before."

"Yeah, I'm ok," you answer, giving his a small smile. "Thanks."

"Nightmare again?" He asks after analyzing your face for a moment. He drops to sit on your bed with a little groan, the metal bed frame creaking. You nod, pulling your legs to your chest.

It most certainly wasn't your first bad dream since the end of the world. Thoughts of death, turning into a walker, you friends— family, turning to walkers, you helplessly watching unable to do anything. Daryl dying right in front of you. Your heart races just at the thought of the most recent dream. Of his pale and bloody face, staring back at you with lifeless eyes.

     They've always been bad, ever since the start, but they've been worse lately. The governor was still out there somewhere, probably as a walker but it didn't ease your worries much. The Woodbury citizens had taken up space behind the prison's tall fences. More mouths to feed. More people to protect. You know the dreams you're having are out of stress, a looming feeling from deep in your chest that seemed to never ease.

Well, except when Daryl was around.

     "Wanna talk 'bout it?" He asks, sitting back further to rest his back against the cool cement of the wall.

     "Just the usual," you answer, shrugging. Daryl nods, biting at the inside of his cheek.

     "Alright then," Daryl says, standing. "Scooch." He pulls the blankets off you, motioning with his hand for you to move over. You smile and comply, although you're somewhat nervous.

     This wasn't the first time you and Daryl had been in close quarters, especially after one of your nightmares, but never in a bed. It had started back on the road after the farm. Typically, it was just a warm hand on your back when he'd noticed your shivering. Most of the time pushing his sleeping bag closer to yours to press his back against yours. Just a little contact to show you he was there. But not cuddling in a bed.

Despite your nerves, you do as he says anyway, pushing against the wall so he has a little sliver of the cot. You try to give him as much room as possible, but he pulls you closer. A hand rests on your hip while your head is placed on his chest. Despite Daryl's cool exterior, his heart is beating a thousand beats a second.

"Am I making you nervous?" You ask, a little nervous giggle punctuating your sentence.

"Nah," he answers, but his fingers tapping an irregular rhythm against your hip tells a different story. "Good to sleep now?"

     You smile and nod into his chest, cuddling even further into him. After another few quiet moments, Daryl's heart rate calms and his fingers are just a presence holding you tight, no longer tapping.

     This is different. All of this is. It's intimate and close, closer than you'd been with anybody in a very long time. His hold on you is tight, but not possessive. Protective. The feeling in your chest is different too, a warmth that spreads all the way to your toes and places a smile on your face.

     When Daryl's breathing evens and slows, you risk a glance to his face. He looks so peaceful and calm, the opposite of how you were feeling just minutes ago. You brush his fringe away from his face and smile softly at how his nose twitches.

    The new world is scary, the new feeling blooming in your chest is scary, but as long as you have Daryl with you, you can get through anything.

#daryl dixon #the walking dead #the walking dead daryl #twd #twd daryl #daryl fanfiction #daryl x you #daryl dixion imagine #daryl dixion x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl x reader #daryl x y/n #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl dixon fluff

[aezuria]

*ੈ✎ always an angel, never a god.

—not strong enough, boygenius

note: hey guys i think you were a lil TOO happy after that last jason post 😇😇😇

content: jason grace x reader; oneshot, 1.2k

warnings: ANGST, violence, character-centered???, allusions to suicide, probably inaccurate death cause i spoiled myself by reading it but i was too sad to check again

jason was tired. so tired. he felt like he was sinking into quicksand as he walked, back aching as if he was atlas, holding up the sky. his fingers twitched, residual sparks of lightning flickering up his arms. they stung. they had never stung before.

he marched straight to his lonely cabin, not stopping at leo's bunker, or aprhodite's cabin—not even yours. he was never too tired to say hi to his friends before. he was never too tired to say to you before. what was wrong with him?

the door shut behind jason, providing him an escape from the ever-busy camp. it gave him relief to slump to the floor, his legs giving out on him as if they were just holding out until he was alone, where prying eyes couldn't reach.

he simply sat there, hugging his knees to his chest like he did whenever he wanted to hide from the loud orders he was given as a child, or so he remembered.

his perfect mask was breaking, his perfect attitude slipping. his nails dug into his arms, the bite of pain clearing his foggy mind. he wouldn't allow himself any time to wallow in his feelings. jason forced himself up and headed into the bathroom.

he wanted nothing more than to take a warm bath, to soak for a while and rest his aching muscles. maybe slide a little too far down so his head dipped below the water, and stay there until it did its work.

but he couldn't, and he wouldn't. he got into the shower, the water ice against his skin. his body screamed in protest, lungs tightening as he took a deep breath at the sudden drop in temperature. that was sure to keep him out of his own head.

and yet, like everything he felt he did recently, he failed. jason couldn't sleep, his mind racing with feelings he tried so hard to shove down. emotions impeded with his ability to work, and if he couldn't work properly, then he was useless. his brain didn't seem to care; it laughed in his face as it threw thought after thought at him. because maybe, in the back of his head, he did feel useless.

it was always percy this, percy that. percy got to be praetor while jason got whispers of "you could never be him." was there something about him that was so forgettable people couldn't wait to replace him? was that why his memories were gone? because nothing about them was so important for even him to hold? was that why, even though little by little they returned, he still had blank spaces in the days he used to recall? maybe if he worked a little harder, he'd be as good as him.

and it was quite unfair of him to feel this way, he believed. after all, percy was a good guy. it's not like they were on bad terms— they could even be called acquaintances, friends if you were looking on the bright side.

thinking of friends brought him to you, the only one he had memories of from the start. you were his best friend, his one and only. you stuck with him, explaining who he was and where he came from as best you could. he remembered how you had painted him like an angel, but he looked at the gaps of your brushstrokes and saw that he was hardened like a double-edged sword. he remembered how you glorified the structure of the romans for his sake, but he read between your praise and found a yearning to be free.

and that's why when you slipped from his waiting heart, he let you go. he did not wish to anchor you when you were meant to be among the clouds, soaring like a bird (yet, why was it that he found you with the son of the sea instead of him?)

"i'm going on another quest." jason smiled weakly, doing his best to put up a brave face. but gods, was it hard. he wanted nothing more than to feel your warmth in his arms; maybe it would soothe the way his heart clenched every time he was reminded of the way he'll never be yours.

"another?" you frowned. he hated the way his eyes were drawn to your lips like lightning to metal. "didn't you just get back from one?"

he shrugged, trying to laugh it off. "yeah, well, someone's gotta do the work around here. i'm the best man for the job." he sounded like he was trying to convince himself. once jason realized your expression wouldn't change, his shoulders sagged. he looked more like a kid than ever, bearing the weight of the world only the gods could lift. "look, i'll get back soon, okay?"

"swear it?" you held out your pinky, your eyes never leaving his face. you offered him a grin, trying to lighten the mood. "if you don't, i might have to get you back for that."

jason chuckled, linking his pinky with yours. "i swear." but it wasn't enough, he needed to hold you. just one more time. he wrapped you in his arms, an aching feeling in his chest that wouldn't go away. his heart twisted even more once he felt you hug him in return, your hands stroking his back like you always did when he was anxious.

he felt you mumble a "be safe" into his shoulder, and he willed himself not to cry in front of you. he gave you a firm nod and pulled away, taking one last second to admire you before he had to leave.

"see you soon, jason." you offered him one last smile.

"goodbye, y/n." why were the words so final on his tongue?

it was because he knew, from his sun-streaked hair to his sore heels, that he would never return. he had the foreboding feeling that something terrible was going to happen, and he'd rather have it happen to him than anyone else.

it was for the best, he thought. he'd die knowing he saved his friends than give up. isn't that what his whole life was for?

jason felt the arrow pierce his heart, three more succeeding it. it was strange. though he bled and bled until he laid in a bed of blood, it felt like a cruel but relieving escape from his emotions. it eased his limbs like a drug, made him feel high on the tang of silver in his mouth. but his heart still fought to beat, to live, to remember. memories of leo and piper, percy and annabeth, frank and hazel. reyna and camp jupiter, chiron and camp half-blood. jason remembered you. how your smile was the light of his life, how it was the last time he'd ever see it again. but he'd die happy, the image of your face branded into his eyes as they shut. when the spear pierced his chest one last time, he felt the weight of his mind disappear back into the sky from which he came from.

(but his mind was light from the holes in his story that he could never truly fill.)

#jason grace #jason grace x reader #hoo #hoo x reader #heroes of olympus #heroes of olympus x reader #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #*ੈ✎ stories

[002yb]

Royjay baby fever 👀 perhaps

(The olde plap plap get pregnant gyahaha)

Since this blog is what it is, Dickjay + Roy baby fever, sorry! 👀 Because ahhhahaha imagine if you will:

"So when are you going to let Dick knock you up?"

By no means are Roy and he the sort to pussyfoot around each other, but damn. Jason's jaw drops. From the kitchen, he can hear how Dick fumbles some dishes - a loud crash followed by an unnatural silence.

That Dick overheard the comment is mortifying. That he’s clearly listening for Jason’s response only makes matters worse.

Roy's question feels more accusatory than inquiring. It’s so shocking that, for a moment, Jason considers it before remembering he’s a man; there's nothing to fucking think about. Even if he could get knocked up, it’s not like Dick could—

Not the point. Jason scowls and stretches his leg across the couch, driving his heel into Roy’s thigh for being so crass.

‘As soon as you leave,’ is what Jason ought to say. It’s exactly the sort of sarcastic quip he’d usually banter with, but he's acutely aware of Dick's eavesdropping and while Dick wouldn't care, the thought of being so brazen makes Jason blush. Instead he grumbles, "We already have Damian."

Ugh, Jason can feel how Dick clutches his chest in endearment. The sentimental sap.

"Yeah, but don't you miss when he was a baby?" Roy asks around a nostalgic sigh and oh—this is clearly about Lian, which makes Jason snicker. That makes more sense. Roy probably saw some old photos or was accosted by the kid about wanting siblings or some such.

"He's arguably still a baby." Jason snarks, but can't bite back a smile at the memories of before and he finds himself sharing them eagerly—small hands that always reached for him, patting his cheeks and pulling his ears; wide, green eyes staring up at him with wonder instead of the sullen broodiness of an edgy punkass brat; the way Damian taught himself to walk just to toddle after him all the time and—

There's a thump from behind him and Jason startles, looking over his shoulder. He finds Dick half-sprawled across the floor, exposed from where he'd been hiding behind the corner. For a long moment, they stare at each other with matching flushes across their cheeks and Jason realizes that oh. He'd never told Dick about this part of Jason's sorted past, had he?

It's a problem to address at another time though, because Jason can feel the trouble Roy is stirring up behind him as the man comes to the conclusion that Dick is their weak link in all things domestic.

Jason turns on him with a warning, "Don't you dare—"

And Roy laughs as, at the same time he calls, "What's it gonna take for you to knock this man up, Grayson? He needs a baby!” And the crux of the matter, like the good father he is: “Lian would be so happy, come on!"

#dickjay #jaydick #dick being taken out at the knees whenever caretaker!jason makes even the slightest appearance will never not send me #caretaker!jason #he remembers baby Dami fondly //u///

[koulakoukoula2003]

Overwhelmed (Yandere!Levi Ackerman x Reader) Pt. 1

Pairing: Yandere!Levi Ackerman x Reader Genre: Yandere!Levi, yandere themes, so much smutty smut TW: NSFW, MDNI, ROUGH SEX, possibly babytrapping LMFAO (idk we'll see in the sequel), MAJOR WARNINGS FOR DUBCON, uhm yandere behaviour, reader has low self-esteem but don't we all, creampie, vaginal sex, Levi fucks you like an animal against his desk basically, + Levi's obsessed with you uwu + DARK INNER MONOLOGUE OK? A/N: IDK WHAT THIS IS I JUST KNOW THAT I'M HORNY LMFAO pls heed the warnings and uh pls enjoy (will probably get a part 2 if you guys beg for it) Part 1 >>> Part 2 >>> Part 3

There's a difference between wanting someone and loving someone. Love and obsession are two entirely different things. For you and your Captain, it started innocent.

He had almost fooled you that he loved you. You were convinced he did, and how could you not? When he jumped in to save you from every reckless move, every hopeless attack you made against titans that you wouldn't stand a chance against.

How he punished you afterward. After getting back from such expeditions, he'd make sure to get it through your thick head that you're his. You're all his and you have no right to throw yourself in death's way while you belonged to him.

You were such a pretty thing. Always so willing. So pliant and submissive and bending to his will without any effort on his part.

And here you were now, his hot breath fanned to your ear, his cock buried deep inside your dripping cunt, and his arms around you. You were utterly naked, he stripped you off your clothes the second you walked into his office after he called for you. And now you were here, back against his chest, his rapid breaths on your ear as he fucked you like a dog on a rut. Cock pressing so deep in that position it had your eyes watering. Pretty tears ran down your cheeks but he licked them away.

He always tasted your tears. There was something so salty and sweet about them. There was something so melodious about your sounds. Sounds of pain, sounds of pleasure, the screams of you being overwhelmed by him. He wrapped a hand around your throat, forcing your head back against his shoulder. His cock was hitting painfully against your cervix but the fast rubs on your clit had you stuck on the thin line between pleasure and pain. You didn't mind. You'd take anything he gave you.

"You're mine." He growled against your ear. His fingers tightened around your throat. His thrusts were fast and animalistic. There was nothing normal about the way he was handling you. He was rough, fucking your hole like fleshlight, biting on the back of your shoulder till he was tearing your skin between his teeth. "You're all mine, understand?!"

His thrusts were relentless. There was no way you could respond while he was fucking you like an animal. His fingers rubbed your clit furiously and you threw your head back. You screamed at the top of your lungs and he didn't even make an effort to stop you. He wanted the entire HQ to hear you. He wanted everyone to know you were his bitch. You were his fuckdoll, his pretty little girl. His willing fucktoy, always ready to drop on your knees to please him.

You came so hard. The forced orgasm took a toll on your body. It had you slamming back down on his desk. Your erratic breaths fanned the smooth surface of the wooden furniture. You were utterly naked, but he was still fully clothed. He hadn't even taken his black suit jacket off.

He stopped thrusting. Still buried to the hilt inside of you, cock throbbing so deep, you had caught a glimpse of it bulging in your stomach more than once tonight. Your legs shook. You would have collapsed on the floor if it wasn't for his desk.

A searing spank laid across your already reddened buttcheeks and you cried out. The palm of his hand was so beautifully imprinted on your skin in deep red. Idly he wondered how much more perfect it'd be if instead of red, it was a deep purple. How many spanks would that take? He would definitely try it one day. But maybe not today. You were close to your limits. He coaxed you into five orgasms already. Your pretty pussy was pink and used and your naked body was covered in a thin sheet of sweat. His own sweat dripped from his raven bangs.

He finally released the knot of his ascot from around his neck. He hadn't even noticed it was bothering him until now. He finally took off his jacket, tossing it aside on a chair. He balled up the white fabric of the ascot and he forced it inside your mouth, restricting your sounds, your fast breathing.

He leaned down, still wearing his white shirt. His chest met your back and he kissed all over the purple bruises he had left on your shoulders with his teeth. He wrapped his arm around you, feeling himself in your belly and then slipping down. You were so sensitive, a single swipe of his fingers on your clit had you mewling against the cloth forced in your mouth.

"So wet..." he groaned in your ear. He caught your hair, pulling them out of your face, to reveal your pretty eyes. Beautiful tears had left trails on your cheeks. He kissed them away and you melted.

No matter how hard he used you, you loved it. Every time he touched you, kissed you, held you, you were melting. You knew you were instantly going to forgive everything he did to you because your heart ached for him. You loved him.

But you had no idea what he felt for you. You just knew he went mad without you. One time, he hadn't seen you for an entire day and he almost choked to death two cadets whilst looking for you. Maybe he didn't love you. Maybe he was just obsessed with you.

That was good enough for a nobody like you.

You tried to speak his name but the cloth inside your mouth was muffling you. He pulled it out and you coughed. You breathed hard and your hand struggled to reach back for him.

"Levi..." it came so desperate and pathetic and needy. His cock twitched inside of you. Your hand finally managed to reach for his hair, burying your fingers into them, bringing him down to you closer.

Closer still, please.

"What is it, y/n? Use your words." His voice was deep and breathless and so very soothing, it made your chest tingle.

"Need you..." you licked your lips "...'m yours. I'm all yours, I love you s' much, kiss me please..."

Fuck, you had no idea what you were doing to him when you said things like that. You loved him? You really did? After treating you like this? Was there really someone in his life who could love a bastard like him? An ugly, ruthless midget who lacked all meaning of gentleness and tenderness? Who had no idea how to handle you? How to love you back? Everyone he ever loved, died on him so fast, were you going to be one of them?

No, he wasn't going to tell you he loved you. He was never going to say it because one moment he might say it and the next you're going to die and he would've lost everything.

So, no, he wasn't going to love you. He wasn't going to make love to you because he didn't even know how. Sex was a mere need for him. A disgusting, primal need that he couldn't get rid of and he wished he could. But you satisfied all his needs. You took everything he gave you. Spanking, bondage, pain, degradation. You satisfied that dark, sadistic side of him and you were always so willing to let him push you to your limits.

You had seen that side of him that would have made anyone else run away, screaming in terror, but instead, you even loved him for it.

You were capable of loving him.

He pulled out of you and he flipped you around pulling you off the desk. Your legs almost gave up on you and you almost crushed on the floor but he caught you. He wrapped his arms around you and picked you up bridal style with impressive ease. He was so strong. Always so strong, he could manhandle you and break your body in two before you'd even have the chance to scream for help.

Maybe you'd even just let him.

He took you to his bed and lied you down and took off his shirt and the annoying pants.

He climbed back on top of you, easing his cock inside you again and you gasped. He took your lips in his own and that's when he started fucking you and kissing you like he loved you. He didn't say a word though. There was never any confession. It was just that sloppy kiss that you could have never guessed a clean freak like your Captain would engage in.

You could taste the afternoon tea he had on his tongue. You could smell him, something herbal and detergents and the cleanliness of his impossibly clean bedsheets. You buried your fingers in his sweaty hair and you clutched on him. So desperate and needy.

Maybe you were wrong. Maybe you were just as obsessed with him as he was with you.

He began thrusting again. He didn't even start slow. Slow and intimate sex was something he didn't know how to do. You would have to show him one day if he let you, but for now, you let him fuck you to oblivion while he swallowed your screams off your lips.

His hips slammed against yours and he pulled your legs to his shoulders, forcing you into a mating press. He folded your entire body in half, getting deeper, threatening to break deep into your womb. You screamed and shut your eyes and threw your head back and your entire body shook.

"Just a little more..." He panted into your chest, biting down on your skin. His thrusts, relentless. "...take it for me, y/n, take it... You're mine... all mine..."

He was babbling now incoherently and you knew he was close. Thrusts wild and uneven and cock hitting so deep you could feel him in your throat. His hand dropped down on your clit and you came in an instant. You didn't even get the time to warn him. You screamed and squirted all over his cock and his eyes widened.

"Fuck!" It only urged him to fuck you harder and harder until he came inside you.

Your belly felt so warm and bloated. He fucked you through it, making sure you didn't waste a single drop. You would look so beautiful all stuffed with his kids. His wife. His one and only. No one else for him. He loved you so madly.

He wanted you to abandon everything for him. He wanted you to resign as a soldier. He wanted you to get you a home, give you a family, keep you safe there.

He pulled his face from your neck, realising you had passed out. Your body limp beneath him. Your hands limp around him. Instinctively he checked for your pulse but you were breathing rhythmically. You were alive. You were okay.

He sighed in relief and kissed your parted lips. He licked clean that drop of spit that had started to roll down your lips. He kissed you all over.

He cleaned you and groomed you like a pup. He settled you properly on the bed, in the nightgown you kept around his quarters for nights like this.

He lied beside you and held you all night, unable to fall asleep. He could never sleep when you were sleeping beside him. He watched you because you were so beautiful. He had paperwork to take care of but he found himself unable to move.

You were so beautiful, all he did was stare at you while you slept. Others would've been terrified at the thought of being stared at, but not you. Not you. You were his.

He was already planning of forging a resignation paper. He had learned your handwriting, your signature. He had learned everything about you.

It was for the best. He'd keep you safe that way. You were the only one he had left.

His arms tightened around you impossibly and he buried his face in your hair shutting his eyes, drawing in your scent.

He was going to keep you safe.

#yandere levi ackerman #snk #aot #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x oc #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi ackerman smut #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x y/n smut #levi ackerman x female reader #levi x mc #levi x reader #levi x reader smut #levi x y/n #levi x you #yandere levi ackerman x reader #yandere aot #tw yandere #tw dubcon #aot x reader smut #aot x reader #aot x oc #snk x reader smut #snk x reader #snk x y/n #snk x you #snk x oc

[imrllytootiredforthis]

Oh and I would love to see a fic for the Hyunjin as a sub headcannon! I love everything mentioned there and maybe I’m just a sucker for painslut Hyunjin 😌 if you’re comfortable could you add humiliation, pegging, and a breeding kink maybe?

Such Pretty Hands

Pairing: hyunjin x reader

Summary: Hyunjin gets a little distracted as he watches you play the guitar

Warnings: dom reader, fem reader, sub hyunjin, choking, pegging, breeding kink, humiliation, hand kink, exhibitionism (kinda?), spanking, explicit sub-drop (with aftercare), hair pulling, probably more

Word Count: 5k 

A/N: I think this is what you wanted and I hope you like it! As always, any and all feedback is welcomed and my requests are now open just read the rules here. Also ignore any spelling or grammar mistakes.

Hyunjin had been staring at your hands for five minutes.

Twenty minutes ago he'd texted you, telling you he was coming home after dance practice with the rest of the group. The two of you were planning on hanging out for the day so you just waited in their dorms for him.

The apartment was quiet, missing the usual noise of the eight rowdy boys living there. It was normally a place so full of life (well, if you could call yelling, laughing and stomping around life) but now it seemed so...dead, empty. 

And you had no idea what to do so you just sat there on the couch scrolling on your phone, bored out of your mind until something caught your eye.

There was a guitar sitting in the living area, a nice one. Probably expensive but well used, it definitely wasn't brand new.

'Most likely one of the boy's' you thought, brushing your fingers over the strings. It had been a few weeks since you'd last been able to play, work and other things taking over your life.

But now-now you weren't doing anything and surely the owner of it wouldn’t mind.

Carefully you picked it up, checking to make sure it was in tune before you began to play, muscle memory taking over as your fingers glided over the frets, humming along with the melody.

It was fifteen minutes ago that Hyunjin had gotten home.

You could hear down the hall as the door unlocked and opened, his feet scuffling on the hardwood floor as he took off his shoes before wandering around the apartment for you.

All he wanted was to melt into your arms and cuddle you for the rest of the day, watch a movie or something as you played with his hair, occasionally giving a light tug to which he'd respond with a stifled groan.

Maybe you'd even give him a massage or something, his body was sore from falling earlier in-

When he finally saw you, hands tensing and flexing around the neck of the instrument; movements so precise and smooth, your head tilted down, furrowed eyebrows in concentration, he could only freeze in place.

His tongue glided across his lips, wetting them.

Your fingers were lithe and long, longer than his for sure and your nails were short, chipping black paint on them.

On a particular part of the song you were playing your hand tensed, squeezing the guitar so hard your knuckles went white, you close your eyes, humming along loudly with a content look on your face as you lost yourself in your passion.

Gulping, he couldn't help but imagine how pretty that hand would be around his throat, your passion directed toward him instead of that stupid guitar.

And god-was he now feeling jealous of a stupid instrument?

"Hey baby, how was practice? Where are the others?" You asked without looking up, missing the dumb look on his face as he blinked and shook his head, trying to shake away the feeling of arousal pooling inside of him.

“O-oh um, good? I guess. They decided to stay out for longer.” His eyes didn’t waver, never leaving your hands as he spoke, nervously shifting in place.

He could imagine the way you’d pin him down by his throat, climbing over him as you smirked down. ‘Pathetic, I haven’t even started and you’re already so hard for me.’ you’d coo. 

He’d blush and bite his lip to stop from moaning as your hands began to ghost over his body, touching all his most sensitive places until he’d buck up against you then maybe, just maybe you’d look at him with a glare and smack his thigh, warning him to be good.

“Hyunjin.”

He hadn’t realized that you stopped playing until you were calling his name, waving a hand in front of his face.

The guitar now sat back on its stand and you were in standing there in front of him, your voice demanding and eyes concerned.

“You good?”

His mouth opened, a million different things to reply with coming to mind. Things like dropping to his knees right where he was now or begging you to do anything you wanted to him just so long as you touched him.

But he didn’t get the chance to reply as you turned quickly to the kitchen. “You look sick. Here, let me get you some water.”

He blinked once, twice, trying to figure out what he should do before finally making up his mind. “No, I’m okay. Just a bit tired’s all.”

Apparently it wasn’t an option. You came back with a glass of water, lifting it to his lips, “Drink.” Without thinking he obeyed, the cool water sliding down his throat.

You watched his throat bob, adam’s apple moving as he drank the water. He looked so pretty like this, head tilted upward. You couldn’t help but imagine how it’d look if you were standing over him with his head like that.

Pulling the glass away once you deemed he’d drunk enough, you set it on the coffee table and sat back on the couch, patting beside you to signal for him to sit as well.

Cuddling into you, he relaxed as your hands found purchase in his hair you finally realized what had gotten him acting so weird. “So what’s got you all excited babyboy?”

He flushed pink, “n-nothing, it’s just...” he paused as he shifted away from you trying to adjust his pants so you wouldn’t see his raging boner before you stopped him by wrapping your hand around his wrist and pulling it away.

His heart skipped a beat as he stared at where you touched him. It wasn’t his throat you were gripping but he supposed that this could work for the time being.

“Look at me Hyunjin.” His eyes flew to yours, the hungry look in your own made something scream in the back of his head. Slowly he could feel himself breathing more heavily. “Tell me what you want baby.”

His eyes held your eyes for a moment longer before ever so slowly he took the hand that was still gripping his wrist and brought it up to his neck, eyes falling shut and mouth hanging open in bliss as you understood what he was trying to say and lightly squeezed.

And just like he’d imagined before, you pushed him back into the couch by his throat, climbing into his lap and smirking down at him. “Such a little slut aren’t you, baby? Getting all worked up from just watching me play the guitar hm? So desperate for me to choke you?”

He nodded as much as he could as you gripped him harder. “Yes! Couldn’t help it, Mistress looked so pretty playing the guitar. Couldn’t think of anything else!” He moaned lowly.

You hummed at the use of your title, feeling yourself clench around nothing. Maybe it was because he’d had a hard time at practice or because you hadn’t been intimate for the past few days but he was slipping faster than he normally did.

He brought his hand up to where you held him and placed it over yours, simply caressing your hand as he held eye contact with you. 

To say this was an irregular occurrence would be a lie. Hyunjin would often get fixated on your hands, when you wore rings or played your own guitar or pretty much anytime you did something where he could see your hands.

First he’d get all needy, sometimes bratty, then he’d beg you to choke him and majority of the time he could come untouched from your hand simply wrapped around his pretty little neck.

It was pathetic and so fucking hot whenever it did happen.

His eyes held a mischievous light, like he was trying to act tough while splayed out under you, begging you to choke him. Then he squeezed your hand, in turn making yours squeeze him harder. 

His body stuttered under you and his eyes rolled back into his head his mouth falling open to let out the most delicious mix of a sob and a whine out. “Aww, honey. I’ve barely even done anything to you?” 

Your free hand slipped under his waistband, feeling his soiled boxers, “dumb little baby can’t even hold it in long enough for me to actually touch you.”

A fake pout crossed your face as he whimpered, eyes filling with tears as he looked up in embarrassment, not so subtly bucking up against you.

This was harder than you’d ever choked him before, his face turning slightly red from lack of blood flow as you gave him a moment to come down but as you tried to pull away his grip on you tightened. 

“Please, no. Don’t let go of me.” 

You rolled your eyes and leaned down to leave a quick peck on his lips, a whimper left him as your hand retreated, moving down to the hem of his shirt to lightly tug at it. “I’m just gonna take this off for you.”

He nods quickly, sitting up as his hands move to roam your body. Up your shirt and playing with the clasp of your bra with a contained hunger, something you’d let slide this time.

Swiftly you pulled his shirt off, throwing it off somewhere in the room and your lips met his in a long awaited kiss. 

It was hungry and messy as he threw his arms around neck, pulling you impossibly closer to him, rocking against his clothed dick which was still so sensitive it made his hips jump. 

His body was so beautiful, all sharp lines and sculpted flesh. So defined and perfect. His skin ever so soft as your fingers reached down to trace his abs, goosebumps following all the places that your blunt nails travel making him shiver.

Your tongue sweeps through his mouth feeling and claiming every inch of it before pulling away just to whisper, voice hoarse and low, “Strip and wait on the bed for me.”

He’s nodding so eager and willing to please. You move off his lap, purposely shifting against his crotch to hear the stifled whine he makes. And then without a second thought he’s getting up and racing to his room.

Smirking at his eagerness you relax into the couch, pulling out your phone to let him wait for a little.

He gets so desperate when he has to wait. And so anticipation serves as your best tool.

Hyunjin is most likely laying on that bed right now, all spread out and naked, trying his hardest to be patient and not touch his weeping cock. Your cock. He’d try to remind himself while attempting to convince himself.

But in the end it was his decision that decided his fate.

Whether he waited and was ready to be rewarded for being your good boy.

Or if he didn’t and you’d spend the night teasing and roughing him up for being a little bratty whore.

Either of the thoughts is enough to almost make you moan aloud. At the end of the day you’d be more than happy to do either for him so it was his choice and his alone.

A few more minutes pass and you decide to make your way to Hyunjin’s room an lo and behold.

Pausing, you feel like you short circuit for a moment, the only thoughts you can think are mixtures of ‘he’s so pretty’ and ‘god, i want to cover every square inch of that pretty body in marks and bruises.’

It seems that he’s worked himself up alone just fine. He’s laying face down on the bed, ass up supported by his long gorgeous legs and head buried in a pillow to muffle the sounds he makes as pre-cum drips down onto the mattress beneath him. 

One of his hands is once again around his throat, the little pain slut he is and the other is knuckle deep with two fingers stretching open his ass.

He jolts and lets out a yelp as you smack his ass-hard, but that doesn’t stop the groan muffled by the pillow that follows and the way his hips move to chase your hand, already aching for you to do it again.

And so you do, three quick spanks in a row. One lands on his thigh then his right cheek and finally his left. 

You lean over him and grip his hair tightly using the leverage to lift his head from the pillow, wet spots cover the cotton, evidence of the drool and tears that run down his pretty face.

“Such a whore that you can’t even wait for Mistress, huh baby?” you coo, leaning over his body to reach his ear.

Shaky arms try to support his body but you’re sure if you let go of his hair he’d face plant back onto the pillow. 

“Please!” Back arching, his tiny waist trying to grind back up against you he begs. Tears begin to spill down his cheeks as he babbles on about how much he needs you and how he couldn’t think of anything else for the whole day.

It’s almost enough to make you crack. He’s nothing if not the prettiest beggar you’ve ever had the pleasure of witnessing. 

Pouty plush lips and eyes looking up at you through his lashes, voice just the perfect mix of whine and whimper that makes you want to give him anything and everything his heart desires.

But you’ve been at this with him enough that you know what he wants is for you to not give him what he wants.

“And why should I do anything to you?” You begin to pull away from him before he swiftly rolls over, laying perfectly onto his back, wrapping his arms around your neck and legs around waist, holding you in place against him.

“No! Pl-please, I need you. I need you so bad! Please, I promise-I promise I’ll be a good boy for you!” Hyunjin’s face contorts into a pout with his bottom lip slightly trembling. His eyes watery and wide, begging.

He grinds up against your clothed heat, wincing at the sensitivity of his bare skin against your rough jeans but still goes on, letting the pleasure overtake the pain.

You sigh because you both know you can never resist him for very long when he gives you this look. You’d just hoped that you’d had the willpower to deny him longer.

Pulling the pillow down you move his hips up for him, maneuvering them to rest the spit soaked pillow under his lower back. Your hands knead the soft flesh of his butt, soothing the skin. 

The look on his face immediately drops-ever the brat-knowing that he’d won you over. He buries his face into your neck, leaving wet open-mouthed kisses all over, careful not to leave any marks as you warn him not to. Moaning out soft combinations of ‘Mistress’ and ‘thank you’ and ‘jus want to feel you’ into your ear.

“Tell me what you want you greedy slut.” His hands find purchase in your hair, still clinging to you like a monkey. 

Lazily grinding up against you he mewls loudly as you add a warning tap to his thigh. Pulling away just enough to see your face he asks almost shyly (which you both know is just an act) “will you fuck me with your strap-on?”

He says it so sweetly, despite the words he’s actually saying. “Of course.”

Unwinding his arms and legs from around you, you open the bedside drawer where he keeps his assortment of toys. Ballgags, paddles, vibes, and several different sizes of dildos for you to use of him.

“Which one do you want to use?”

He shifts on the bed and looks, thinking thoughtfully before finally picking out the largest, a nine inch purple one.

He watches with eager eyes as you pull off your clothes and put on the harness, growing even harder as you stare at him with a knowing smirk while you start to strap it onto the harness before pausing, your smile growing larger with the idea that comes to mind.

Finishing, you saunter closer to him in a way that exudes confidence. In a way that would make his knees shake had he been standing up. “On your knees and open up.”

He slides onto the ground in front of you smoothly and you resist the urge to drool at the way his perfect dancer body moves. Contorting and over-exaggerating the movements in the places he knows you like.

Teasing you in the way he knows best.

The carpet soft against his knees unlike the last time you did this on the hardwood floor of your apartments kitchen. You tap the dildo against his lips, patiently waiting with a wicked gleam in your eye as he opens his mouth, eyes falling shut and tongue hanging out.

He struggles to take it all as you swiftly shove it into his mouth, almost choking. It’s girthy and he struggles to wrap his lips around the whole thing. He’s trying to and the sight is such an arousing visual, feeling yourself getting wetter and wetter from simply watching

But you get impatient, then you grab him by the roots of his hair and in one quick push the whole thing goes in, nudging against the back of his throat.

He gags around it, tears welling up in his eyes. “You look so pretty struggling to suck on my cock, Jinnie.” Giving an experimental thrust he can’t help but moan at the way his scalp burns from how hard you’re gripping him.

“Makes me wish it was a real dick, just to watch your face as I cum down your throat. You’d look so pretty with it smeared all over your face after I finish, just a little cock-hungry whore all for me.” He moans at the thought, gasping for air when you pull it out so just the tip is in his mouth before thrusting in again with a renewed vigor.

His hands move to your ass, gripping it and pushing it harder and harder, making the strap lodge deep into the back of his throat. 

And fuck, he wishes it were real. He wishes that you would cum down his throat just like this, he’d swallow every drop, not wasting a single bit. 

He wishes that right when you were about to cum you’d pull out and jizz all over his face and then pull out your phone to take pictures of him all ruined with swollen lips and teary eyes. All cock-hungry and you’d tell him that; call him a cock-hungry whore for you. Maybe you’d even write the words on him, the idea could nearly make him bust alone.

He even imagines at times while you’re splitting him open with your strap that it was real and that you’d cum in him and fill him so full of your seed that his tummy would grow all heavy with your baby. 

No matter that scientifically it would never work, the idea was so hot to him. The act so hot to him that he’d gone online several times and found straps you could fill with fake cum but he’d back out before he could ever press the purchase button. He’d found himself a few times almost screaming it as he came. 

You pull out and his mouth hangs open, ready for you to go again but when you don’t his eyes fly open.

You’re looking down at him with an amused light in your eye. Hungry like your the wolf and he’s a delectable little morsel for you to eat. 

“Get on the bed.”

Nodding, he very ungracefully flopped onto the bed in his rush. A snort left you and he glared, a blush rising on his face.

All traces of laughter left the atmosphere as he bit his bottom lip, eyes hooded and his legs parted, placing the pillow under his hips. The places you spanked him were a rosy red on his pale skin and his cock leaked pre-cum aching for you to touch him.

“Fuck me?” Voice unsure and quiet, he looked slightly embarrassed about being so exposed no matter how many times you’d seen him like this (and in far more compromising positions) before.

You pressed the tip of the strap against his hole and he greedily ground against in, wiggling his hips to try in vain to slip it in as you circled. “Don’t tease me!” He whined.

Smacking his thigh, his voice went higher in pitch, his head falling back against the pillow with a shaky breath. “But you’re so pretty, baby. How can I not tease you?”

Circling a few more times around his puckered hole you decide to be merciful this time.

His breath hitches, eyes going wide as you slowly push in, a tiny whine that’s almost inaudible leaving him. 

The strap slides in easily with his spit lubricating it and him already being stretched out from playing with himself.

As you remember that you immediately push all the way in, and without giving him a second to breath or adjust, you start at an already punishing pace.

Eyes widening, he gasps out. His hands search for anything to find purchase on, finally landing on your shoulders, his blunt nails leaving scratches on your back making you hiss in a mix of pain and pleasure.

You quickly find his prostate and he lets out a whimper, long legs wrapping around your back, causing the tip to nudge harder against the spot.

“P-please. Go-go faster. Too sl-slow, faster!” He cants his hips up, trying to gain more friction but instead you smack the side of his thigh once more, leaving his flesh stinging and forcing an unholy keen from somewhere deep inside.

“A-again! Do i-it again!” He gasps out, nails digging into your back even harder now. You’re almost positive he’ll leave marks that you’ll have to be careful that your roommate won’t see but you can’t bring yourself to care at the moment. 

He cries out in pleasure as you smack him twice more, one on his opposite thigh and one on his dick.

You tsk as he writhes under you, downright sinful noises falling from his lips. “Y-yes! Do it again-doitagain! Please, I need it! Please, please, please, please.” He gasps out, whines filling in the pauses of his words.

“You’re such a fucking painslut aren’t you? God, it just makes me want to ruin you.” you purr into his ear.

“Fuuck!” The word drags slowly from his mouth.

Suddenly you pause. 

Was that? No-maybe?

Hyunjin whimpers, tugging at your arms, thrusting his hips, doing anything he can to try and get your attention back on him. “Mistress, ple-ease! Fuck! Why’d you stop?”

Straining your ears, you could hear laughing and talking from the main room. 

The others were home.

A thought came to mind and you smirked, beginning to lazily move again. “Do you hear that Jin?”

With his mind all foggy and hazy, a stupid smile crossing his face at the fact that you’d continued to pleasure him, it takes him a moment to process what you’d said. “Hm?”

“Don’t you hear it? The boys are home.” You whispered into his ear, hand moving to rub his dick as you continued to thrust.

His brain felt like mush and the way that your hand slid up and down his cock easily from how much pre-cum he’d leaked felt nothing short of heaven. But he tried to push that away for the second being and listened closely to hear that in fact, they were home. 

They were talking about take-out or something, before the conversation shifted to him.

“Don’t worry so much Chan, he’s probably with (Y/N) at her apartment. He was saying today that he was going to hang out with her afterwards.” Hyunjin couldn’t decipher who’d said it but that didn’t matter as you began going harder and harder.

Stray moans left his mouth, whimpers and whines he tried to hold back but failed. You covered his mouth with your spare hand, a bruising pace set against his prostate making him shiver.

Drool covered your hand within seconds as his tongue laved against your palm putting in great effort to not scream your name so loudly that not only the boys outside would hear but the whole building.

You lean down to his ear, a flush growing where your warm breath fans across the side of his face and whisper, “Don’t make a sound, baby. Don’t want the others to know that you’re in here moaning like a whore while I fuck you, do you?”

As soon as the words leave your mouth he can feels himself getting close-so fucking close. His mouth falls open in a silent scream, bucking hips and squeezed shut eyes. “Please-please, can i cum, can I cum, can I cum!”

“You can cum whenever you need to baby.” You whisper, watching his pretty face as he is at the tip of his high, so, so close to falling.

“Mistress please cum in me, please I wanna feel you.” He whimpers softly, his head far off into that headspace that makes him feel floaty, not able to think coherently. 

It’s only sensations now. Pleasure and pain. The feel of you pressed against him. The way your hand slides up and down his dick, jerking him off. A dick lodged so deep in him and his head so far off that for a second he forgets it’s fake.

Your eyes widen, confused, but fuck, the idea of it is so hot. 

He doesn’t miss the way your eyes darken in lust, voice dropping a few octaves, low and husky in a way that makes him shiver. “You wanna have my baby?” Hand moving from his dick to his stomach, a slight bulge from your strap inside him. Pushing down lightly, he mewls. “Want me to fill you up, make me a mommy, honey?”

“Fuck, I want you to breed me, wanna have your baby. Please, please, p-”

He’s cut off as his high hits him, head on like a truck. His mouth falls open, back arching up off the bed. So far gone that it doesn’t register to him that the boys are just outside, you clamp your hand over it before he screams you name with the intensity of it. 

His vision goes white and for a second he can believe that he’s actually died from the way his body goes completely numb from the overwhelming pleasure of it all.

Trembling, little grunts and whines leaving his mouth you watch him fall apart, tensing up and then melting onto the mattress, completely boneless as he tries to catch his breath in heavy pants and and shaky sniffles.

You pull out of him slowly, a whimper leaving him as you do, hole clenching around nothing a sudden empty feeling replacing it.

He felt gross and dirty. He felt insecure and needy. He wanted you, he wanted you to smooth back his hair and tell him how good he was.

God, why was he like this?

Why did he like this kind of stuff? 

Was he not enough of a man? 

Did you think less of him for it? 

Did you wish he was more dominant, fucking into you while the others were outside, having to cover your mouth to keep you from making noises?

Why couldn’t he be that for you?

You stand up off the bed and he curls into a ball, a few small sniffles and little cries leaving him that make your heart feel heavy. “It’s okay, baby. I’ll be there in a second.” You assure him, taking off the harness and turning back to him as fast as you can.

When he feels the mattress dip behind him he rolls over to face you. His eyes are a bit watery, his sub-drops were hard and left him with an unexplainable empty feeling in his chest.

You open your arms and he curls up with you, resting his head on your chest. Pulling up the blankets around you, you look down at him “You good?”

“Do you wish that I acted more like you do while we have sex?” His voice was muffled against your chest but you heard it all the same as if he’d screamed it into your ear.

You could feel your heart crack a little. 

Pulling his head up to look at you, you stared at him, your own eyes beginning to water. “Of course not. You’re perfect.” 

One hand held the soft plush of his cheek while the other lightly scratched his scalp. 

“I love the way that you’re so needy for me. The way that you’re so willing to please me. The way that I can take care of you and make you feel good. I love that you’re submissive and that you trust me enough to share all the things that you wanna try.”

His eyes were soft, welling up with more tears. He opened his mouth to say something but you cut him off before he could start. “And most importantly I love you, every part of you, with every kink and every twisted thought in your depraved mind. You’re my pretty little baby, my good boy and I love you just the way you are. Do you understand me?”

He nods and buries his face into your soft skin again and you can feel the sensation of tears and his heated blush against you.

The feeling of your arms around him was comforting. He felt warm and safe and happy. “Love you.” He whispers, so quiet you almost miss it.

Smiling, you squeeze him just a bit harder, making him hum in appreciation. “Love you too, honey.” 

“Oh, and by the way, that ‘breed me’ thing was incredibly hot.” You stated, watching with a smirk as he pushed his face farther into your tits in embarrassment. 

“Stooop.” He whines.

“Whatever you say, baby boy.”

Twirling your fingers in his hair, he falls asleep. His breathing slows and body falls slack in your embrace.

Outside the boys all exchange glances.

They’re equal parts horrified and disgusted and slightly aroused from hearing their hyung’s muffled moans. 

“What the fu-”

“-I guess they aren’t at her place.”

#sub skz #sub!stray kids #stray kids smut #hyunjin x reader #sub hyunjin #sub hwang hyunjin #hyunjin smut #stray kids #dom!reader #fem!reader #dom reader #sub!hyunjin

[starsinmylatte]

Could we please get Q, S, Z for the smut headcanon game? Thank you!! -💌 (shy anon)

Of course, my darling!

Original smut headcanon post here

Other Letters I've answered here: E, M, and W

Warnings: size diff if you squint, pred/prey dynamics

Q: Quiet (Reaction to a quiet partner)

Oh, I could so see Thrawn teasing a quiet partner with things designed to draw small gasps and whimpers from their kiss-swollen lips. He would love a quiet partner just as much as a more vocal one, relishing any and all of their reactions, no matter how faint.

There are times that he does try to see how loudly he can make them call his name, though.

He feels so large, so solid and strong beneath his lover that it's practically unfair. Thrawn's thick cock stuffs them so well that it should be a sin. They bite their lip to muffle a moan as he rocks his hips slowly, but deliciously. "thrawn...." Their head lolls back in bliss as his strong hands move their hips in time with his thrusts. "What was that, darling?" He teases, voice low and husky as he repeats the motion. In no time at all, they are practically singing his name.

S: Safe Word (How often is the safe word used? Why?)

So, I do think Thrawn gets up to some kinky shit, but it is always 1000% safe, consensual, and adequately discussed beforehand. The very last thing he wants to do is actually hurt his lover or do something they wouldn't enjoy.

There would absolutely be an established safeword, but it's probably rarely used, if at all, because he's so thorough with establishing soft and hard limits.

However, if the safe word is used, everything stops immediately with absolutely no questions or protests whatsoever.

Z: Zoo (Their animalistic qualities in the bedroom)

I am incredibly excited about this one because, BOY, DO I HAVE OPINIONS ABOUT THIS.

When I say Thrawn can go feral, I mean feral. He was stranded on a planet more than once, and the first time had to hunt and literally fight nature for his own survival. At times, there's a wild, untamed man vying to break through Thrawn's collected, pristine demeanor, and that side of him longs to hunt and claim and fuck.

If you were into it, he'd get up to some true predator/prey dynamics and literally hunt you through a forest. It would be a game to see how long you can hide from him, and how your survival skills stack up against his own.

Of course, it will be the sweetest prize when Thrawn inevitably pins you against a tree. He growls, nipping the tender pulse point of your neck as he shreds your clothes. He absolutely ravishes your body, pinning you against the tree to take you once and then fucking you again on the forest floor as your hands claw for purchase against the leaves.

His voice is so thick with his native accent that at one point he fully reverts to speaking Cheunh, growling it in your ear as he wrings every drop of pleasure from your body.

#lyria responds #💌 anon #blue man hot #thrawn #grand admiral thrawn #lyria rambles #star wars #thrawn x reader #chiss #mitth'raw'nuruodo #star wars fan fiction #star wars fanfiction #star wars smut

[sansxfuckyou]

we might just bite underneath the moonlight

Summary: Chilchuck can't help himself from helping Marcille on the rebound of Falin's death, even if he knows that's all he'll ever be to her, the rebound

Tags: heavily suggestive themes, wound cleaning, the hot springs itself isnt sexual but the making out is, complicated relationships, check Ao3 port for full tags

Authors Note: "Ace write a normal fic for dunmeshi please" fuck ya life, femme4butch lesbian marchil with a brief meijack cameo at the start. in all seriousness the marchil fanart is fucking fire and i had to write *something* for ya'll, it ended up much longer than it was meant to be. hope ya'll enjoy and if ya do consider dropping a reblog or checking the Ao3 port, it really means a lot

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56221963

"Being butch is being chivalrous," Chilchuck explained when his first daughter was old enough to ask why he never dressed like a gal and always wore tape around town.

"Right..." Meijack said, only a hint of confusion on her voice.

"It's like an honour code," Chilchuck said, a bit firmer this time, "A way to confirm that you'll always be the fists they need in a fight, or the one to foot the bill on a date- you're too young to get it."

"Dad, I asked a question, now answer it." It's almost a demand, proof that she is old enough to get it. Proof that she could leave any day now if he wanted it or not, which he really doesn't.

Chilchuck sighed, "It's not something I can teach, it's something that you fall into if you're meant for it."

-/-/-/-

Taking the hit is a reflexive thing, he still hates himself for it. Throwing himself in harms way for the femmes and letting the men take it head on is how he is whether he means it or not.

Blood bursts from the wound along his shoulder but he tries to strafe back into the dodging regime before anyone can register he took a hit for Marcille. He wipes down the wound and oh, yep, that's an arrow lodging itself in his spine. It has enough force to make him stumble and trip and fall, banged against a column and ears ringing.

Death by living armour.

This one is new.

He can hear it clunk as it steps ever closer and closer, fun. He sacrificed himself for Marcille, the girl who wouldn't even spare a second glance at the butch who won't see sixty. Humorous. Ironic. Tragic...?

No, no, not tragic, not tragic for Marcille. She couldn't care less about him, she couldn't care less about men. And to her, he's part of men. He's something so well disguised he'd never be clocked as anything but another dumb guy.

And he can live with that, that might just be the pre-death clarity talking-

A scream is ripped from his throat with the sword plunging deep into his flesh. As mortality is ripped from his body his hands fly to the blade and then he's gone.

-/-/-/-

The bandages wrapped tight around his chest are stiff now, he supposes that they've been down for long enough without a window to change them that they would get nasty. He's pretty sure it's giving his clothing the funk what with the sweat and blood seeping into it that he can't wash out while still wearing it.

He hitches his backpack a little higher up as they reach floor four. Cool air washes over him comfortably as the slow and lazy flow of the water bounces back and forth. It's comforting, he never thought he'd yearn for floor four. Full of sirens and kelpies and deception galore, seemingly calm but full of danger.

Senshi's laying down a pot already and Laois is probably drooling over whatever it is that their latest companion is cooking. And Marcille is brushing her hair, undoing the braids slowly and letting it fall down over her shoulders and Chilchuck isn't allowed to stare.

He wouldn't dare stare, not without her permission at least. That's sacred to her, her hair, her magic, it all ties into one thing that's the core of her existence. It'd be kind of obscene to catch a glimpse of that without her permission, even if Chilchuck is a rogue, a thief, and a cheat he has standards.

"I'm gonna wash off!" Before he gets a response he's trudging over to a sharp corner to slip behind.

The ledge sort of crumbles off the further he strays from the initial landing of the floor. Turquoise glow casting up from the water below, it's scary to expose himself in a false isolation. No one is watching, it's fine, no one is going to walk on over. Well, maybe Laois, but Laois is a dumbass who absolutely would.

First the scarf comes off and his breath hitches as it rises over his head. He should've changed his wraps before coming down to the dungeon, he should've known better. He's been doing this adventuring shit since he was a kid how did he not figure something so simple by now.

He kicks off his socks and shoes next, lining them up next to his bag. In an effort to avoid the inevitable, he retrieves his towel and fresh bandages. They're dropped near the edge as he proceeds to disrobe.

The leather armour slides off much easier then the scarf did, so much easier. With the first step taken, everything afterwards becomes so much easier and he supposes it's that way with everything. Even so he's hesitant to slide off his gloves and reveal scarred flesh to no one but himself and the gentle glow of the lake.

He'll never be able to tell what's harder to take off be it the pants or the shirts, but he still shucks off his pants first. He's starting to feel the nausea, the insecurity, the fear. Of what? He's not quite sure but he swears he's breaking a code of conduct of some sort by stripping down and washing off to save himself from potential infections.

Chilchuck steps down from the ledge onto a raft before taking off his shirt, only then does he dare even think about the bindings wrapped so tight around his chest. He doesn't even have anything to bind, god, why does he even bother. His ex-wife was the only one who could see through the facade and want for what he is anyways, not like he'll luck out with some bi chick again.

Slowly he sinks into the light blue waters, arms rested on the planks of the raft as the stiff gauze soaks. He's slow to unravel the binding and he can only give a stiff exhale because wow, he forgot what it's like to have chest weight. Familiar but foreign, something he barred because he was sure he didn't get as many jobs looking like a girl.

A cigarette would go great with having a soak and relaxing a bit despite all the stress. He doesn't have any of those so instead he dunks his head and washes off, same refreshing feeling. It's nice to get off a couple days of grime, just relaxing enough that he zones out to the point he doesn't register the outside world until Marcille drops her staff.

Oh, fuck.

"Marcille," Chilchuck begins, back still turned to her.

"Y-Yeah?" Marcille asked, trying desperately to beat down the red up to the tips of her ears.

"How much did you see?" Chilchuck asked.

Marcille doesn't answer.

"How. Much."

"Enough." Marcille choked out.

"Look, just toss my down my clothes to the raft and I'll get dressed. Let's act like this never happened, for both of our sakes." He's screaming at himself for saying that. This is his chance, his one, singular chance, and he's butchering it.

Marcille does as told and averts her eyes.

"Didn't anyone ever teach you that it's rude to peep on a lady?" Chilchuck has the gall to ask it as he drags himself out of the water and towels down. He hears a small squeaky sort of sound from Marcille in response, he shrugs it off and tugs back on his pants.

"Well, yeah, of course they did."

"Lemme guess, you didn't think I was this?"

"Yeah." She tugs down the hem of her sleeves a bit, "Did you properly disinfect any wounds?"

"Don't be an idiot, I don't have any wounds to disinfect, and I would've if I had." He's lying, he didn't have the time to reopen a scabby one that had bits of gauze stuck inside, merely skin deep but still an issue. His gloves slide on back with ease but he has to tug just a bit to ensure that they cover all the scars properly.

"Are you almost done? Senshi sent me to get you for dinner." Marcille tapped her foot anxiously on the ground. Very briefly, she wonders if Chilchuck can hear the fact that her heart is racing. She wonders if her heart could just stop right here and now to save her from the shame of it all.

"Hold your horses," Chilchuck answered with. He hisses as gauze comes to lay atop the wound again, he'll tough it out.

Before Marcille can stop herself she whips around to face him, "I knew it! You are hurt..." Her enthusiasm peters off and the red on her face intensifies as Chilchuck scrambles to cover his chest.

Chilchuck's sputtering a bit, scrambling for words to try and get across the exasperation, "I told you to be patient!"

For a brief moment there's silence.

And then.

"Do you want me to clean the wound?" She speaks almost too quietly for even Chilchuck to hear.

"It's fine, I'll manage." He keeps wrapping the gauze as he speaks, when Marcille steps closer he stops. With a heavy sigh, he speaks, "Look, you weren't supposed to find out, no one was. So let's forget about it. Let's both just forget this ever happened so you can go live your good life with Falin, sound good?"

Marcille shook her head, "I can't, I can't let you risk getting an awful infection and dying a slow death."

"Oh yeah? How come?" Chilchuck questioned as he watched Marcille step forward again. He tries to step back but he's been thoroughly cornered to the ledge, he knows that if he steps any further he'll fall in.

"You're my teammate."

"You never spared a glance at me once."

"I didn't know you were, were, you were-"

"A woman?"

"You weren't supposed to be."

"Yeah, I don't get as many jobs with my tits out."

The crassness makes Marcille go even brighter red, it makes Chilchuck smirk. She waves it off, "Just! Let me help."

He hesitates, "Fine."

And with slow motions he undoes the wraps just enough to let the wound be exposed. It lays below the clavicle and Marcille's hands are soft as they trace over his skin far too slowly. He tenses as well kept nails brush over the edge of the scab and pry the bits of gauze and discoloured dry blood.

His blood is red and her hands are pale. The contrast is staggering and he tries his best not to watch because this isn't right. Something is screaming at him that this isn't right or good or lawful because she wasn't supposed to know unless she asked. And he wasn't supposed to be walked in on while he was washing off and changing his wraps-

"Do you want me to call you she?"

Chilchuck goes rigid, shoulders raising and eyes widening.

"Got it, not she."

"You're the second person to ask me that after my wife."

"Oh."

"You haven't earned the right yet." A choked sound slips out as the magic weaves through his flesh and purges it of the potential infection. She retracts her hands and he tries not to reach out for them in response to the motion, "Not yet at least."

Her eyes aren't on his, he can't tell if they're cast to the floor or not. He reaches to fully wrap his chest up again, gauze unfurling to lock himself back up again. The way he should be, it's safer, it's better, it got him three kids who he misses dearly and more jobs than he'd ever needed.

"You look pretty," Marcille confessed, ears drooped just a bit. She feels like she shouldn't be saying it.

Chilchuck gives an amused huffing sort of laugh, "Ya think?"

She nodded.

"It's not just because I'm shirtless is it?" As he speaks he tugs his shirt back on, along with his scarf. He just stuffs his leather over armour in his bag, too stuffy to wear it now that he's hot under the collar.

That gives her pause, "Well-"

Chilchuck sighed, "Think before you speak, don't give an older gal hope."

-/-/-/-

There's an undeniable itch deep inside of Chilchuck's bones and he can't place his finger on it, can't tear himself open to satiate it. He just feels nauseated, vaguely dizzy, and his stomach is in intensive knots no matter what he does to quell it. Cramps? No, no he took his contraceptives.

Did he?

Fucking hell, did he?

He can't remember and he can't ask Senshi to cook up something that'll help with cramping because he'll lose respect if he's outed as a woman. He thinks. He presumes. Senshi's a nice guy, has lots of respect for Marcille, a classically womanly woman.

Chilchuck? Not a classically womanly woman. He'll be disowned, or called a fraud, something awful is bound to happen. But someone is bound to notice that he's lagging behind and in what can only be described as agony, and if its Laois, he'll definitely be diagnosed with a deadly disease of some sort.

Please let there be a natural hot spring somewhere, anywhere nearby. He won't be able to actually have a soak if the guys insist on joining but at least the heat would be a comfort.

Chilchuck dropped down next to the fire, "Hey, Senshi, what's for dinner?"

"Sautéed vegetables, it's a simpler dish compared to what we usually have. But sometimes a light dish is good after excessive amounts of complex dishes." As he speaks he tosses in a handful of diced herbs, "I might check for mushrooms around the springs once Marcille is done in there."

"There's actually a spring down here?" He sounds a bit more excited than he should, not even a floor back did he take a soak. But he yearns for the warmth like a cat yearns for the sun.

Senshi gives a nod, "Yep, great place. Two pools with a bit of a stalagmite barrier between them, quite nice. I set up some lanterns a while back, it's a quaint little section."

"Call me when dinners done, I'm taking a soak." He hiked up his backpack before trotting off to where he can hear Marcille's heartbeat and the slight ripple of water. Sure, he has to strain to hear it a bit, but he picks it out.

-/-/-/-

"Chilchuck, is that you?" Marcille asked from behind the stalagmite wall.

A pause, "Yeah."

"You don't have to be on that side, what if Senshi or Laois comes by?"

"I still have my shirt on, I'm just enjoying the heat."

"Oh."

"Lemme tell ya one thing about being a butch, Marcille." For a moment he wonders if he should give her the spiel he gave Meijack, but he chooses against it. No, no Marcille would know by now. Surely she's met normal butches before? Regardless, he sits against the stalagmite border and speaks, "After sixteen plus years of keeping your real self effectively hidden, you learn better than to make such basic blunders."

She sinks below the water briefly and the silence makes Chilchuck almost uncomfortable.

"I appreciate the concern."

"You can do that on this side of the divider."

"But what if Senshi or Laois arrived? Wouldn't look very good if I was peeping on ya, that'd ruin my reputation."

"But-"

"Marcille. I'm fine not getting in the water."

She stands up and ah ha, she's taller than the divider. And when Chilchuck tilts his head back to face her he can see so much of everything above the belt. Red rises to his face faster than it should and for some reason he can feel his jaw go slack as he stares.

Before even more precious seconds can pass he's jolting away. She leans on the border as best she can, arms crossed over her chest. He swallows thickly as he glances up again to meet her eyes.

"You're in pain," She declared.

"So what if I am?" He countered.

"Look, I read somewhere that Half-Foots get it particularly bad compared to other races due to their size influencing pain tolerance and durability. I've seen you hobble and you curl up in a ball and grovel when you're trying to fall asleep."

"Are you asking me to get naked and take a dip with you?" He tries to cut down his own embarrassment with vulgarity that usually makes Marcille squirm.

"So what if I am? It's only to try and help you out, I'm a girl too ya know."

"I know."

"Then how come you're so hesitant?"

"Reasons."

"You're still not over your wife."

"Don't pry, Marcille, it's rude."

Marcille steps back and sinks back into the water, "Whatever."

Only a brief moment of pause has to pass before Chilchuck stands up and walks over to the divider. He leans on it for a moment, "Look, I guess I could join you."

Marcille spins around to face Chilchuck, "Really?"

"Yes, really. Just, don't make such a big deal out of it."

-/-/-/-

It happens so much faster than he can keep track, maybe he's getting too old for this 'falling in love' thing. He's got three kids, he's definitely too old for this.

Maybe the heats clouding his mind, the temperature a comfort soothing his frayed nerves. His wraps are still on but they're coming off, slowly unfurling as the heat threatens to suffocate him with the way it's tied too tight. And Marcille is staring, mostly submerged, but eyes just above enough that she can watch.

"Marcille, don't make it weird." It's more of a demand than a plea but he can't tell if the heat on his face is from being perceived or from being in the hot spring.

"Sorry," Marcille mutters the word as she presses herself against the ledge, hair scattered around her like tentacles or silk woven from gold.

Chilchuck can't decide which comparison works better.

...

. . .

Marcille gives a short hum, "You look pretty."

The heat is stripping away his inhibitions.

"You look pretty too, unfairly so."

She edges ever closer to him, not sliding along the rocky bench-like formation of the spring, but pushing off.

"You think?"

Chilchuck nods, watching as Marcille glides closer with the grace of a mermaid.

"I don't think," He said, voice slow, voice low. Dropped lower than usual, a slanty smirk on his face. He leans forward a bit, "I know."

"You know?" Closer, closer, closer. She's so close but she's so far and the clock is ticking but time is coming to a screeching halt.

"Oh believe me I do, Marcille." He slinks down from where he sat to meet her halfway across. It's a small basin anyways, but it feels so much larger when the tension and the steam blends into one and he goes blind. He keeps his hands to his sides instead of reaching out because if he missteps with his motions then everything will go downhill.

She isn't afraid. That or she's just not thinking properly. Her hands are soft when they come to rest on his shoulders, one sliding up to the side of his neck. He leans into it a little bit, "Then that would make you one of the hottest ladies I've met."

Chilchuck laughed, "You thought I was a guy, do I really count, Marcille?"

"Now you do."

As she leans forward her hair falls, caging Chilchuck in and locking the door but hey, who is he to complain when it feels so good to give in? To get what he wants, it feels so good. Like fire. He's drowning in flames.

Her other hand works its way to the small of his abdomen and slides up to unfurl the gauze fully. It shocks a gasp out of him and further she presses onward, no inhibitions, no fear, no hesitance. What is she running on right now? What is in her head? What the fuck is making her do this, but holy shit, he does not want her to stop.

Eventually her hands are in her hair and pulling just a bit but her hands stray just a bit and he lurches back. Shoving her off at the shoulders and stumbling, he scrambles to retrieve his wraps.

"What the fuck, Marcille!" Maybe he's a bit louder than he needs to be but he needs to get the point across, "There are, there are boundaries."

It takes her a moment before her face goes bright red and her ears droop, "Oh god."

"It's not fine, but, it's not bad either." Chilchuck is rebinding himself as he speaks but he's still trying to ease the shattered mood, soften the blow. Don't be a douche, you can turn someone down nicely, but he isn't trying to turn her down either. He just needs to slow this down, way down, to a snails pace.

"I don't know what got into me, Chilchuck, I'm so sorry-"

"Marcille! It's alright." He steps close enough to reach out, hands held above the water. He gives a small nod and she places hers atop his, "It's okay, I don't mind fucking, but can we not do it right now with zero warning?"

Marcille nods, "Sorry."

"Stop saying sorry, it makes you sound like a coward," Chilchuck said, voice firm but with a hint of affection lacing it, "And you're not."

A small smile tugs at Marcille's lips, "Alright, thanks, Chilchuck."

-/-/-/-

Chilchuck sleeps without his wraps that night because they got soaked and he was running low anyways. When Laois asked Chilchuck didn't answer, when Senshi asked Chilchuck didn't answer. He didn't owe them an answer even if their assumptions would probably be way off.

They just come up to him one morning and offer to cut his tits off, he'd probably keel over laughing if that happened. His wondering of what's going to happen is very brief when he finds Marcille standing next to his bedding. She drops down to her knees, fingers curled to press nails into palm.

"Yeah, Marcille?" Chilchuck asked gently as he sat up. He stretched his arms over his head and fuck, his spine hasn't felt like that in years.

"Could we share a sleeping bag tonight?"

"What?"

Marcille stands up, "Nevermind."

"No, Marcille. What's wrong? Tell me what happened," He speaks sluggishly, a tired inflection to his tone.

"It's dumb."

"We almost had sex in the hot springs, that was dumb."

Marcille drops to sit down next to Chilchuck, "It was about Falin, we couldn't save her."

"It'll be fine, we're gonna save her. I promise." He's making wild promises. Ones he can't pull through on. But ones that he needs to make to get through the night breathing easy.

He places his hand on Marcille's back and she leans heavily into him, "I miss Falin."

Oh.

He's a rebound.

That's... fine, he knew from the start it'd never work out anyways. Why hope that it might because she kissed him? Why hope for something farther out of reach than the stars? He's dumb, he's an idiot, he isn't even a hopeful one.

This dungeon is getting to him, to fall for Marcille and be stupid enough to think that she'd mean it in any way more than deprived desperation. He still steels himself and hums along, "I miss her too." It feels like he's being stabbed as a much delayed realization hits him, the words falling out of him feel like blood being hacked up.

#dungeon meshi #dungeon meshi fanfic #marchil #chilchuck x marcille #marcille donato #chilchuck tims #watch me get fucking obliterated over this lmao. even if i do get destroyed over it this fic was too much fun to write to care. #fanfic #fanfiction #writing

[m1d-45]

Let it be known that I love writing fluff, and I listen to character audios sometimes. SO! I came up with a cute idea for sagau imposter au. I heard somewhere that Xiao's adeptus form is a bird, so I wonder, what kind of bird? And that got me thinking. Xiao being a little song bird, or perhaps even a cardinal.

Now imagine: while looking for the imposter, Xiao stumbles upon them sitting beneath a tree, just feeding some birds. Said birds are absolutely loving the attention since the creator of Teyvat is giving them food and love!

Xiao watches, rather curious. The creator he knows hates birds, because they always dive and cause problems for them. But now... these little birds have completely abandoned any fear they may hold for human beings, happily landing on the hands and shoulders of this supposed imposter.

So he decides to test something.

Xiao turns into a small bird and approaches cautiously. In his smaller form, he's vulnerable to attack. But the person before him doesn't try to hurt him. Rather, they smile and call him "little friend" as they offer food to him. In his distrust, he bites them with his sharp beak.

His heart shatters when he sees divine blood spilling from the wound.

He's about to fly away, get as far away from here as he can. He found the true creator, and instead of worshipping them, he bit them! He caused them to bleed, he shouldn't even be near them-!

His mind stills when they pet his feathered head.

They murmur kind words to him, apologizing to him. They believed that they had startled him, that he bit to protect himself. They forgave him, they felt no hatred towards him, no anger or disappointment. Instead, they offered some chopped almonds, hoping he'd prefer that over bird seed.

He sang for them as he perched on their shoulder.

After that, he did his best to secretly protect the creator he'd harmed. He would adopt his smaller form and sing for them when they felt sad, and he'd use his human form to guard them from a distance. Yes, it made his chest ache whenever they looked at him with fear when they saw his more human form, but the yaksha only shook it off. It only made sense that you'd be scared. He was a frightening person, one that had tried to harm you before. He refused to try and change your feelings towards him. He didn't have the right.

He would be content to sing for you as a harmless bird.

-sibling anon (sorry if this is out of character for him I just like the idea)

oh….. he’s so soft…..

xiao hovering near the edge of the crowd, at first, drawing your attention since he doesn’t seem to be eating any of the seed you’d passed out.

when he finally hops within arms reach, you reach to nudge some of the food next to him closer, only to quickly whip your hand back. the birds around (on) you all flutter at the sudden movement, but you inspect your finger, the blue blood of teyvat welling up. your instinct is to stick it in your mouth, but that doesn’t seem safe considering a bird bit it, so you dab at it with a napkin.

the bird cries and flaps his wings, distraught, and your heart hurts. poor guy, you probably scared him, moving so quickly.

you pull out some chopped almonds from your pocket. the plan was to have them as a snack, but now… you put a few in your palm and close your hand around it, reaching forward to gently run two fingers over the birds back.

the other birds in the area seemed receptive to that, and this one does too, calming down considerably.

you take your hand back, opening your palm to drop the almonds on the floor, nudging them close before backing off.

“there you go,” you murmur, as the bird dips down to inspect the food. “i won’t hurt you.”

you allow yourself a silent cheer when it eats one of the almond pieces.

you see the small bird fluttering around you often, always on the edge of your vision. it’s easy to identify, the purple patch of feathers on its forehead easily standing out, and you’re always certain to push some food over to it. almonds, not birdseed.

the bird is a dark blue-teal, the underside of its wings a softer blue. it’s like no other bird you’ve seen in liyue, something that quickly catches your attention.

you brush some dirt off you as you stand, noting the way the bird immediately looks up from its food, unlike the others, to flap up into the tree you were sitting under.

you crack a smile, carefully reaching a finger for it. you’re slower this time, cautious of its skittish nature, but it lets you approach. when you carefully pet over its head, the birds eyes close.

your smile grows, and you try not to laugh at how confused the bird seems when you pull your hand away.

“i have to go,” you explain. “the millelith… they’re getting too close again. i won’t be able to see you again, little friend.”

the bird chirps, nearly indignant, and you do laugh this time. putting a small piece of almond on the branch in front of it, you wave goodbye to the other birds, seeing the blue one hadn’t touched the almond.

you frown. hopefully it’ll be alright….

xiao watches you until you’re out of sight, and even then, he stays on the branch.

you…. he’d forgotten you were being hunted by the millelith. he’d forgotten the order to look out for you. he’d forgotten the qixing called you a criminal.

who could blame him? it was easy to forget everything at your side, when you carefully ran your fingers over his feathers, scratching at his jaw with the edge of your nail. yes, he was vulnerable as a bird, but it was easy to be vulnerable with you. it was easy to be open, to sing as best he could in this form, to allow himself close enough to see the way your eyes lit up whenever another bird landed on your outstretched finger.

xiao dropped to the ground, morphing back into his human form. predictably, the birds cawed and flew away quickly. he watched them go, his mind contrasting it with how readily they flocked to you.

you…

he turned to the branch he was on, to the small almond piece left behind. the small symbol of your care, of how you recognized that he didn’t touch the birdseed and instead offered him your own food to eat. normally he wouldn’t lower himself to eating off the ground at all, let along bird food, but almonds weren’t awful and you seemed so happy when he ate..

xiao looked back to where you’d gone, to the sandbearer trees swaying in a soft wind.

he allowed his form to fall away and spread his wings, taking flight on the same breeze that urged you along.

perhaps he’d forget his orders for a little while longer, if it meant he could spend that time with you.

perhaps he’d forget his orders for a little longer, if it meant he’d get to spend that time with you.

#m1d : [chats] #m1d : [secrets] #sibling anon #bird!xiao shenanigans #btw he’s pretty in character #you can add a dash of a ‘mysterious calm in the air’ if you wanna be certain but he’s oretty pretty good as is #also! let it be known that i too like fluff!! #< been meaning to write a piece based on hugs ppl would give for a while now #dilucs near the top of the list which is kinda funny considering the shit i’m (hopefully) gonna pot tonight #post* whoop #post-valentines day sadness #this got WAY too long #forgive the old format i wasn’t gonna try n find more photos of liyue than i already have #writing this was hell. thanks tumblr. i really appreciate you glitching out my drafts. #i’m trying to save my writer energy to wrap up dilucs piece COME ON I DONT NEED THIS #had to write this on the website version of tumblr ugh. dislike. #anyway debating adding this to the masterlist bc it’s… so nice… #the vibes….. immaculate…. #TUMBLR DELETED HALF MY FUCKING WRITING WHEN IT HIT POST WHAT THE FUCK #THIS IS WHY I WRITE ELSEWHERE THEN COPY PASTE TO THIS HELL #FUCK. IT WAS SO GOOD. WHY. #the last half of xiao’s part at the end is the bad shittier version of what i had written originally #i am bitter. but i guess i’ll have to die mad abt it. #ugh. #it cut off the last paragraph AGAIN WHY #hate. >:( #also mushroom anon send help one of my mutuals is doing a letter event in celebration of his 1k what do i do #ok it’s his 800 celebration but STILL HELP #whatever fuck it i’m done trying to get this to work #fuck it we ball

[moa-broke-me]

As Nico plunged his canines into the stranger's neck, the first thing he noticed was the film of dirt and sweat on their skin.

The second was the bitterness of the blood.

He released the neck and wiped the corners of his mouth, looking down at the boy. He seemed about Nico's age, just as skinny, and even more disheveled. He was shaking like a leaf, his clothes were ripped and stained, and he had a backpack with him.

Oh no. The poor guy must be homeless or something.

Before he cold rush out an apology, his eyes rolled back into his head, and he collapsed onto the concrete alley floor.

He decided to pick him up and take him back to his home base, just to recuperate. His blood sugar must've been really low when he bit him, that's the only reason it would've been that bitter.

As he carried him back to the apartment, he brushed a deep brown curl out of his face. He barely reacted, just a twitch of the cheek, and Nico's heart squeezed.

He carried him through the door and set him on his bed, before going back out to the grocery store. He didn't need to eat anymore, and though he sometimes ate for fun and nostalgia, it was usually at a restaurant. So his kitchen was always empty.

He came back with pancake mix and the other ingredients, and fried up a stack for the strange boy he'd attacked. He covered them in syrup and an extra thick pad of butter, and put the plate on a tray with a glass of milk and a fried egg before taking it into his bedroom. The boy was still sleeping, but a little bit more responsive, groaning when Nico flicked on the light.

"Hey... Come on, I made you breakfast." The stranger groaned again and sat up, rubbing his eyes.

"What..." He looked up at Nico. "... Where am I?"

He shrugged. "You're in my apartment. You passed out, so I figured I should take you here to recover." He laid the tray across his lap. "What's your name?"

He picked up the fork and looked at the pancakes suspiciously. "... Leo..."

Nico sat next to him. "Sorry, is there anything you're allergic to?" He asked.

Leo shook his head. "... You didn't... Put anything in here, did you?"

"What are you... Oh. Oh, no. No, I just want to make sure you're not hungry."

Leo poked the pancakes with his fork, before shrugging and taking a bite. Soon after, he began to shovel them into his mouth, not even bothering with the knife. He ate the entire plate, drank the milk too, before laying back down. "... Thanks."

Nico shrugged. "Well, I did feed from you, it's the least I could do." He picked up the empty tray. "Do... You have anywhere to be? I could drop you off if you want." He knew the answer would probably be no, but he wanted to make sure he wasn't stealing him away from any family.

Leo sighed. "... No."

Nico nodded somberly. Just as he'd suspected. "In that case, you're welcome to stay here as long as you need, and if you want me to buy you some new clothes, just let me know."

Leo smiled, hugging the pillow as he closed his eyes. "You're a life saver, man."

Nico watched Leo drift back off, looking totally blissed out. It must've been so long since he'd slept in a bed.

He went back out to the kitchen and dumped the dirty dishes in the sink, before laying down on the couch to sleep.

[meetmyothersouls]

It's Not You, It's Me

Part 12

Warnings: recovering from an accident, bruising, wedding, braxton hicks/contractions, violence/violent situations, a single gun (not used), feelings of dread and sadness, this is quite long so, please bare with me. Not proof read

What should have been a weeklong hospital stay, turned into two, then three, then before you knew it, Timothee had been in the hospital for a month. During yours and Timothee's stay, there was an interesting new development in your pregnancy: Braxon Hicks contractions. The first time you had one you thought for sure you were going into labor, luckily the hospital Timothee was staying at was the same hospital your OBGYN was at and the same hospital you were delivering in. So, your doctor saw you every time you had one, "just to make sure," you told them. By the time, Timothee was released, and a quick wedding ceremony was in order, you were eight months and a week pregnant, feeling like you were about to burst at the seams.

The week that Timothee was released from the hospital was exponentially busy, filled with dress fittings (your least favorite part considering), physical therapy for Timothee, somehow getting a church on board for a last-minute wedding, finding an ordained minister (which ultimately did not work out. Luckily, Timothee's best friend Stephane went the extra mile and spent the week getting ordained) and finally (and almost forgotten) obtaining a marriage license. Nicole took the matter of guest list, invitations, decorations and food into her own hands.

The night before the wedding, Timothee seemed distracted. He paced the floor of your shared apartment, biting his fingernails. He hissed in pain as he bit one down too far, drawing blood. The sight brought on one of the fake contractions. You winced a little as you got up, walking them off seemed to help.

"What's goin' on, Tim?" You asked, walking over to him. "Not getting cold feet, are you?" You asked, mostly joking.

Timothee quickly turned his neck to look at you, wincing in pain from the movement. A lot was still difficult for him, and it worried you to no end. "Of course not!" Timothee smiled, the bruising around his eyes and faded into a nasty yellow color, but somehow, he still managed to look insanely attractive. "I should be asking you that, you know? The one who always runs off." Immediately your faced dropped and Timothee quickly added, "I'm kidding. I'm kidding! No, really, everything's great, y/n. We're getting married tomorrow, our daughter's gonna be here any day now. What more could I want?"

You winced again at a second false alarm contraction and Timothee put a hand on your belly and ran the other through his hair. It was something he did when he was nervous. Then, his index finger went back into his mouth as he chomped on the already torn fingernail. You chalked it up to last minute jitters as you closed your eyes.

"We don't have to do this, you know?" He said quietly.

Your eyes popped open and you pulled his other hand into yours, hoping to minimize the torture he was putting his fingers through.

"I know, but a ceremony is important and I think your mom would flip if we didn't have one."

"I know, but-" Timothee slid his hands out of yours and went back to pacing the floor. He'd mellowed out a lot since the beginning of all this. And the accident left him a little fragile. Secretly, you hoped he'd get back to his normal devious self. Maybe after the wedding and after the baby was born, he'd settle back down.

"But....?"

"But," Timothee sighed, launching back into a pace. "I'm just freaking out. And probably over nothing. It's stupid. Forget it."

You rolled your eyes. "No. Fuck that. You can't just say that and then tell me to forget about it. What's going on, Timmy? Tell me."

You waddled over to him, hoping it looked like anything other than a waddle. You stopped him mid pace, pulling his hand from his mouth and took it in yours. His other hand went to your cheek as he brushed strand of hair behind your ear. He sighed again.

"Just tell me, baby," you urged him gently.

"I'm just waiting for something to happen. Something to go wrong."

His anxiety was talking again, and you were getting better and better and calming his rising panic. You'd been talking him off the ledge a lot lately. Sometimes were easier than others. You weren't sure how this one was going to go.

"Nothing's going to happen, Timothee. We're going to get married and then hopefully have this baby, like, two seconds after," you laughed. It was getting hard to breathe with how the baby was positioned.

He nodded, smiling as he took your face in his hands and kissed your lips tenderly before building up to a deeper, more passionate kiss.

"Let's go to bed," he said against your mouth. "Tonight's the last night I get to have sex with you as y/f/n y/l/n."

The next morning came early. Timothee had physical therapy that morning, so Nicole picked you up to begin getting you ready for your wedding. You couldn't believe it was happening. Your wedding. You were marrying Timothee Chalamet.

Nicole stood behind you as she zipped your dress up. Your hair was done, your make up was perfect and the dress, though heavily modified due to your pregnant belly, fit you like a glove and was somehow not the least bit uncomfortable. You looked beautiful and that was something you never considered yourself. Your eyes glistened a little as tears built up.

"Oh, honey," Nicole said, leading over to grab a few tissues. She handed them to you over your shoulder and you patted your eyes, careful to not smudge your perfect eyeliner.

"I'm sorry your parents couldn't make it here, sweety, but I just want you to know that long before today, I already considered you a daughter."

"Make that both of us" Timothee's dad, Marc, said from behind you. He must've snuck in without you noticing, which wouldn't be hard to do considering how much was on your mind. He looked quite handsome in his tuxedo with light blue accents. "Y/n, I'm not sure if you've given it any thought...and there's no pressure at all of course, but...if you want, I'd love to be the one to walk you down the aisle today."

Tears immediately welled up in your eyes, which prompted Nicole to grab more tissues. This time, she dabbed your eyes for you.

"I'd love that thank you, Mr. Chalamet. Or...should I call you Dad now?" You chuckled but cringed at your awakardness.

But marc offered you a genuine smile and his arm and said, "I'd be disappointed if you didn't."

Timothee's POV

I stood at the altar, my hands a sweaty mess. Normally, Y/n wouldn't want a big ceremony, and I knew she was doing it for everyone but her. That's one of the reasons I fell in love her. Her selflessness.

I'm lost in thought as the music begins playing and the groomsmen with the bridesmaids began to walk down the aisle and joined me on stage. Part of me, unfortunately, worried about her not showing, but these thoughts are instantly put at ease when the music changed and my dad brought Y/n out, his arm interlocked with hers.

Everything stopped and there was only her. She looked...beautiful. Pregnancy certainly made her glow like an angle sent straight from heaven, just for me. My eyes began to fill with tears and I didn't even try to keep them from falling. I wiped my eyes with one hand, keeping the other one behind my back, shaking like a leaf. Her dress, which she was so worried about made her look even more angelic. The fabric fell off of her shoulders, exposing my favorite spots to kiss, and draped down her arms. Lace covered the plunging neck line, a modification Y/n added to not show so much skin. A satin tie gathered perfectly around her waist, showing off a perfectly round baby bump. Then it hit me. Both of my girls were here on my wedding day.

And then, we locked eyes and she waved at me. Wiggling her delicate little fingers, in my direction. I couldn't help but chuckle. My dad helped her up the three steps. Words were spoken, but I didn't hear a damn on of them. Y/n hugged my dad before he joined my mother in the front row.

Stephane greeted the guests, speaking eloquently I'm sure, but all I could see, all I could hear, all I could think of was her. The day I'd waited for, since I saw her in that coffee shop so long ago, was here.

It must've been time for vows, because Y/n cleared her throat and said my name. Her eyes were glossy as she spoke.

"Timothee, my love, my world, my everything. We've been through a hell of a lot together, haven't we?" She chuckled and sniffled a little, and I reached out to grab one of her hands, rubbing an encouraging thumb over her fingers. "There have been moments in my life, where I didn't think I had a purpose, a reason. But then you came along, and you gave me two." She placed a hand on her belly, and she gripped mine tighter. "I never thought I'd get married, and I definitely never thought I'd have one these." The guests laughed and so did I. "But I'm so happy, Timothee. I'm so happy that I get to spend forever with the two of you. I love you," she said to me, her voice going a bit higher in pitch as it did when she was about to cry. "And I will never run from that. I promise.

Reader's POV

You breathed a deep sigh of relief as you finished your vows. You decided that you weren't going to write anything down. You were going to speak directly from your heart. You laid it all out for him in a way you hadn't ever before. And Timothee looked at you, happy tears welling up in his still bruised eyes.

Timothee opened his mouth to speak, but smiled instead, as if gathering words to say.

"I'm not as poetic as my beautiful bride here," he started, and you rolled your eyes knowing very well how eloquent he was when he spoke. Still, the small crowd of maybe 100 guests laughed. "So, I had to write mine down." Timothee reached a hand into his pocked, fishing for his vows. He finally pulled out a folded white sheet of paper. It appeared wrinkled and worn, like it was folded and unfolded countless times over numerous days as he worked out his feelings onto paper.

"Y/n," Timothee said, "I-" he cut himself off with a short, shaky breath and a light emotional sob. It was your turn to comfort him, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles. He looked up at you and pulled his lips in to form a smile one does to push back a lump forming in their throat. He was trying so hard not to cry.

I love you. You mouthed.

"I love you too," he whispered back. He huffed out a breath and refocused. "I wrote this a week after I met you and-"

Timothee stopped again, cut off by something different this time. He turned his head to someone in the audience, someone that caught his attention. Instantly his face changed. Your smile dropped from your face and your snapped your neck in the direction he was looking in. Your stomach tightened, contracting again at the sight of the man standing in the back of the crowd. He entered quietly, Timothee must have seen him out of his peripheral vision, there was no sound upon his entrance; even the large church doors didn't make a sound. But a man that you knew from long ago stood in the threshold and his presence was just as menacing as you remembered.

"No," you whispered. "No. No. No."

The two of you, seconds ago standing in front of each other, holding hands, exchanging vows, shifted to face the man at the door. His face was twisted in an ominous smirk, making his dark eyes appear evil. His hair, as black as night, was styled as perfectly as it was the day you left him and decided to erase him from your life. But now, here he was and by his looks, he was here to ruin it.

"Y/n," Timothee said, not taking his eyes off of the wedding crasher. "Who is that."

You wish he hadn't have asked that. Because saying his name out loud would acknowledge that fact that somehow, he reentered your life. You spent so long trying to forget him, to repress him from your memory. But of course Timothee would ask. Why wouldn't he? You never spoke about Jacob. Not after what he did.

"His name is Jacob, you said. "And he's my ex-fiancé."

Timothee's grip on your hand tightened to the point of pain and the muscle in his jaw strained as he worked it. "For now," he sighed, as if he knew this would happen. You thought of what he said the night before. I'm just waiting for something to happen. Something to go wrong. And here it was. "We're going to skip over the fact that you've never mentioned this to me and figure out what the fuck is going on."

Jacob looked around the church, an obnoxious fake look of awe plastered to his face. He clapped his hands in mocked amusement and then held them out to both of you as he took slow, but deliberate steps towards the front of the church. "Oh, I hope I'm not too late. Y/n, I missed your invite, but you know I'd find you eventually." Jacob grabbed a wine glass from a woman's hand and downed the entire thing in a single gulp. He looked at Stephane. "Is it too late to object this shit show?"

Stephane stepped forward, an elegant swagger to him even in the most awkward situations. "With all due respect, uhm, sir," he added in disgust, "objections are reserved for legal matters only, emotional reasonings are not valid for objections. So, unless your objection is of legal stature, we won't be stopping the wedding."

Timothee pulled you closer to his body as Jacob pursed his lips in thought. Another fake contraction tightened around your belly, this time building in intensity. This time, a wince was hard to hide. Your hand went to your belly and your breathed out a big puff of air.

"Are you okay," Timothee whispered over his shoulder.

"Yeah. Yeah. Braxton Hicks," you reminded him.

"Oh for the love of God, Y/n. Really? Pregnant at your own wedding? I know you're trash but this," he held out his hands as if showing you to a crowd gathered to see a freakshow at a circus. "This is next level!" Jacob laughed in disbelief.

"Hey, man. Get the fuck out. You weren't invited and this is a private event. You've said what you needed to say. And whatever the hell went on between you two is clearly over. She doesn't want you. And no one wants you here right n ow. Leave. That's the last time I'll ask.

Jacob's lips pulled into a sadistic smirk again, and a sinister laugh vibrated in his throat. The guests looked horrified and a few of them already picked up their bags and walked out.

"Jacob, please. You're ruining my wedding day." Just like he ruined your life.

"Your wedding day?" He laughed out loud. "This was supposed to be OUR wedding day, y/n. Remember all the plans we made? All the things we did together, all the memories we made together? ALL THE LOVE WE MADE?!"

"Stop."

"You can't just throw that away."

"Stop it, Jacob."

"But you did. Didn't you? You threw it all away. You threw us away, y/n. Just like you threw me in prison!"

"BECAUSE YOU KILLED MY FAMILY!" You screamed. The remaining guests gasped, and Timothee's head snapped to you. You didn't tell him this. You didn't tell anyone anything. You couldn't. As soon as Jacob went to prison, you entered the witness protection program. You started over. You weren't sure how Jacob found you. How he was out of prison.

The rest of the guests were leaving the church in hoards at your outburst. Stephane still stood behind Timothee. You saw Larry hiding out in the corner. He'd have you if you needed and if god forbid anything happned to-

Jacob pulled his hand he'd been keeping in his pocket, revealing a heavy black handgun. Anyone left in the church aside from Stephane and Larry had fled. And Jacob began walking causally around the pews, waving the gun around as he talked.

"You know, I've had years to think about how this would all go down. Because I knew you'd change your name. I knew you'd move and hide. And lemme tell ya, you were a tricky one to find," he shook the gun at you as talked, "They did good with you."

Jacob pointed the gun in your direction, and instantly Timothee opened his mouth to speak.

"Ah, Ah," Jacob said, moving his aim to Timothee. Timothee made sure you were behind him, assuring that if Jacob pulled the trigger, it'd be him that he shot. Another shooting pain rippled through your abdomen, this time your knees buckled a little and it took everything in you not to fall to them. You gripped the back of Timothee's tux, but he didn't seem to notice. Stephane placed one hand on your back, rubbing soothing circles and the other hand on Timothee's shoulder.

"If you can't tell," Jacob started back up when he was sure Timothee was done interrupting. "I'm calling this wedding off. She's not marrying you." He emphasized the word 'you' with evident disgust.

"We're already married," Timothee blurted out. If there were still guests in the room, you were sure his declaration would have resulted in more gasps. Jacob stopped walking and lowered his gun. Taking his chance, Timothee started up again. "About a month ago, I was in a pretty bad accident. We decided that as soon as I was out we'd get married. But we couldn't wait. We got married in my hospital room and didn't tell anyone. This ceremony was all for show and formalities. Y/n is already my wife."

Jacob took in what Timothee had to say and for a second you were hopeful. Your stomach tightened again, and you couldn't suppress the groan of pain you let out.

"Y/n," Timothee said.

"I'm fine," you assured him, even though you felt like vomitting. You started to wonder if these were real contractions. "I'm fine," you said again, unaware of who you were trying to convince.

You gathered yourself enough to stand up straight, thought the pressure building between your legs was starting to increase and became more obvious than it had in the last few weeks. Your eyes found Jacob again, standing right in front of the stairs leading up to the stage.

"No matter," he shrugged and pointed the gun. That's when you felt it, like a water balloon from inside of you bursting. Fluid rain down your legs and onto the stage. If Timothee saw it, he didn't make it known.

"Tim," you whispered. "Tim my water broke." It came out like a sob.

Timothee gripped your wrist tight, you already felt bruises forming. He didn't say anything, he only stood his ground in front of you, his body as still as any statue. Stephane took his place at his side, increasing your shield from Jacob.

Jacob let out a laugh that echoed and bounced off of the walls of the empty church. "Oh no, you don't understand, you stupid fucks! I don't want her. Why would I kill the one I want? No. I'm coming after you."

"Ahh, fuck!" You screamed as another contraction rippled through your stomach. It was unlike any pain you'd ever felt, like your insides being twisted and ripped out. Your stomach tightened so intensely you couldn't move. The only relief was that it wasn't constant. You prayed they were far apart enough to finish whatever this was.

"If she won't come with me...I'll make her a widow. She's so pathetic, she'll come crawling right back to me. Now, come on," Jacob said, waving the gun towards himself, motioning Timothee to follow, but Timothee stood still, completely unmoving. It wasn't until Jacob was halfway to the door, that he realized Timothee wasn't following. Jacob stompped back over, clearly annoyed, not stopping until he was directly in front of Timothee, his nose practically touching Tim's.

"You better learn how to follow directions, pretty boy."

"Fuck you," Timothee spat.

"You want me to kill you in front of your widow?"

Timothee didn't answer.

Behind him, you screamed as another contraction reared its ugly head.

"Y/n," Timothee said, slowing turning around with up turned palms, assuring Jacob he wasn't going to run off or do anything slick. "Y/n, listen to me."

"No. No. Nononono. No I can't do this. I can't. Do go. Don't go with him. Please. I need you, Timothee."

"I know. I know my love. Listen. Listen to me."

You made yourself look at him, and regretted it instantly. You'd seen Timothee in a thousand different ways, but you'd never seen him as broken as this.

"You get to the hospital. Okay? You have our baby and when she's here, you tell her how much I love her and you make sure you tell her that for me every day until you grow old and gray. Until you don't have the strength to say it anymore. But please. Please know that for every ounce of love I have for her-" his hand went to your belly, and you sobbed loudly. "Is nothing compared to how fiercely I loved you."

Loved.

"No! No I'm not going. I'm not leaving you, you can't make me Timothee, please."

"LET'S GO!" Jacob screamed.

"Just give me a fuckin minute!" Timothee yelled, tears rolling down his face.

"I love you, y/n. Don't you ever fucking forget that."

Timothee grabbed your face tightly in his hands and kissed you. Normally, you'd love a kiss that deep and passionate. It was one of those kisses that Timothee put his entire heart into. His tongue wrapped around yours. His taste in your mouth. His lips skating gracefully around yours, even with how rushed it was. The soft noise he made while he kissed you that he didn't even realize he was doing but he did because his entire soul was in the kiss. But right now, you hated it. You hated it because he was kissing you like it was his last. And for all you knew, it was. 

Tags: @dayafied @soulofendlessbook @fashphotolife @scentedkittenperfection @weasleytwinscumslut @timotheel0ver @mxciscastleintheair @marvelmaniac2000 @lovelyrocker @divine-1 @love-poems-only @starberry-cake @inlovewithphantasy @alexagirlie @misswestfall @softhecreator @livresjaunes @timmymyluv @inannamoon @harrys-thick-thighs @s-we-e-t-t-ea @timolaurence @its-schmackin-dude @justagirlwhoneedshelp @kteezy997 @sufferingstarlight @xoxoloverb @tropicalrozmajzl @iloveneilperry @syirnge @patronsaintofthetwinks @rosewatergroupie @onlyenoughiamweird

#timothee chalamet #timothée chalamet #writing #timothee chalamet x reader #timothee chalamet x you #timothee blurb #timothee chalamet imagine #timmy chalamet #it’s not you it’s me #dark!timothee

[good-cop-bad-cop]

I am a sucker for sick fics.

How would being down with a cold/flu affect GCBC? Would they even share the cold? Tolerate it better than the other? How pathetic would they be? How would they take care of themselves!?? Everybody else realizing their sick and reacting to it... I like self-care and

Bad Cop peeled his eyes open. Their room was brightly lit by late-morning sun, telling him that they had overslept so late their alarm clock had long since given up on any attempts to wake them. He let out a groan as his eyes fell closed once more. Business was going to be pissed that they took so long to call out. He groped the night table for their phone and tapped out a barely comprehensible text explaining they were sick before sending it off to their boss, and then proceeded to drop the phone on the floor.

Every inch of their body ached, their energy completely sapped by their body's fight against the fever they undoubtedly had. Bad was glad he'd used the last of their spoons to make that chicken noodle soup last night before they crashed; there was no way he would manage it now.

He let out a groan of dismay when his stomach churned at the thought of food. Crap. He'd forgotten ginger ale... The churning became more urgent and he threw himself out of bed.

Emmet frowned to himself as the minutes ticked by and there still was no sign of the Cops. Not that they ever really spoke to each other when they were in the same area, but Emmet had noticed they were men of routine almost as much as he was himself, and normally they would be here for their lunch break about now.

"Is something the matter?" Lucy asked before taking a bite out of her sandwich.

"Good Cop and Bad Cop are usually here for their lunch break by now."

"And?" Lucy frowned at him. "What do you care? It's not like they even talk to anyone."

"Probably because nobody talks to them." Benny pointed out. Lucy rolled her eyes. "Maybe they decided they were in the mood for something else today? There's enough other places to go eat."

"Maybe; I don't know..." Emmet murmured. "Something just feels off about it to me. I ALWAYS see them here."

"Let's go see if they're home then." Benny suggested.

"But I don't know where they live?"

"Don't worry. I do."

They grabbed their lunch to go, and Benny directed Emmet to the apartment building where the Cops lived. They took the elevator up to the correct floor, and Benny knocked on the door. It was almost a full minute before they heard heavy footsteps approaching.

"Wow. You look like crap." Lucy said when the door opened. Bad Cop scowled at her.

"Really? Cause I feel fresh as a daisy. What are you all doing here."

"We didn't see you at the usual lunch spot, so I got a bit... concerned." Emmet admitted. Bad Cop blinked in surprise.

"You actually paid enough attention to notice?"

"Well, yeah! What else am I supposed to do, just completely ignore your existence?" Bad Cop stared at him. Emmet stared back. "...Oh. Well I'm not going to do that."

"I can see that." Bad Cop muttered. He then cursed and hurried back further into the apartment. Emmet clapped a hand over his mouth and turned green when the ensuing sounds reached his ears.

Benny winced. "Yeah, that sounds bad... Uh. Maybe you guys should go? I doubt they'll want to be crowded, and there's no sense risking all three of us catching it."

"What are you going to do?" Lucy asked.

"Help them out, if they'll let me. Being sick by yourself sucks."

"But don't you have to get back to work too?" Emmet managed to get out.

"Eh." Benny waved him off. "I set my own schedule. It's fine." Emmet accepted that answer and hurried away, Lucy following close behind. Benny let himself in and looked around to see what they already had on hand. A bottle of ibuprofen sat on the kitchen counter, and a peek in the fridge revealed a large bowl of homemade soup, but there was no sign of anything ginger to be found. He did eventually find a box of mint tea buried in a cupboard though, and hummed to himself. That would probably help. He brewed a cup and waited for them to come back out of the bathroom.

Good Cop seemed surprised to see him still there when they emerged a few minutes later. "You're still here?"

Benny shrugged and held the mug out to them. "I know what it's like having to take care of yourself when you're sick. Thought I'd give you a hand, if you don't mind."

"Oh." Good Cop automatically accepted the tea and took a sip, relaxing as it did help to soothe their stomach a little. "That's... Thank you."

Benny smiled. "What are friends for?"

#requests #fiction

[allthelittlecreepycrawlies]

For Day 6: how about a role swap au where NHS is a Jin bastard and JGY is a Nie? I feel like that could encompass many of the prompts.

I hope you feel better soon! Please take it easy, we'll still be here later. ❤️

Blanking out the mocking laughter as best he could, A-Sang quietly knelt down and pulled the rag from his belt to clean the food off the floor and collect the scattered golden dishes, inwardly hoping none of them were dented.

He still had bruises from the last time.

"Hey, brat, you forgot a cup," one of the disciples said, and experience made him immediately close his eyes to keep from getting wine in them when the cup was slapped upside down onto his head, earning more raucous laughter.

He took a shallow breath and let it back out; if he started coughing now, things would get worse before they got better.

"Now, now," a hatedly familiar voice said in all fake kindness as an equally hated large hand clapped down on the back of his neck with enough force that he almost started coughing anyway. "It's not the little cousin's fault he's so clumsy. If his mother had been from better stock-"

He didn't hear the rest of it over the wheeze in his chest and the humming that was building up in his ears.

It didn't matter whether he heard it or not anyway; the insults were always the same.

When he came back to himself, they had, to his relief, gotten bored of him and moved on to more entertaining things. Picking up the tray of dishes and sticking the filthy rag back in his belt to be exchanged at the kitchen, he made his escape.

Where he was reasonably sure most sects would probably pretend to treat their servants better when they had guests to impress, the inner disciples of his sect always made a point to spend the first day of any multi-day meeting reminding him just how low in the pecking order he was, lest he get any wild ideas like, say, talking to any of the guests.

As if he'd ever dare.

Gaze locked on the ground in front of him so that his hair hid his eyes from outside view, he turned a corner towards the kitchen, only to unexpectedly smack into someone.

Stumbling slightly, he tried to rebalance the tray before the couple of dishes that weren't-quite-empty could topple off, only to freeze in horror when they spilled on the other person's boots and the hems of their robes.

---

Nie Xunyao really hated visiting Koi Tower, and had since the first time he'd been brought along with his father and Da-ge. Everything about the place made his back teeth itch with the urge to bite the inside of his cheek, a bad habit he would have almost managed to give up just in time for another visit.

The only remotely tolerable thing about being stuck in this den of pompous assholes was Jin Zixuan, who at least tried to be sociable with him, and whose inability to do so managed to be endearing instead of annoying.

But Jin Zixuan had been dragged off by his mother for only the heavens knew what -probably so she'd have someone to complain about his father to again, given past experience- which had left him to make his way back to his guest room to bury himself in one of the books he'd brought along to stave off boredom until his brother called for him to come to the next meeting.

He'd been so lost in his annoyance that he hadn't heard someone coming from the hall crossways to the one he was traveling until they collided at the corner, a bowl and several other overly-opulent dishes tumbling from the servant's tray to crash loudly to the floor, splattering his clothes in the process.

The servant went statue-still, then dropped to his knees with a hiss of alarm and pressed his face to the floor.

"T-this one is sorry, gongzi! Please allow-"

Recovering his wits, Nie Xunyao crouched to pat the poor thing on the back before he could truly work himself into a panic.

"It's fine, it's fine, no harm done," he said soothingly, then involuntarily wrinkled his nose when his hand accidentally brushed the servant's messy hair and found it sticky and wet. Drawing his hand back, he surreptitiously waved it close to his face and caught the unmistakeable scent of plum wine.

Ah. Small wonder he was such a nervous wreck, if he'd already encountered such a punishment so recently.

Another reason he hated this place. True, servants were sometimes punished at home, but never for something so petty, and an honest mistake at that.

"Hey, come on now," he coaxed, drawing the servant out of his kowtow and up onto his knees proper. "It was an accident, nothing more. Nobody even has to know."

The servant, still visibly shaken, raised his head a little bit more.

Enough that Nie Xunyao could see the gold of his eyes through gaps in the raggedy curtain of hair.

He managed not to let his emotions show on his face, but inwardly, he was cursing.

One of the byblows.

Suddenly, everything about the servant's... everything was painfully clear.

Jin Guangshan's less than savory dalliances outside of his marriage, especially with servants or other lower class girls who couldn't exactly tell him no, was an open secret among the sect families. His brother -and his father, when he'd still been around- had spoken of the issue with disgust more than once, and while he'd kept his opinions to himself, he agreed.

There'd been rumors that some of the girls who'd gotten pregnant and hadn't managed to terminate in time had been forced to let the babies be taken and raised as future servants, so that their 'gracious' father could keep tabs on them.

He'd never asked Jin Zixuan about it, knowing he had enough to deal with from his father already.

But here, now-

The servant started to fidget, looking like he was about to grab the dishes and flee.

"Hold still for me for just a second?" Nie Xunyao asked.

The other boy -now that he was really looking, they didn't seem all that different in age or size, other than the fact that the servant was clearly underfed- flinched, but did as told.

Taking a handkerchief out of his sleeve, Nie Xunyao carefully tried to clean away some of the sticky wine, sweeping the servant's hair out of his face in the process.

His lip had a visible split, and there were deep shadows under his eyes, and his cheeks were a little gaunt, but he was still surprisingly pretty.

He flinched again when the cloth went near his left eye, and Nie Xunyao could see some faint bruising along with the exhaustion bags.

He pressed his lips thin, then smiled disarmingly. "Why don't you come with me to get cleaned up, hm?"

"Th- this one would not dare to-"

"What's your name?"

The servant blinked at him in wide-eyed surprise as if he'd grown two heads instead of having asked for something so small... or perhaps not so small to him. How many people actually called him by name here, to get that reaction.

"I- this one is Sang," he mumbled so quietly Nie Xunyao almost couldn't hear him.

"Just 'Sang'? Nothing else?"

A nod.

"...Okay, then, Sang-er. I'll help you get these dishes to the kitchen, then we can both wash up," Nie Xunyao said brightly, pulling back to pick up some of the dropped dishes.

In the corner of his eye, he saw Sang quietly mouth 'Sang-er' to himself, a blush blooming across his nose and cheeks.

He really was cuter than this place deserved, Nie Xunyao thought.

Maybe he'd bring it up with Da-ge after the afternoon's meetings.

#mdzs #sangyao #sangyao week #nie huaisang #jin guangyao #only they're not this time #fanfic

[azudarlings]

azul has a thing where he can't say the words 'i love you,' quite yet to jamil, but he wants to so badly. it's in his voice, when he wishes jamil good-night, in his touch that lingers a bit too long, and surely, it's in his eyes, when he's watching jamil, a soft kind of affection azul doesn't know how to show. but he wants to show it--he wants jamil to know how special he is to azul. he ends up coming up with a solution--when he's sitting with jamil, the two of them sitting by each other as they silently worked on homework, their shoulders practically pressed into each other. they always ended up touching in some way when they're together--despite all of azul's talk and jamil's own words, it seems they were most comfortable when there was nothing said between them. azul and jamil both were people who had always had to hide their emotions, had to put on a facade and bottle everything up--it wouldn't be so easy to pour all his feelings out to jamil, no matter how much jamil wanted him to. (because azul has an aching desire inside of him that wants to be known, he wants to be known. he desperately wants to be able to drop his facades and lies and be vulnerable, let himself go and not have to be terrified if he'll be accepted for the person he actually is. he doesn't have to worry around jamil, he knows he doesn't, but in the back of his mind, something whispers that he isn't good enough, that jamil deserves better, and there's another voice that sounds suspiciously like his love (referring to jamil because azul will refer to jamil as 'my love' to himself) that snaps that if jamil didn't love him, he wouldn't have let azul get close to him at all. if jamil didn't love him, why would he have let azul see his genuine self?) jamil had leaned his head on azul's shoulder, slightly curling into him, and azul decides now is time to use his solution. he taps jamil's thigh thrice, seeing jamil's eyes dart to look at him through the corner of his eye. tap. tap. tap.

i love you. "what?" he asks, and azul swallows. "it means i," he starts, and he realizes he can't say the rest of the sentence--love you. he can't say it, but he wants to so badly, so-- azul scribbles it on a piece of paper and passes it to jamil. it means i love you. he doesn't look at jamil's reaction, too busy trying to ignore the way his heart hammers in his chest, the way his face burns hot and how flustered he probably looks, staring a hole into his textbook but not registering a single word. there's a moment, then jamil's moving a bit and azul feels a touch against his hand. tap, tap, tap. if he wasn't completely red then, he is now, his eyes darting to jamil--he's looking pointedly away from azul, at his own homework, and the faint blush covering his cheeks is enough to make azul relax slightly. he moves his own hand to where jamil's was resting on the floor, and returns the gesture, three quick taps, and quickly goes back to looking at his homework before jamil can turn. he gets another in response. tap, tap, tap. and it becomes something between them--a way to say the words without saying them, an excuse for them to touch each other. tap, tap, tap. when jamil gets the highest score in their entire grade on their assignment. tap, tap, tap. when he mutters a particularly biting comment under his breath, and azul can't happen but to overhear. when they finally make time for each other--just the two of them alone. when the light of the sunset makes jamil look ethereal--though he's anything but fragile.

when he visits mostro lounge just to make azul take a break. when he meets azul's eyes and azul can't help himself. when azul wants to say the words until he can't speak anymore. tap, tap, tap. on his shoulder, his hand, his back, anywhere azul can reach--until jamil does it back too, any moment he gets, a message that only azul gets to hear. they keep doing it to the point where jamil once tapped azul's cheek thrice, some day when he'd gotten up earlier than azul had (as he does everyday) and couldn't help the way his eyes lingered on the way azul looked so peaceful when he slept--on the way he was curled around jamil's arm, on how devastatingly, disastrously beautiful azul was. on how jamil loved him. it was instinct, at his point, when jamil moves his arm to lightly tap azul's cheek thrice. tap, tap, tap. he was not expecting azul to reciprocate the gesture, startling slightly at the responding tap, tap, tap. on his arm. his eyes dart to azul, but he remained asleep, his chest rising and falling peacefully. jamil blinks, dumbfounded, before he huffs out a laugh, something fond in his gaze as he watched azul. tap, tap, tap. he does it again. tap, tap, tap. azul responds.

when he visits mostro lounge just to make azul take a break. when he meets azul's eyes and azul can't help himself. when azul wants to say the words until he can't speak anymore. tap, tap, tap. on his shoulder, his hand, his back, anywhere azul can reach--until jamil does it back too, any moment he gets, a message that only azul gets to hear. they keep doing it to the point where jamil once tapped azul's cheek thrice, some day when he'd gotten up earlier than azul had (as he does everyday) and couldn't help the way his eyes lingered on the way azul looked so peaceful when he slept--on the way he was curled around jamil's arm, on how devastatingly, disastrously beautiful azul was. on how jamil loved him. it was instinct, at his point, when jamil moves his arm to lightly tap azul's cheek thrice. tap, tap, tap. he was not expecting azul to reciprocate the gesture, startling slightly at the responding tap, tap, tap. on his arm. his eyes dart to azul, but he remained asleep, his chest rising and falling peacefully. jamil blinks, dumbfounded, before he huffs out a laugh, something fond in his gaze as he watched azul. tap, tap, tap. he does it again. tap, tap, tap. azul responds.

#hi i love they #this actually killed me bro i jist imagine they dont really say i love you to each other at all before that but once azul tells jamil this #or for no reason at all #and it makes them both feel very very happy and stupidly giddy and it's like they dont have to say it aloud #it's something for just them to understand and NHIDYUGFUYIHEIJOKPE goodbye i am dead deceased they have killed me i am now disintegrating #azujami #jamiazu #jamil viper #azul ashengrotto #azul ashengrotto x jamil viper #octavinelle #scarabia #twisted wonderland headcanons #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twst wonderland

[photographs-and-push-knives]

@lovingmilitarywife

Gracia watched Maes leave, a tired smile on her lips. He really was such a doting husband. Still, left alone, she felt her weariness set in more and let out a heavy breath. She was… tired. And she didn’t feel good. She hated when she was sick. She didn’t like feeling the bone-weary tiredness that came along with it. Gracia was not one for sitting down for long. She didn’t like it when sickness forced that on her. She coughed slightly, and then let out a sigh. Hopefully the medicine would help.

It didn’t take long for Maes to come back, and she thanked him for the items, and listened to him as she took the medicine. Her brows furrowed a bit as he said that he was going to take the next day off.

“Maes, honey, can you afford to do that?” she asked, even as she started changing into her nightgown, too weary at this point to even stand up to do it. She coughed again. “You’ve been so busy lately. Are you sure that’ll be alright?”

She slid her nightgown over her head and tossed her clothes in the floor. She’d deal with them tomorrow. For now, she just wanted to rest, and started to lay back in the bed. “I don’t want you to miss something important.”

Even if she really would appreciate him staying home and helping tomorrow. If she felt as bad tomorrow as she did right now, she’d need the help. She didn’t know if it was finally acknowledging that she wasn’t feeling well, or if it was getting worse, but she definitely didn’t feel well enough to do much of anything.

He was almost shocked Gracia considered even for a moment that he couldn't afford to take off.

Key word being 'almost' - she was always worried like that, probably thanks to the fact he rarely told her a damn thing he was working on.

It was almost always disturbing. Smaller, less-awful cases were passed to his subordinates, which left the almost-cold cases and the more horrific ones up to him and whoever he called on to help him out. He'd become a bit desensitized to it all out of necessity, but still even he was occasionally jarred if something he was investigating was particularly unique or gruesome. And if he was even a small bit shaken, he didn't want to know how upsetting it would be to Gracia. Thus, he spared her details.

That had come back to bite him, it seemed, if Gracia was really asking him that question.

"... Have I made it seem like work is more important than you and Elicia?" he asked, going around the bed and laying on his back next to her. He made no move to take his glasses off or get comfortable yet, a subtle hint that he wasn't ready to drop the subject until he had a clear and honest answer.

#capturing a photo // ic post #thread: gracia's sick #lovingmilitarywife #poor gracia :(