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bindeds · 2 months

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[ BITE ME. ] : 1k words » LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR X FEM READER. — lucifer sees you reading dracula by bram stoker and apparently he thinks it’s one of the best things that came out of giving humans free will. so he indulges in it.

#tags. biting (obviously), vampire teeth, replication of the seductive nature of vampires, suggestive, blood sucking, blood, explicit consent

a/n. thank you so much for 100 followers! i was supposed to disclose what i wanted to do for 100 followers but i promise i pack a lot of punches! stay tuned for that post bc i will be doing a LOT of things for you personally!

mlist. request something! :>

You were completely and utterly trapped in the jaws that belonged to Lucifer Morningstar as he lifted your chin. His eyes dropped to half-mast as your neck had been exposed to him, the clean skin glowed under the odd lighting of the hotel.

“What’s that you’re reading, honey?”

It’s an amazing thing, whatever it is he’s doing to you right now. Forget the heat rising to your cheeks. Forget that you’d complied to the fact that your neck is very vulnerable in the current state he held you in; your delightful book had still been sitting open and comfortable in your lap with your hand still holding onto either side so as not to lose where you left off. And Lucifer …

Well, he kneeled before you on the bed you shared with him, but he most certainly kept that small distance from your book instead of putting it away.

He leaned back a little, and you get a good view of his striped waistcoat and the way it curved around his … well endowed chest.

He grinned. “Dracula. I like that about you.”

“Dracula?” You couldn’t help but let out a breathy chuckle. “You like Dracula about me?”

“Oh but you must know that’s no laughing matter. Dracula … is one of the best things humans have ever done with their free will. Don’t even talk to me about vampires …”

Your breath hitched. His thumb froze where it hovered over your bottom lip.

“Vampires …” he repeated in a mutter, as if to think aloud.

You scrambled to hold up the book where you could see it, seeing as Lucifer still had your jaw held high and to the side. But the way you could barely keep the book from spilling from your hands had been more than enough to give you away. Fuck, in this pathetic state, you should have been the one kneeling.

Lucifer hovered just below your jaw. His lips parted, and you shut your eyes to embrace the sensory input of his touch completely; his breath fanned and spread across your skin like casting a thick fog over an abandoned island.

“Do you want to be bitten, my love?” His lips gave the faintest flicks against your skin as he spoke. “To be tasted?”

“Maybe,” you said, and it was nearly a sigh when the way he held you was a vice. Your blood vessels ached to be invaded, to be cut off course.

“Hmmm?” He dragged out the syllable like the tease he was. Then two ends like daggers poked you, threatening to tear through your surface.

They relented soon enough, gliding down instead of sinking into your skin. Your muscles blew ice cold at the lack of a threat.

“What about now?” Your name reverberated deep in his throat, the sound caressed your ear like the sweet thing you were in Lucifer’s hands.

You knew for a fact that this couldn’t have been real. Either that, or Lucifer had reformed his teeth just for this moment, in which case, the more you thought about it the more it didn’t seem all that surprising, the way he would do anything to get you flustered.

He pressed damp kisses along your jaw and down your neck.

“I could do this aaall day, my doll,” Lucifer hummed lightly. He finally let your chin fall to its natural position, only for your eyes to fall on him. His face.

His teeth.

Sure enough, they had turned a completely straight row from cheek to cheek except for the two pointed canines—they were the only teeth that shone in the light.

“Luci …” you sighed, releasing a breath like it was a prayer.

And Lucifer was listening.

He drew closer to you, his lips inches from your own.

“Your fantasies are mine to fulfill,” Lucifer soothed, his hypnotic voice slithering to your head and plucking every coherent thought you had left. “Anything is yours for the asking, you just name it.”

“Please, bite me,” you found yourself pleading softly. You bit your lip, averting your gaze. That was sudden, even for you; your tongue flicked faster than your brain could react. “I—I need you to bite me.”

“Good girl,” Lucifer beamed as his grin returned to him, and he wasted no time as he ducked down to your neck and planted chaste kisses in a concentrated spot where your jugular sat with anticipation.

You tilted your head to the side to allow him better access, and his hand instinctively supported the side you tilted on. You allowed yourself to rest in the warmth as your shoulders eased up.

“This is going to hurt, but only for a split second,” Lucifer warned in a deep voice. “Then, I will give you nothing but pleasure.”

You gritted your teeth as lightning struck your neck and your hand tightened on his wrist. He stroked his thumb up and down your cheek, and it did well in easing the pain before the dam of rigid pain gave in and pleasure took its place—took all the places.

His tongue lapped at the wound, teeth still anchored in your neck as you felt a bit of yourself, your cells, blood, muscle strength seep out of you steadily. Your head began to spin, but your limbs fell weak at the sensation that had you on the precipice of something you couldn’t name.

Then, his teeth slipped out of your flesh as his tongue took care of the rest—the forked edges covering more ground as if to seal the wound.

“How was that?” Lucifer pulled back immediately, a bright smile incorporated his face as thin trails of blood dripped down to his chin.

Your head had still been knocking against the edges of your skull, but you managed a smile and maybe a bit of a lightheaded chuckle nonetheless. When you readjusted your legs on the bed, trouble swiped cold between your thighs. Oh, well. What were you expecting?

“Kiss me,” you said.

“Sorry?” He asked. “Honey, there’s still blood on my HMMPH—”

You engulfed him in a kiss as you pulled him by the neck and fell back against the bed. He tried to stabilize himself but it didn’t even take another minute more before both of your clothes were as good as trash on the floor.

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angelshimaa · 4 months

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@flying-lamb :: I would like to request shinso with prompt 8 from the under the mistletoe prompt list. congrats on your milestone! <3 thank you so much <3

a/n :: hi darling !! thank you so much for entering (and i loved the details you sent in omg !) and i hope this makes you smile :) gn!reader, a little awkward at the beginning, fluff

event.

you've never regretted where you've stood so deeply before.

then again, it wasn't really your fault. kaminari and ashido had gone overboard with the mistletoe placings— their way of bringing romance into the holiday spirit— and it was inevitable that someone would find themselves under some with another person.

it just had to be you and him, didn't it?

you and shinso are looking at each other, nervousness rising in your chest at your sudden predicament. it's not that you don't want to kiss him— heavens know how badly you've been wanting it— but not like this.

not when the eyes of your friends burn into the two of you like lasers (thanks to kaminari pointing the two of you out), making this feel more nerve-wracking than it needed to be.

“do you want to?” shinso’s voice is lowered, ensuring that only you can hear him. he’s known you long enough to understand the nerves you have based on how you look at him. “you can say no.”

you utter your consent so nobody else can hear, your posture as rigid as a deer caught in headlights. shinso doesn't like the abruptness of this, the nerves bubbling in his stomach or the intensity of everyone watching, but he can't deny he's wanted to kiss you for so long.

the two of you don't even manage that— your noses bump into each other and the embarrassment shoots through you at the speed of light. it's hard to even look at him properly, settling to lower your eyes to the ground, imagining it opening up to swallow you whole.

shinso tells kaminari there's nothing to be seen here, indirectly informing your audience too. thankfully, it comes off casual, not sounding as awkward as your almost kiss felt to you.

when everyone focuses on whatever they had their eyes on before, you recover as best as you can, trying to force your embarrassment to the back of your mind. you're thankful shinso doesn't make a big deal out of it, and you find that you manage to recover quick enough to enjoy the rest of the party.

— ✧ —

“you make some good coffee,” shinso holds onto his cup, his fingers curling around it so as to absorb as much heat as possible. it's really not needed; your home is the perfect toasty protection from the crisp cold you endured on the walk here from the party. “can’t believe you'd hide that from me.”

you take a sip of your own beverage and grin against your cup. “maybe you should come by more often then, you addict.” nobody drank coffee quite like shinso. you've watched him inhale it like oxygen he's been deprived of— it disappears like he’s performing a magic trick.

“don’t tempt me, i just might.” his lazy grin spreads across his face and oh does it look so good on him. you think it's rather unfair how well he pulls off his eyebags and messy hair— he's not even trying.

“i’m counting on it.”

the silence swells and you trail back to the awkwardness that took place a few hours ago; you want to kick yourself for not tilting your head the other way. had you done exactly that, you'd be a kissed person now— kissed by the guy you've been crushing on for a while.

“listen, y/n—” he clears his throat, setting his coffee down onto the table. “i feel like i should apologise for... earlier. i didn't mean to make it all awkward.”

you laugh lightly, setting your own cup to direct all your attention onto him. you lock eyes with him, realising that actually, you'd give him your attention anytime he asked.

“no need to apologise, hitoshi. if anything, i wasn't really... present much. i was a little frozen in place— so many eyes can do that to a person.”

a beat passes and all you do is look at each other while shinso thinks of what to say next.

“so, it wasn't that you didn't want me to kiss you?” he's found his next sentence and it tumbles out of him with ease. his eyes look alluring, inviting even, and you can never get over the feeling they settle into you. you haven't called it by it’s name aloud, but you don't need to.

“hmm,” you pretend to think about it, tapping your finger against your chin. “i don't think so, no.” you hope this is going in the direction you think it is, that he's picking up whatever hint you think you're dropping.

“so, would i be right in guessing that you’d like to try again?” it's a carefully chosen suggestion, uttered with a lower, slightly hesitant voice. shinso feels as though he might be pressing, but surely if he was and if you minded, you'd let him know.

“maybe if you ask nicely.” the way your slow grin spreads across your lips after your words has his eyes widening slightly, erasing any worries he had previously. you want him to want you. you want him to ask for you.

“making me work for it, hm?” shinso returns your grin with that lazy one that sends you loopy whenever you find yourself thinking about it. taking your bait and running with it, he leans in closer to you. “alright.”

you've never seen a lovelier colour than the purple of his irises. “could i try to kiss you again, beautiful?” those eyes, framed by his eyebags, could melt anything they land on, and you were currently their main focus. he's hooked on the way everything else seems to slow around him, hooked on that gentle smile of yours.

“i don't see why not.”

it's all shinso needs before he comes in even closer, breathing in slightly before pressing his lips against yours. you instantly melt into the feel of him, trying to focus on the rhythm and not his hand coming up to rest on your lower thigh, finding a home against it.

you note the faint taste of coffee and the softness of his lips while your hand brushes up his neck to cup his face, not knowing how every inch of skin you touch feels warmer when you leave it behind.

your hearts are left thumping hard when you pull away, lungs taking in air throughout your shallow breathing. you look even more magical to him than you ever have, a feat he didn't think was even possible.

“that was much, much better.” he lets out a breathy chuckle and it only provides the butterflies fluttering in your stomach with more energy.

you smile, nodding a little. “way better. maybe third time's the charm—”

shinso’s kissing you again, and it's everything you both hoped it would be. it's private and so perfect that way, like a little joy you both keep for yourselves. his mouth on yours feels so right, and you don't think either of you will be leaving this couch anytime soon.

✧ — thank you for reading !! rbs and feedback are greatly appreciated <3

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nymphiria · 2 years

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BUNNY G!RL

☰ BUNNY HYBRID GF — GENSHIN IMPACT

ಇ feat: tighnari, dottore, pierro, scaramouche

— cw: bunny!fem!reader, biting, experimentation, sex toys, predator-prey kink, degradation, praise, pet nicknames (darling, angel, etc), use of clones, rough sex, ear & tail pulling, breeding kink, pussy eating, knotting mention, dry humping, somnophilia, scaramouche being a hypocrite, MDNI 18+

ᨳ TIGHNARI

it’s a miracle how tighnari hasn’t taken a bite out of you with the way he stares you down on the regular. the look that he gives you is nothing short of a predator watching it’s prey. tighnari can’t help it, though. even while you’re doing everyday tasks, you just look so fuckable — something vulnerable for him to have his way with. it definitely doesn’t help his case when your cute ears and tail trigger his fox instincts like nothing else.

as head forest ranger, it’s his job to form the patrol schedules (including patrol pairings). fortunately for tighnari, the only partner you’ve ever been paired with is him. he prefers for the both of you to take the night shift and deceives the other rangers into believing he’s doing it so that they can get some sleep — the caring smile he’s giving them masking his true intentions.

patrolling the forest at night gives him the perfect opportunity to really act on his dark, perverted fantasies in a way that is virtually impossible in the light of day. with the luminescence of the moon being your only lighting, your mind races with fear as you sprint through the avidya forest as fast as you can. the only word of warning that tighnari gives you is “run” before he’s retreating into the darker part of the forest. although you can’t see him, you know that he’s watching you — much closer than he leads you to believe.

it isn’t long before the thrill of the chase wears off and he wants his prey right there in that moment. when your front hits the bottom of the forest floor, he has his teeth on your neck and his hard cock rutting into your ass. there’s no point in reasoning with him at this point — he’s a feral animal.

“sit fucking still. you’re not leaving until you’ve taken my knot.”

ᨳ DOTTORE

you are by far dottore’s favorite “patient”, always so eager to please and willing to do whatever tests he comes up with for the day. each morning when he comes to collect you, you always greet him with a chirpy “good morning, doctor!” that makes him blush harder than he would like to admit. his other test subjects don’t even dare to look at him without permission. but you? you’ll be bouncing up from your plush bed to cling to him like a lost puppy. his subordinates never dare to question why your room is more lavish than the other subjects, because who are they to question the harbinger?

dottore’s obsession with your ears and tail comes second to none. even he finds it a little grimy how his cock instantly hardens at the thought of stroking your cute, cotton puff. while he takes your temperature or inspects your mouth, he always finds himself absentmindedly caressing your soft ears — a habit he should’ve broken so he didn’t get attached to you, but it’s too late now. his favorite, though, is tugging on your fluffy tail while his face his buried in your pussy. while he’s busy eating you out like a man starved, his diligent fingers are massaging and pulling on the soft appendage just to make your moans even whinier.

the only thing that intrigues dottore more than your cute hybrid appearance is your heat cycles. oh, gods, does he love them so fucking much. usually you’re too shy to ask him to fuck you because it’s “too embarrassing” or whatever. but when your mind is hazy and your pussy’s aching? you’re begging for cock every time he turns around. when you’re in this state, you’ll let him do virtually anything he wants.

if he’s feeling cruel, he’ll make you ride a glass dildo that’s just small enough to where you’re not satisfied. if you’re good like you usually are, he’ll lay you back on your velvety bed and fill you with his cum for hours on end. once his balls are drained and you’re still clinging to him for more, he’ll have one of his clones take his place — swapping them out until his bunny is properly bred.

“you’ll get your fill. now stop squirming and be patient, darling.”

ᨳ PIERRO

pierro likes for you to be docile — an obedient doll that acts proper and ladylike to please her lover. on any ordinary day, he quite enjoys taking you with him for a simple stroll or to sit quietly in his office as he works. but the ordinary days never last forever, especially when your heat comes in full force to disrupt the peace. you, previously so shy around him, are now a feral creature with only filthy urges plaguing your mind. it’s a complete one-eighty compared to your normal self — it sort of scares him.

sex is no stranger to pierro. though he prefers more romantic acts of love, he can never find it in him to refuse himself once he sees you dressed so prettily in your layered dresses. in fact, he would say that he quite enjoys seeing you in such a debauched state. but every day? almost every two hours? he’s a busy man, constantly tired due to his work, and his body can’t keep up.

if pierro is too consumed with his work to visit your chambers, you gladly take the opportunity to sit on his lap to get yourself off against his bulge. god help him when he actually comes to your bedroom — your heightened libido has him knocked out before the night is over. he can usually take up to two rounds but never seven. it hurts for you, he knows this, which is why he gave you permission to keep going even if he’s out cold. he can’t have his pretty bunny suffering on her own.

“d-do what you need to do, angel. i’m right here for you.”

ᨳ SCARAMOUCHE

a filthy animal with disgusting urges — that’s how scaramouche regards you. if anyone dares to ask him about you, he spits out that you are a thorn in his side and he only keeps you around out of pity. the balladeer makes it a point to openly disregard your very existence in the public eye to remind you of your place beneath him. but no matter how much it breaks your little heart, you know better than to voice your grievances.

once the moon rises and his estate is a little quieter, he becomes much softer than his daytime persona would lead anyone to believe. almost every night he has one of his underlings fetch you from your chambers, his voice making them think you may be in some sort of trouble. the agent gives you a pitiful look as they send you into your assumed demise — you’re perfectly fine. scaramouche would rather throw himself off of the top of tenshukaku than let anyone know what he does with you in his office.

the moment that the door to his workspace is closed, he’s on you. practically tearing your clothes off of your body, he refuses to wait any longer to feel you underneath him. not even seconds later and your hips are pulled towards him with your face pressed against the floor. as he fumbles with his clothing, he’s spitting hot venom into your ear — you ignore the slight moan etched into the cruel words he’s throwing at you. “look at you. you’re a dirty animal in heat just waiting to get her pussy stuffed,” he chokes out as he pumps his cock. ironic he says that when he’s the one that’s so eager to be balls deep inside of you.

he always fucks you like it’s his last night on the earth — marks litter your body and your legs never seem to work afterward. all of his previous orgasms drip down your legs and onto the tatami mat flooring (which he’ll force you to clean up once he regains his senses). the next day, he acts like nothing happened — resuming his daily routine of squashing your existence under his shoe. it’s a little funny, though, how he acts like he’s in control when really you’re the one that owns him.

“don’t you dare start dripping onto the floors, you filthy wench. you’re not worth the cleanup.”

taglist: @p-antomime

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billybob598 · 9 months

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More Than You Know (Leah Williamson x Reader)

All right! So this is a F1 reader x Leah fic requested by anon. Again any feedback good or bad is welcomed! I'm sorry if there's lots of f1 talk and some don't get it. I have another f1 fic coming up but other than that nothing else so, if people want to start sending me requests, please do! I'll get more into that later. Anyways, enjoy!

Word Count: 2.1K (That's what Docs said anyways)

Set at Abu Dhabi GP, end of 2023

Thursday

“Hello everyone, and welcome to the final press conference of the 2023 Formula 1 season.” You fix your shirt as you settle into the seat. Max Verstappen, your teammate, on your left with Charles Leclerc beside him.

“Question for Y/N and Max, heading into the final race of the season the title battle is close between the two of you. What kind of mindset do you have for one of the most important races in your career?”

“To win,” Max says simply. All the reporters let out a laugh as you crack a smile.

“Y/N?” The guy who asked the question prompts you.

“Uh, well, I mean for sure to win is the goal but, trying to just stay calm and do what I’ve done for the last twenty-two races,” you explain. After a few more minutes of questions, they let you go. Walking through the paddock and into the Red Bull garage you can’t help but let your mind spiral. This was your first championship battle, this was Max’s third. You were only 22 years old, if you won on Sunday you’d be the youngest-ever F1 champion and the first-ever female champion. You knew you had to be a little lucky on race day, considering you sat five points behind Max.

Entering your driver room you’re met with your girlfriend, Leah Williamson.

“Hey babe, what are you doing now?” She asks you, watching as you pace back and forth across the room.

“Track walk, I think.”

“Okay, well I’m going to meet up with Alex in a couple of minutes so, I’ll see you later, yeah?” She presses a small kiss on your forehead.

“Okay, yeah, see you later,”

Friday

You loved racing around Yas Marina Circuit, it had just the right amount of technical corners and overtaking opportunities. You loved the lights and going underneath the hotel. Probably the worst part of it though, was the heat. Sitting in your car you feel like you’re going to die from the heat. Sweat just keeps pouring from every pore on your body, making your race suit damp. At the end of Free Practice 2 you were the fastest overall. This gives you a little bit of confidence, your race pace also seemed to be pretty strong so these were all good signs. Leah watches as you take your crash helmet and balaclava off, trying your best to fix your sweaty hair. You looked hot, and Leah was living for it.

“You’re drooling,” Alex, who happened to be right beside her, said. Leah shakes out of her trance enough to give Alex a light slap on the shoulder.

“Whatever mate, if you had a girlfriend as hot as mine you’d be drooling as well.”

A couple of hours later, after all the media was done and the sponsor dinner was finished, you and Leah finally were able to settle into bed. Leah’s arm draped over you and her head nuzzled into your neck. She was just about to doze off when you spoke very quietly into the darkness,

“Would you be mad at me if I didn’t win?” Of course, Leah knew you were nervous, who in their right mind wouldn’t be? But, for you to think that she would be angry with you if you finished second? That was terrible.

“Of course not, love, I’d be sad for you, sure, but mad? Never.” This seems to calm you down a bit, and soon enough you both are sleeping soundly.

Saturday

“Good luck kiss?” Your favourite blonde questions. It was a tradition in your relationship, whenever either of you were participating in a sporting event you had to make sure you kissed just before it started.

“Of course,” you say with a smile, not that she can see it. Your helmet already on with your visor up so she can see your eyes. Leah kisses where she imagines your lips are, you can’t help the dopey smile that comes across your face, the squint of your eyes making it obvious what you’re doing.

Leah watches on as your car pulls out of the garage and onto the track. After making it through both Q1 and Q2 easily now comes the biggest test, the top 10 shootout. Your banker lap for Q3 is solid, only six-hundredths of Max’s time and you know you can improve. As you cross the line to start your second flying lap you feel the adrenaline rush through your veins. Every turn of the steering wheel, every push of the pedals, and every G against your body feels just right. Heading into the final sector you know you’re going faster than your first lap. Crossing the line, your entire body relaxes as you hear your engineer over the radio,

“Okay mate, that’s P1 so far, P1 so far, but Max is yet to cross the line.” You wait anxiously for Max to finish his lap. Leah feels her heart sink as she sees Max’s name move above yours on the timing screen.

“For fuck’s sake, fuck this shit, honestly,” you say over the radio.

“It’s okay Y/N, points come tomorrow,” your engineer replies.

“You’re right, you’re right, let’s get them tomorrow.”

Leah gives you a hug when she finally sees you after all the media and post-qualifying traditions.

“You did great love, don’t be too hard on yourself,” she says sweetly. You sigh, knowing she is right.

“Mhm, I’m not that happy but I’ll get over it. I think right now all I wanna do is go back to the hotel and cuddle with you,” you mutter with a little pout. Leah finds this adorable. So, when you guys do get back to the hotel she cuddles with you until you fall asleep, only hours before one of the most important races of your life.

Sunday

When you wake up you feel the nerves settle inside of you. Leah tried her best to get you to eat something before your race. Abu Dhabi was a night race so, you still had the whole day ahead of you. After going through the pre-race meetings with your engineers you feel pretty confident in the strategy for today. As you walk around the grid with the music in your headphones blasting you see your girlfriend walking towards you. Slipping one side of your ear so you can hear, you give her a questioning look. She never usually comes onto the grid before races, why would she now?

“I just wanted to wish you good luck,” Leah says kindly, “I know you’re nervous, but don’t be, you’re gonna smash it out there.” Your heart melts at her consideration.

“Thanks Lee, I’ll do you proud I swear,” you say, looking at her with what can only be described as heart-eyes.

“You already have, more than you know,” she smiles at you, giving one last kiss on your lips before heading back to the garage.

A couple of minutes later, you’re sitting inside your car mentally preparing yourself for the race. The entire formation lap your mind is blank, trying your best to not overthink. As you park in your grid slot as close to a billion people watch with their breaths held.

“And it’s lights out and away we go for the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix!” Crofty exclaims into his microphone.

You get a good start drawing alongside Max heading into the first corner, but he pushes you wide. As the pair of you continue to the first of two long straights, you follow closely behind him gaining a slipstream. When you enter the braking zone you decide to go for a dive bomb, getting your elbows out a little to barge past your teammate and take the lead.

“She can’t fucking do that, mate. She pushed me off the track,” Max voices to GP.

“If Max has a problem with that, then he can cry in a crib, that was clean.”

As the race gets past halfway done, both you and Max had made pit stops, while also exchanging the lead of the race multiple times. Leah had about chewed her entire nail off watching. She was nervous as hell, she could feel something bad about to happen, she just knew it in her gut.

You once again closed up to the rear end of Max with DRS. As you got close enough to pass you slightly jerked out to the left before cutting back to the right, effectively dummying him. You were on the outside heading into the sweeping left-hander of Turn 9, you tried your best to give him space, but he completely misses the apex and rams into your front wheel/side of your car. Your neck whips to the side as you try to keep control of your car.

“What the fuck was that?! What a fucking idiot, I gave him shitloads of space! Is there any damage on the car?” You are pretty much yelling into the radio. The anger you’re feeling showing through your choice of words.

“So, major front wing damage we are going to have to box. Box, box.” Swearing under your breath you pull into the pit lane for new tyres and a new front wing. Stopping on your marks you sit there for what feels like forever before finally getting the green light and getting back on track. Leah knows you are fuming but she also knows that you’re very good at turning that anger into motivation. She readies herself for a wild end to the race.

“Okay, so the gap to Max is 30 seconds.”

“Just leave me alone, I know what to do,” you say sternly.

For the next 24 laps, you put in of the most impressive comebacks in F1 history. Closing the gap a little bit each lap. You fully catch up to him on the final lap of the race. The entire world sits on the edge of their seat as you stick right up to Max’s gearbox for the majority of the lap. Entering the final sector, you find the gap to stick your nose down. Making an unorthodox move down the inside into Turn 12. When it becomes clear that you stuck the move your side of the garage goes crazy. Leah screams, thinking it is too good to be true. As you head around the final corner, the Red Bull mechanics hang off the side of the fence cheering and yelling as you cross the finish line.

“She’s redefined motorsport as we know it, and as she crosses the line Y/N Y/L/N is CHAMPION OF THE WORLD!” Crofty shouts.

“AAAHHHH OH MY GODDDD! YESSS GUYS COME ON! I’M GONNA FUCKING CRY!” You scream over the radio.

“YOU” VE DONE IT MATE! YOU’VE DONE IT! GOOD LORD!” Your engineer screams back at you. You start to cry as you go around for your celebration lap. When you park in front of the number 1 sign you take a minute inside of your car to collect your thoughts. Finally, you get out and stand on top of the car, raising your arms in celebration. You jump down and start sprinting to your team. After receiving multiple hugs and slaps on the back, mixed with a varying range of screams and yells, you decide to look for your girlfriend. Looking around you spot your favourite person on Earth and make a beeline for her. She pulls you into a bone-crunching hug, tears streaming down her face.

“I’m so fucking proud of you, more than you know,” she says tearfully. You give her an award-winning smile before moving to take your helmet and balaclava off. You surprise Leah when you connect your lips in front of God knows how many cameras.

“I’m a World Champion Lee, a World Champion.”

“I know Y/N, I know,” she giggles at how excited you look. After completing the post-race interview you make your way to the podium.

“And your Abu Dhabi Grand Prix winner and 2023 World Champion, Y/N Y/L/N!”

The crowd and paddock below you roar as you make your way onto the podium, pumping your fists with joy. Stepping onto the top step of the podium, a sense of relief washes over you, everything you’d worked for this entire season, your entire life basically, had finally paid off. You take your cap off when your national anthem plays and begin to scan through the crowd until you meet blue ones. You give her a grin and blow her a kiss. She returns it. When you are finally handed your first-place trophy you raise it high with a little yell. After the rest of the podium is handed their trophies, you get to your favourite part, the champagne. Spraying it in every possible place, you can’t stop the stupid-looking smile from taking over your facial features. When the celebrations seem to die down a little you look over at Leah, mouthing,

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” she mouths back.

“More than you know.”

#leah williamson x reader #woso imagine #woso x reader #engwnt x reader #f1 reader x woso

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cherry-pop-elf · 2 months

Text

Realistic

George Weasley x Reader

You broke up with your ex, but said ex refuses to believe you moved on. That you found better than him. So, you figured you had to prove you did. Time to call a favor

Warnings: 18+, topics of abusive ex, satisfying revenge, ablism, oral sex (male receiving) public, choking (very light) fake dating, voyeurism, peeping Tom, Very Soft George, cuckholding? Sorta? Not really? But like maybe on a technical level?

Writing Comission’s Open

“George, pretend to be my boyfriend.” You asked, quickly. Hardly gave him a chance to even look over his shoulder, when he saw a man storming into his shop. Looking utterly pissed, and you anxious. He’s got a little sister, and plenty of brothers. As if he needed to put two and two together. His arm was quickly around your side, and he leaned into you. As if it was all natural.

“Was wondering when you would get here, Jellybean!” He announced, making your ex quickly look over to you two. His stare hardened, and George stared right back. Snearing. Keeping up a smug complexion through it all. You quickly stuffed yourself into his arm. As if trying to hide, as your ex came over. Nearly stomping in the process.

“The hell you doing with em-?Your ex demanded. “Uh…..Snuggling? Kissing? Whatever we want in MY shop-?” George would puzzle, as he was wondering where the such nerve came from. George would make sure to keep you close, with a hand on your hip, as he protected you. You would rest your head on his shoulder, and took in the comforting scent of fireworks and sugar. Helped you get grounded, as your ex was looking ready to fight.

“That’s what Im suppose to do, you fucking cripple-“ The man snapped, making you gasp. You were about to say something, but George was quick to slap a hand on your mouth. Knowing damn well what you would say next might get you slapped. As if he wanted that.

“Really? That’s your first course of action? Get creative buddy. Could have said something impressive. Like One Eared Arrogant Bastard. Like that’s creative. Just dropping heavy words like that doesn’t make you smart. Even Malfoy got creative.” George mocked, making you giggle. That was something you admired about him. His ability to go with the flow. Able to fight with words so easy.

“I-“ He tried to say something else, but George cut right in. “Do you sound smart to make up for the fact you don’t have a personality? Even Percy had more of one than you. What about that temper? Short temper isn’t the only thing short, is there?” George egged on and on. Wasn’t long before people were watching, and giggling. Leaving him red faced.

“How about-“ And the man was storming off. You couldn’t help your relief, as you relaxed into George. He seemed gone, but not entirely. You noticed he was still outside. Just far enough away from the shop to not be loitering. That made your stomach drop. Seemed you were dodging a bullet, and George was making sure there was plenty of cover.

“Guess he isn’t buying it…..Wanna help make sure he does?” He offered, as you rose a brow. At this point, you would do anything to get that bastard off your back. Was being a total creep now. Just waiting for you outside. With a nod, you gave your consent. George would soon whistle at someone, who would nod, as he was taking you towards the back.

“Let’s give him a show~” He offered, before you were pushed out of a side door. Your body hit against the neighboring building, as your lips met. You were wide eyed, until you noticed your ex peeking from around the alley way corner. Guess a show will be what it takes. Couldn’t imagine a better person to trust yourself with anyway.

You couldn’t help it either, as you melted into the kiss. Your hands fighting at his suit jacket, while he explored your mouth. Leaving your tongue to taste like sweet orange flavored candy. The scent of ash, the taste of sweet, and the feeling of heat. It was getting you more excited than you wanted to admit.

“Come on, love, on your knees.” He whispered, as he threw the jacket to the ground. Despite how rough he was acting, the fact he gave you his suit jacket for your knees spoke volumes. Even in the heat of the moment, he was trying to make sure you were given the best care. Made your heart sing, as you let your knees rest on the expensive fabric. Right all over the dirty alley way.

He was quick to take his belt off, and adjust his vest and dress shirt. Everything was moving so fast. There was such a thrill from it. A spur of the moment. Just no thoughts, only desire. Was so exciting. Gave you such a pleasure you didn’t know you could get. Weren’t even doing anything. Yet.

“Open that pretty little mouth-“ He asked, and you did. Just as he pulled his cock out from his pants, making your heart pound with excitement. You were really about to do this. You felt like you were in a wet dream. You always did find George so attractive. Never thought you would ever score a chance. Yet, it was this easy. Those Weasleys and their big hearts.

You let the tip pass your lips, and swallowed. His hand was gentle in your hair, as he let you go at your own pace. Not forcing it down your throat, and letting you take your time in adjusting. Letting you control your breathing, as your hands found his thighs. Just those deep breaths of fire works, and sugar. Was hypnotic.

Once you felt well adjusted, you forced your head further down. Your signal to let him keep going, and going he did. How he tangled his fingers in your hair, and forced you deeper down his cock. To the point your nose brushed against that ginger hair. Made you gag, by how much, but you quickly relaxed. Knowing you were in safe hands.

“Better be louder. I’m crippled, after all~” He teases, making you unable to stop the giggle around his cock. That earned you a moan from him, as the vibrations ran up through his body. God did his moans sound like sweet music to your ears. It gave you the motivation to try and take lead a little bit. Pulling yourself to the tip, and moaning around it.

He was soon leaning against the wall of his shop, as he was at your mercy now. His free hand busy with keeping his vest and shirt up. Exposing that slender stomach. Happy trail, freckles, and ink. Such a dashing man, with many scars. You were the lucky one to get to see it. See it all. Like how his face was flushing, and his kept hair ruffling. It was addictive.

Up and down you bobbed, as you kept your grip tight on his slender thighs. Not quite as meaty as his upper arms, given his beater history. Still was great to grab, as you milked him for more sounds. Such as the hisses, and whimpers when you ran your tongue over a vein just right. Oh you didn’t know who was in more heaven.

“Fuck, Im going to cum. Oh fuck-“ He gritted his teeth, and made an attempt to pull you off. How considerate. You figured that kind gesture deserved a reward. So, you fought against his hand. That surprised him, as you would force yourself deep down again. Moaning, as you returned to his base. Looking right up at him, and locking with those pretty doe eyes. That was the last straw.

He let his head roll back, as he came down your throat. You coughed, but you were handling it like a champ. Using those thighs for support, as you watched his stomach spasm from the pleasure you gave him. How those pretty cheeks were so flushed, and his ear so red. Oh what you would give to see more of that.

Once he was breathing steady, you finally pulled off. You panted, as he cupped your cheek. His thumb rubbing away at the spit that ran down your chin. You didn’t know if your ex was still there, and genuinely didn’t care anymore. The tender moment was to sweet to make you think about anything else.

“Say….Think maybe we can do this again some time? Gotta keep up appearances and all~” He winked, as it was your turn to be blushing. All flustered, as he would put himself away. Along with being a gentlemen, and helping you off the ground. With his jacket as well.

With a quick spell, the jacket was clean. Just some tidying up, as you were still a soft pink. Same for himself. A stupid grin on his face was keeping you flushed as well. Especially with the arm hooked around you, as you returned inside. Having to keep up appearances after all. Just for appearances.

“My lunch break should be soon, wouldn’t mind some drinks with you. Gotta wash that down after all.” He offered, making you elbow his delicate rib. He wheezed, but laughed. Yeah. Maybe this fake dating thing will really put your ex in his place. Severs him right for losing such a catch like you. Least George was the lucky one to nab you, wasn’t he?

@george-weasleys-girl

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korpuskat · 4 months

Text

Twines Counterclockwise

[Ao3 Mirror] Pairing: Ramattra/Reader (Gender Neutral) Rating: T WC: 3.6K Warnings: Hanahaki's Diseases, Blood, Injury =

It starts with an itch in your chest. Just the faintest inclination you needed to cough- which would’ve been fine, a normal little human thing that nobody thinks much of. Except that in front of you is a holoscreen, displaying blueprints in glowing 3D, spinning as their creator motions to various features and systems. His fingers are long and shine brilliantly when they cut through white, hovering lines. It’s his updated design of the slicer’s laser, modernized, faster start-up, less heat emission, and-

“Sorry,” You interrupt, turn away, and cough.

He stops long enough to look at you, but with his unemotive faceplate, whatever he’s truly thinking is lost. Probably irritation for impeding his explanation, which makes you resist the urge to duck your head. It’s unprofessional, you tell yourself. Instead you settle for purposefully looking at the design, “Please, go on.”

He waits a moment- perhaps debating how worth it is to snap at a human trying to give him orders. Finally, he continues. If he notices your gaze wandering off the crisp, white lines and back to his hands, he says nothing.

You don’t think much of it, even if you’re having to clear your throat repeatedly just to rid yourself of that itchy feeling. Probably a cold, or perhaps the icy antarctic air has finally started to wear on you. It’s nothing, a quirk of being human in a place so intensely not made for humans, an annoyance- until it isn’t.

And of course, it’s when he’s escorting you through his waiting production lines. Motioning up above to the never-ending converters, arcs of welders and robotic arms, waiting so long to be tasked again. He speaks in that rumbling, low voice of his, explains the modifications he will need to make before mass production can begin. His synth loses its regulation when he gets excited, sounding less deceptively almost-human and more robotic. It’s not a bad sound.

He points overhead towards one line. Even for his size, his movements look graceful, fluid. Each joint is wellkept, oiled, and the gold design on the few scraps of cloth that he wears shimmers in the low lights. He motions again, then turns and looks at you- bright red array, empty black optical slits.

Right. The production line.

You fight to keep the facade of professionalism. He continues. This line needs repairs, did not work with London, couldn’t source the parts for it without raising flags he didn’t have the resources to cover. He would need it to be updated and-

And you’re softly coughing into your fist. Ramattra’s head turns subtly, glancing at you from the corner of his vision. You hold up a hand, one finger in a silent plea for him to wait just a moment. This isn’t a big deal. It isn’t.

But you don’t stop coughing, turning first towards your inner elbow- but it won’t stop. Your throat burns, itches- but each spasm of your diaphragm isn’t doing anything to help. Each cough brings on the next, and the next-

“Are you… alright?” He asks, and oh, you can almost convince yourself there’s actual worry there. It would be a pain if a Talon agent died alone in his omnium, so soon after their tentative agreements. You nod, try to smile between coughs- but it must not work because he follows it up with “Are you sick?”

You don’t get the chance to dissuade him, because you’re doubling over, falling to your knees. Coughs turn to retches, full-body shudders and there’s something in your throat. Tears burn at your eyes, blur your vision, even as three silver claws step in front of you. You can’t stop coughing, can barely breathe between each one and all you can do is flex your throat, hunch over, squeeze your eyes-

Something falls into your hand, still cupped over your mouth.

The itch is gone. Tears cover your face. Finally, you can breathe again, taking in lungfuls of cold, antarctic air- which feel like knives in your irritated throat. With the back of your hand, you wipe at your face, trying to hide the evidence of tears and spittle. You’re so far beyond presentable and the whir of Ramattra’s internals, so close to you now, crouched down to your level, only makes you wish you had declined this promotion entirely.

“Sorry,” You try to force another fake smile, but don’t know if it even really makes it past the intention. “Don’t know what that was.” Ramattra’s head tips, looks you over. He waits there, watching as you struggle to pull yourself together before you finally wave him on, “Give me a minute, please.”

He makes some sort of noncommittal noise before standing up again and wandering down the walkway, giving you some space. He watches, however, keeps you in his field of view.

When you’re sure he can’t see it, you uncurl your clenched hand. Inside, is a pale purple flower bud, just beginning to open.

It doesn’t get easier. A week passes and a small collection of lavender flowers has gathered on your nightstand. Each coughing fit is all-consuming, burns out every other sense until the next part is hacked up. Here, at least, in the privacy of your makeshift quarters you can reach into your mouth and try to grasp at the stem. You touch it- and retch as it twitches deep in your throat, tears springing to your eyes as you reflexively begin to cough again.

On the counter, your phone lights up, buzzes with a call.

You can’t even entertain taking it, no matter who it is. Another failed attempt to catch the stem- which is prodding painfully into the roof of your mouth- launches another round of coughs and tears. The mirror- maybe you can see it? You stumble across the room and switch on the light. Opening your mouth as wide as you can, you still can’t quite make out the shape that’s lodged itself in your windpipe. The flashlight on your phone, however, does help.

And amidst the red, inflamed flesh of your throat is a single, green-brown vine curling against the roof of your mouth. Just beyond your tongue, another purple flower clings to your tonsils, glistening with spit. With the aid of the mirror and light, this time you catch the end of the stem firmly between finger and thumb. You pull--

And pain shoots through you like lightning, sharp and crackling down your throat, across your chest, clawing and twisting into your lungs- and around your hand you cough, eyes pinching shut, dropping your phone as you struggle and yank.

It’s caught somewhere. The vines dig into every crevice they can find, desperately latching onto you. You brace yourself, take as deep a breath as you can and yank again. This time, the stem snaps. A red-dotted string of flowers splatters into your sink.

Your chest clears somewhat, still burning from where you’ve ripped the vine free. Even as you gasp in air, another growth wavers in your chest, dancing with each inhale. Before long, you’ll be back here, pulling another one out.

You really didn’t think it was that bad. Sure, you thought about him often and enjoyed every conversation that managed to veer away from Null Troopers and omniums… but the flowers? How could it have gotten so bad?

You press on one purple petal, swipe away the blood that stains it crimson. The flowers range in ages, a few at the tip not yet opened, tight, darker indigo buds, while the ones at the other end, where the stem is thicker, broken, have popped into lilac blooms. A large flat, open petal atop one tightly still curled.

You love him.

You knew, honestly, but having it be presented to you so blatantly is still… unnerving. And-

bzzt. You startle, drop the flower and look down. On the floor- where your phone had landed- is a face you really do not want to see right now. With a grimace you pick the device up, wipe any blood away from your lip, and answer.

“Hello?”

“You’re lucky I bothered to call twice.” Her voice bites out. You’ve just answered and she’s already bored with this conversation.

“Sorry. What can I do for you, Dr.O’Deorain?”

“Actually,” She almost singsongs, “It’s about what I can do for you. Your gracious host informed me that you are unwell. And while I’m sure he must have bothered to make his workshop more habitable for you, there are several fascinating viruses that live in glaciers.”

Oh.

Ramattra called her.

You grimace, feel another wave of shame that you’ve been sick enough he’s bothered to contact Moira of all people. “It’s not…” You pause- because on one hand, Moira would know how to deal with this. And on the other… even admitting it would show much of a liability you’ve been. Your chest itches already, another creeping vine ready to climb out of your throat. “I know what it is.”

“Oh? I somehow doubt even an omnic would be so concerned about a cold.”

“It’s… Hanahaki.“

She sighs and you can hear her rolling her eyes. “Just because you’re coughing-”

“Full flowers.” You stare down at the purple and red in your sink. “It’s Hanahaki.”

All the frustration leaves her voice in a heartbeat. “Send me a picture.” You do, of the one you just coughed up and the handful of flowers and petals you’ve collected. After a minute, she says something under her breath. “Wonderful.. You, what, had a crush on someone here in Rome and couldn’t confess before you left on a months-long Antarctic tour?”

You bite your tongue. Wouldn’t that be nice? A friendly coworker you could just message about your feelings. As it turns out, you don’t have to say anything at all. She’s too sharp, your silence a little too damning.

“You’re joking.” She scoffs, “Actually unbelievable.”

The urge to cough settles in your chest. Through the tightness you bite out, “Just… tell me what I can do.”

Moira sighs once more, “I don’t suppose talking it out has already crossed your mind?” You don’t answer her. “Of course. Then the only other option would be major surgery. That has its own assortment of risks, the least of which would be you would feel nothing for him anymore.”

That… should almost be comforting. Tears prick your eyes. He’s about to wage a war on the vast majority of humanity, has lectured at length the atrocities he’s seen your kin commit. There’s no chance. And yet… it hurts. Despite the damage that’s come to your body and the shame that follows: being unfit to continue working, for making things awkward, for having feelings for… him. Despite that, it’s still been nice. The warmth that follows him, that settles inside you when he speaks, the way he tips his head when he’s sketching out a new idea, the way his posture shifts, relaxes, when he must think you aren’t looking. Would that all become nothing to you?

A cough sneaks up your throat. You hold your phone at arm’s length, would mute yourself if you could focus long enough. You can’t; another flower has broken loose, tumbles from your lips into the sink to join its brethren.

On the phone, Moira curses in Gaelic. “I am advising you as a doctor to talk to him. I’m sure you kids will be able to figure it out.” Silence is your only response. After all, what was there to really talk about? You’re human.. She sighs irritably, but slowly perks up as she speaks: “Fine. I have some colleagues in Oasis who should be able to assist. You might be the first case of omnic-borne Hanahaki. Would be a fascinating case study.”

It takes a few hours to work up the courage to message him. Taking medical leave, No more than two weeks. Need transport to Oasis.

His response is almost instantaneous: Understood. Shuttle ready.

You pack lightly. Very little of your clothes are appropriate for the wildly different climate awaiting you after a ten hour flight. It’s mostly your work gear, things you haven’t needed while so firmly stationed away from any wetwork. Regardless, you enter the shuttle bay with a single suitcase, in casual clothes covered by a heavy jacket. As it is, the coldness already seeps through the single outer layer, bringing a chill to your toes- and to your chest.

The itch becomes unbearable as soon as you lay eyes on him. The back of the shuttle is open, waiting for you- but so is he. Why? Why must he see you off now?

Ramattra straightens up, folds his hands behind his back. With how thin his waist is, the action doesn’t hide much of his arms. “Agent,” He greets you stiffly, awkwardly, as you approach. “I assume this is more than a simple cough, then?”

“Afraid so.” The back of your throat burns just from two words and his head shifts, almost bobbing back in surprise. Has your voice gotten so bad?

“I see. It is… serious?”

“Yes.” You clear your throat, hope to shoo away as much hoarseness as you can. “I’m sorry for any inconvenience. I’ll return as soon as I am able.”

Ramattra’s white faceplate tips off to the side, a blatant display of curiosity. In what exactly you don’t know. Probably why Talon isn’t just replacing you, reassigning you after your treatment.

“I hope you…” He pauses, seems to taste the words before he says them, “feel better soon.” It’s awkward in his voice, stilted, a phrase so wildly unused, perhaps he’s never even said it. But he gives you that courtesy, even if only because it’s polite- and it makes your heart ache.

And that makes your lungs itch. You can’t even suppress it down to a small cough into your hand. All at once you’re doubled over, heaving coughs into your elbow. The thick taste of iron coats your tongue, blood spraying from your lips. Then, the smooth, suffocating feeling of the flowers.

Purple follows red- and you quickly fall to your knees, unable to catch a single breath between thundering spasms in your chest. Your ribs creak, strain from each movement, the pain in your lungs radiating out and you pinch your eyes shut, wait for it to be over.

His knee clanks to the floor- you don’t need to open your eyes to see that it’s him. A cold, firm hand touches your back. It’s… skittish, unused to the contact, too light of a touch to be reassuring, but it’s alright because every cough jostles you away, brings waves of pain and nausea as a string of buds clings to your uvula.

Another good cough and the vine breaks, half expels the raceme from your mouth. With the other hand you rip it from your lips, throwing it to the floor while gasping for air. For the moment, your lungs are clear- despite the burning pain of frigid air on the open wounds of your throat, the joy of breathing again overtakes all.

Until you open your eyes- and through tears you see the splatters of red- and the long string of purple. In fear, in shame you snatch the evidence of your illness- but it was hardly just the one raceme. A half dozen little buds and broken flowers dot the floor- and as quickly as you can grab them, you still can’t stop Ramattra from picking one up. He pulls his other hand off you, bringing both up to cup the tiny thing.

It’s paler than the purple enamel coating on his plates, laughably delicate as he prods open the two petals, revealing the pistil inside. He stares at it, then mutters, “Wisteria sinensis .” You fight to read any emotion in it at all- but it doesn’t matter, because his next question drips with confusion. “You have… Hanahaki’s disease?”

You can’t bear to look at him, staring instead at the flower. It’s so small in his hand, more like a stray drip of paint than proof of your traitorous heart. All you can give him is a nod, lips held in a tight line, unwilling to address what feels like the obvious.

“I see.” He says quietly, bringing his palm in closer to his faceplate. “Your trip to Oasis is for treatment?”

You nod again, “Surgery. Have to cut the roots out.”

Ramattra stays quiet, his focus not leaving the purple petals. Even when you find the courage to meet the slits of his optics, he does not return your gaze.

“I am… sorry.” As soon as the words leave his synth you look away. This is what you didn’t want. Fuck, it’s what you’ve been trying to avoid. You don’t need his pity or the undeniable knowledge that you loved someone who would be happy to end your entire species- who must hardly spare you a thought beyond the annoyance of financial oversight. Tears burn at your eyes again, but you blink them away, biting your tongue and willing yourself not to cry in front of him.

But he notices your turmoil, and speaks anyway. Hesitantly, a faltering in his voice you’ve never heard before. “I understand suffering because you care for another, yet human relationships confound me. I hope your treatment lets you find peace…” He trails off, but a low hum of his synthesizer lets you know he’s not done. His tone turns quiet, severe. “Know that they are foolish to reject you.”

In an instant you’re dazed, head swimming as your mind parses his words again and again. It doesn’t make sense. That’s- it’s Impossible. There’s something more there, under his words- more than just an empty placation. Something else builds in your chest and you can barely bring yourself to ask “What?”

Ramattra shifts awkwardly, clarifies: “The object of your affection.” His big fingers smooth out the tiny petals as he thinks, “I scarcely think they will meet another more interesting than you.” He draws your hand open to reveal the half-crushed raceme. The sight darkens his voice, “Do they even know how they’ve hurt you?”

Your chest feels tight- and not, for once, because of the flower’s roots. “Ramattra…”

His gaze lifts from your hand to your face. Unemotive, you can’t even begin to read what he’s thinking, but you stare into the black, angular slits for his optics and hope. Hope that he understands what you want to say, the words that have burned in your mind for days, weeks.

Something changes: the soft purr of his system builds, until he makes a noise like an inhale, his ventilation kicking up hard.

And you laugh, feel the tears gather in your eyes again because how could you be wrong? “It’s you, Ramattra.” You smile and you can breathe.

“You…” He starts, looks at the cluster of flowers again, his voice straining, his synth slipping. “Me? I did this to you? I- I thought-” And before doubt can take your heart, Ramattra’s hands move to you- just barely ghosting your side before you’re all but throwing yourself in his arms. His voice drops, quiet in disbelief. “I thought I was protecting you.”

His cowl is soft, silky on your cheek. It chafes where the tears have begun bubbling over. “From Talon? I don't care.”

“From me,” He murmurs. So close now his voice box buzzes in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “I… I couldn’t swear how suitable a partner I would be; a relationship cannot be a priority to me when liberation is so close.”

You sigh, focusing on the feeling of his cold ribs under your palms, on the smell of machine oil and incense. “I wouldn’t ask you to set that aside. It’s just- I thought you wouldn’t…” Your lip wobbles, disappointment or fear fighting its way forward. “Since I’m… human….”

“Believe me, I was as reluctant to accept that as you are.” His hands drift over your back, drawing shapes onto your coat.

As nice as it is, there’s a faint itch in your chest. You need… you need to hear it. You draw back- and Ramattra’s idle shapes still as his hands resettle onto your hips. You look up, stare into the black slits once more. “But you… you do have feelings for me?”

He stiffens, voice turning uncomfortable, reluctant to speak it into existence. “You… were an unexpected complication. I had not planned on… caring for any one in such a way.” His fingertips are cool on your skin, tracing chilled lines along your jaw. “Yes. And I am… so sorry for hurting you.”

“It’s okay,” You murmur back, touching each side of his neck. Wordlessly, you draw him down. His movement stutters, awkward as he follows your lead- pulling him closer until you can lay your lips across the lowest part of his white faceplate. His head is somewhat warmer than his hands, leaving your lips tingling and you laughing softly at the absolute unreality of being able to kiss him.

You almost expect him to be offended. Instead, Ramattra’s hands guide your chin down, tipping your head forward-- and the bright reds of his array press to your forehead. You sigh, and slowly open your eyes to peer into the black void of his optics’ slits. Anything else in the world ceases to exist, all that matters is the slowly building warmth in his head and chest, the hum of his components and fans, and the soft press of his hands to your skin.

#ramattra #ramattra x reader #overwatch #overwatch x reader #reader insert #ramattra x you #overwatch x you #hanahaki #almost typod the title as cockwise lol

179 notes · View notes

miaountainmama · 24 days

Text

quiet

characters: tecchou, fembodied!reader contains: pwp, shameless smut, i don't feel like tagging but it's really tame. minors dni or i'll eat your bones

wc: 2183

a/n: i just really love this man and i needed to write him getting dominated. anyways hi it's been like 7 months since i last wrote

Normally, Tecchou was a quiet lover.

For the most part, the most you got from him was breathing changes, soft sighs, and occasional, quiet moans. It was such a shame to you— with his deep, smooth, and low, honey-sweet voice, he was the loveliest sound you would ever hear. You couldn’t get enough— the sound of him whining into your ear, panting as he slowly became more and more blissed out— it was divine. He was divine.

You wanted more. And tonight, you were determined to get what you wanted.

Tecchou makes a soft noise as you slam him against the wall, mouth slightly parted to let ragged breaths leave his lips as you press kiss after kiss along the smooth skin of his collarbone, then up the side of his neck. The sound activates something primal within you, something feral, and makes a heat bubble up and rush through your whole body. Intoxicated, you bite down lightly into his flesh, wanting to coax another noise from him— you’re only rewarded with a light whimper, his eyelids fluttering shut, and you hum as you realize you have to take more drastic measures to get a stronger reaction. Your hand, which had previously been gripping him roughly by the collar, moves upwards, running through his hair and nestling at the base of his beautiful dark locks.

You give him no warning as you pull, yanking his head back and biting hard on the newly exposed skin, and by God you nearly salivate as you’re granted a choked moan— a real moan this time. You chance a glance at his face as you suck on his neck, and your lips curl in approval as you take in the sight. You haven’t even taken his pants off yet and he looks totally enraptured, a light blush on his face as his open mouth takes shuddering breaths. His hands find their way to your hips, lightly pressing down on them, and you slip your leg between his thighs, unintentionally rubbing against the hardness there. Tecchou’s hips buck forward, breath hitching, and your eyes narrow as you realize just how sensitive he is right now. You could do whatever you please and he would just fall apart. The thought is too tempting.

One hand still in his hair, you walk him back towards the bed and nudge him until he sits down. You climb up and straddle him, grinding against him and taking his lips into a messy kiss, relishing in the feeling as he gasps into your mouth. You give Tecchou no time to think— the moment he puts his hands on your waist to hold you steady, you’re pushing him down onto his back against the pillows, tugging on his shirt until he gets the hint and breaks the kiss just to pull it off. You’re back on him in an instant, kissing his lips, then his jaw, his neck, all the way down to his chest. Tecchou is panting by now, breathing heavily, but as you press a kiss to a nipple, you feel his hands move down and push the hem of your shirt up— he wants to be on equal footing. Smiling against his skin, you sit up and help him take it off, feeling his warm hands brush against the skin of your stomach, and desire pools even further in your core. You throw your shirt somewhere to the side, not caring where it lands.

Your pants are quick to follow— Tecchou’s hands are needy, ever wanting, and the moment your shirt is off they’re messing with the button and sliding the fabric down your thighs. It’s cute how desperate he is at this point. You lift your hips from his to let the garment slip off, taking your panties with it, and his hands roam across your thighs and backside, touch hot as he pulls you closer. It’s a flurry of gentle touches and soft kisses as you finish undressing him as well, and soon both of you are in a similar state of nudity. Though you’ve both made love countless times, there’s still a pink flush on Tecchou’s cheeks as he becomes bare for you— you make sure to kiss all across his skin to put him at ease as you sit on his thighs.

At this point, Tecchou, voice breathy, murmurs your name, and you take the hint as your eyes lock with him and you see the longing, the need. Your gaze softens, and you take pity on the poor man and reach down, finally paying attention to the place he wants you most.

You spit into your hand, press a thumb to the tip of his cock, and swipe, spreading the liquid around and pumping languidly. Tecchou’s head falls back and he lets out a shaky whimper, and your lips curl into a small smile.

“Feels good?” you purr, and he nods, blush darkening on his face. One of his hands reaches up to cover his mouth, and you click your tongue, pulling it away and lacing your fingers with his.

“You know I like it when you use your words, Hiro,” you remind him, and he shifts in bed, struggling to speak without moaning.

“S-so good…” he manages, tripping over his own words, and you hum, pleased, rewarding him by pumping a little faster. His breath quickens in response, teeth gritting. You work him gently, coaxing him towards release, listening to each telltale sign of him getting closer and closer: his breath getting heavier, his body twitching, the soft noises that he can’t fully suppress. His gaze seems far away as you look into his half-lidded eyes, and when you reach out and gently turn his face towards yours, it’s over. His whole body jerks, fists clenching at the bedsheets below him, and he cums with a deep groan. You don’t stop as he cums, instead choosing to keep moving your hand up and down his shaft, too intoxicated off his low moans to halt your actions. You drink it all in as if you were starved— he’s whimpering slightly, though he does a good job of holding it in for the most part, and his hips are subconsciously jerking away from you as you jack him off. You continue anyways. You know he would tell you if he wanted to stop.

You take pity on him relatively quickly as he whines and pants, soon slowing your hand to a stop, and his eyes are unfocused as he looks up at you. However, though you may be done with your hand, you’re not done with him fully yet.

You hesitate as you position yourself above him, hips raised as you rub his cockhead against the wetness between your legs to lubricate it.

“Is this alright, Hiro?” you ask, wanting to make sure he’s comfortable before all else, and he nods, propping himself up on the pillows so he can watch as you slowly sink onto him. His eyes are glued to the view as you slowly take him inside you, exhaling as the stretch burns a bit— he’s always been big. Still, it feels good to have him inside you, criminally good, and you can tell the feeling is mutual as Tecchou’s eyes almost roll back in his head as he watches himself disappear into you. You take him to the base and stop, noticing the shiver that runs through Tecchou’s body as you do so. It takes a second to adjust to the stretch, and you breathe deeply, feeling the pressure inside you from being penetrated like this. Once you feel ready, you rock your hips experimentally, and once you find a position you like, you put a little more force into it, starting to ride moderately.

The feeling of him sliding in and out of you is heavenly, and as you angle your hips just right he hits just the right spot inside you, causing you to let out a shameless, lewd moan. You catch Tecchou’s eyes widen and blush darken at the sound, and his hands come to rest under your thighs to help support you (and feel you up) as you ride. You appreciate it— you need all the support you can get in this position. Now that you’re in the rhythm of things, you begin to ride a little harder, slamming your hips into his and gritting your teeth at the new friction. You catch Tecchou shuddering again. Good.

Your breath is labored from exertion and from feeling good as you move, and it hitches as you reach down with your dominant hand to tap and then circle your clit. The new stimulation is divine, and soon you’re whining and panting as well as you ride and pleasure yourself. You manage to get your now bliss-hazed eyes to focus on Tecchou just for a moment to see how he’s faring, and the sight makes you clench around him. He has his eyes squeezed shut, mouth open as he gasps for breath and whimpers, face painted a bright red, fingers latched tightly onto your body. You reach out, still keeping a steady pace, to stroke his face, and it’s hot to the touch. He looks ruined. Determined to keep him that way, your hand moves from his cheek down to one of the long strands of his hair, twirling the lock around your fingers before suddenly pulling it and simultaneously pressing an open mouthed kiss to his jaw. This plus the movement of your hips against his proves to almost be too much— you swear he almost sobs out your name as his eyes open from the sudden hair pulling, and they’re glazed and wet from unshed tears.

“Oh, Suehiro, darling,” you coo as you wipe them from his eyes. “Don’t cry. You’re being so good for me.”

You can feel his body under you jerk at the sudden praise, and he lets out a strangled moan— he’s always liked praise. At this point, seeing him so worked up has got you pretty close, and you move your fingers against your clit faster as you chase your high. You’re riding him hard, and as you near completion you can feel him pulsing inside you— he’s close too. You hurtle toward the edge at breakneck speed, and soon your legs start to shake as you feel the heat bubbling in your core. Your pace stutters, your body almost unable to take the increased pleasure, but then you feel Tecchou’s hands pulling you onto him, guiding you up and down, and you follow his pace, letting his strong grasp take you into ecstasy. He only has to let out one more moan, to slam you down one more time before you feel the coil in your stomach snap.

“Fuck- Hiro-” you curse lowly, and then it’s over for you— you cum hard, throwing your head back unconsciously, groaning deeply as waves of pleasure course through your body. Your muscles tense and spasm, and you grip onto Tecchou’s hair and chest like a vise as you climax. Vaguely, you register through the rush another groan, this time from him, and then warmth spilling into your body and dripping down.

You couldn’t hold it in, and he couldn’t either.

Your entire body heats up, and you try your best to keep moving through both of your climaxes— it’s difficult, but it feels so good. At this point, both of you are a mess, the air filled with the sound of moans and skin on skin, and the atmosphere is heavy from sweat and desire. Tecchou’s back arches into you, and you can feel his skin burning to the touch.

As the two of you come down from your highs and become sensitive, you slow your riding, and the moans in the air turn to soft gasps and whimpers as you eventually reach a stopping point. Tecchou’s eyes open again from where they were squeezed shut from pleasure, and the dazed look of bliss on his face makes you feel warm inside. Finally unclenching your hand from his hair, you reach out to caress his face, and he leans into the touch, looking up at you with devoted eyes that make you blush. You lean down to lie on his chest with him still inside you.

Tecchou pulls you closer, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, and your bodies tangle together. Your skin is hot but you can’t bring yourself to separate from him, and instead you do the opposite— you nuzzle your head into his body, snuggling closer. You hear rather than see his lips part into a gentle smile.

“I love you,” you murmur, sliding your hands along his jaw and shoulders, and he runs his hands through your hair in response. He says nothing in return, but you can feel it radiating from him, the feeling practically bursting from his chest— he loves you. He loves you. He loves you.

You press your head to his chest, his heartbeat softly drumming in your ears, and, for once, you feel at ease.

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs #tecchou x reader #tetchou x reader #bsd x you #suehiro tecchou #tecchou smut

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mountainficss · 1 month

Note

rae hehe.. kwan brainrot suddenly went crazy and i was just thinking

sleeping with seungkwan but u can’t fall asleep so u decide to play with urself a little. only for him to wake up and… make sure u know how he felt about u doing that while he was asleep. hard dom kwannie filling up with cum that night, u falling asleep filled and the next morning him making u use his cum as lube to touch urself as he instructs and watches

:🍊

you knew seungkwan wouldn’t be happy with you touching yourself, but you just couldn’t help it! you had woken up from a very heated dream about him, and you just couldn’t shake the warm feeling pooling in your core. you’d glance over briefly to see if he was asleep, and after finding that he’s passed out you’d snake a hand beneath the sheets and into your panties. you’d tease your soaked entrance before sliding a finger in, using your other hand to cover your mouth before a loud moan escapes your lips. you’d fuck yourself gently with one finger but it just wouldn’t be enough, opting to stuff another finger inside. you tried your best to keep your sounds muffled, but as you continued to become more needy you just couldn’t stop yourself when a few whimpers slip out. you’d be so distracted by the feeling of your fingers sliding in and out of your hole that you wouldn’t even notice that seungkwan was already awake. your noises had woken him up, and he’d roll over to the sight of you playing with yourself beneath the blankets. he’d watch you for a bit, just enjoying the sight of you making yourself feel good. but then he’d get angry, feeling an uncontrollable urge to teach you a lesson. “you enjoying yourself?” he’d ask almost nonchalantly, and your heart would drop at the sound of his voice. you’d carefully remove both fingers as you stumble over an explanation, but seungkwan would cut you off. “maybe i should just fuck you since you can’t even make yourself cum without my help.” he’d sneer, sitting up and hovering his body over yours as your eyes widen. you’d feel so small beneath him, so helpless and willing to take whatever he decides to give you. he’d tug your panties to the side, gathering some of your arousal onto his fingers and using it to lubricate his throbbing length. he’d slide in easily, your hole prepped for him from you previously touching yourself. the stretch would still sting a bit though, and seungkwan would ease in slowly just so you can adjust to his size. but after that he’d waste no time, immediately pounding into you at a rapid pace and putting all of his force behind his thrusts. you’d moan loudly, wrapping one arm around his neck while your other hand fists into his hair. “can’t handle it, hm? you’re so pathetic,” he’d chuckle, relishing in your loud sounds and pulsating heat. “this is what happens when you touch yourself without permission.” he’d slow his trusts down, instead switching to hard, pointed ruts into you. he’d throw your legs over his shoulders, hitting even deeper in this new position and making you squirm underneath him. “you’re gonna take it all. ‘m gonna make you,” he’d groan, feeling you clench around him. “cum for me. i know you want to.” it would feel like your body is literally responding to his commands, and you’d be cumming around his cock not even seconds after. your release would trigger his, and he’d grip your thighs harshly as he fucks you full of his seed. his moans and weak thrusts would drag out your orgasm, and you’d twitch uncontrollably under his hold. you’d be so drowsy and tired after seungkwan practically fucking you senseless, and the last thing you’d remember was him readjusting your body and spooning you with his cock still stuffed inside.

you’d wake up to gentle light from the early morning sun streaming through the windows, and the warm feeling of seungkwan still buried inside of you. “finally awake, huh?” he’d mumble, rocking his hips against you once to stir you up. you’d sigh dreamily, grinding your hips back against his. you’d feel him pulling out slowly and you’d whimper in protest, leaning back in an attempt to feel him again. he’d pull the sheets down, revealing your body to him. hovering over you he’d grab your thighs and pry your legs apart, groaning as he watches his cum spill out of your clenching hole. the mellow light from the windows would give your skin a glowing hue, making you look so soft and beautiful to seungkwan. “touch yourself for me,” he’d smirk, reaching a hand down to slightly palm at his erection. “show me what you were doing last night while i was sleeping.” you’d blush at the memory of him catching you in the act, but your neediness would outweigh your embarrassment as you snake a hand down to your heat. you’d run your fingers through the combination of your release and his, spreading it and coating your middle and ring fingers. you’d slide both fingers in with ease, not even bothering to push in one at a time. your fingers would glide easily as he just watches, sighing gently as he listens to your sweet sleepy voice moaning his name. “faster, baby,” he’d coax, reaching a hand towards you to squeeze your thigh sensually. “you’re gonna cum like this, and i’m gonna help you. my pretty slut.” ;(

taglist: @imprettyweird , @jeonghanpill , @bangantokchy , @caratboy , @bewoyewo , @c-hanniehae , @wonvsmile , @haolovre , @aaniag , @writingbarnes

#thoughts #seventeen smut #seventeen #smut #svt smut #seungkwan smut #seungkwan #boo seungkwan #seungkwan imagines #mountainficss

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leggerefiore · 6 months

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We’ve seen how Pokémon characters react to being sick but how would Maxie + various other Pokémon characters of ur choosing react to you being sick?

cw: reader sick with a cold

characters: Maxie, Archie, Lysandre, N, Guzma

☀️Maxie🌋

🪨 The minute you begin to show signs of being ill, Maxie is banishing you to bed. Unlike with himself, he does not want to risk your pathogen spreading throughout his team and worries about your health. Unfortunately, he becomes a bit nervous to be around you due to a small bit of germaphobia. The redhead does get over it when you keep asking for him, however. This leads to him quarantining himself away with you to prevent further spreading it around. He also finds himself fretting over it being something worse than it actually is.

🪨 He sends out grunts to buy whatever you may possibly need to get over your bout of illness. Medicines, tissues, a humidifier, a dehumidifier, a heating pad – anything. Maxie is certain to make sure you have everything that could possibly aid you in getting over your sickness. He will help away any sweat from fevers and make sure that everything is clean around you both, too. Disinfectant is used gratuitously. Of course, excluding excessive physical contact. He loves you, yes, but he does not feel like joining you in bed-rest.

🪨 You watch him scramble out of your shared quarters at some lucid point of going in and out of consciousness and wonder what he is doing before passing back out. Yet, the slumber is short as the smell of something hot singes your nose. Maxie has returned with a soup, made by him. He may not be the best cook, but he carefully made a favourite quick meal of it to help boost you up. Its spice is nothing to scoff at, and somehow clears your sinuses from its sheer heat. You can only stare at him in wonder while downing water. Maxie seems very smug about this all.

🪨 Once again, cuddling is not happening. He cannot stand the idea of getting sick and being unable to focus on his work. Not to mention how certain he felt that Courtney sneaked into his quarters the last time he was sick and snapped a picture of him. Though, towards the end of the illness when he knows it's nowhere near as contagious as it was during the earlier stages, he may give in. He crawls under the covers at your side and wraps an arm around your shoulders. Your head ends up pressed to his chest as he tries to figure out how much longer you should be like this. At some point, you fall asleep, and he does not have the heart to push you away in the end.

🌧Archie🌊

💧 He honestly probably doesn't catch the earliest signs that you are getting sick. Archie just does not get sick often enough to understand what is happening. Though, after it becomes complete apparent you are ill, he makes sure you can be comfortable in bed. It most likely was something going around in Lilycove that his grunts accidentally brought in with him. The Aqua Leader ends up stuck at your bedside, too. Poor guy cannot handle his Luvdisc being in such a situation. (Shelly sprays him down with disinfectant when he leaves his quarters, knowing full well be didn't clean himself nor use any germ killer. She alone prevents the spread of the illness.)

💧 If you just vaguely mention wanting something while sick, he rushes out himself to get it. Local pirate man spied at a pharmacy buying up an inordinate amount of cold medicine. Probably got questioned by someone, but somehow got off. He also grabs whatever else you may have requested. Endless tissues, air humidifier (though it is probably unneeded in the seaside cave you live in), snacks, gifts – He runs into the Lilycove Department Store and nearly loses his mind. Archie just wants to help you get better as soon as possible.

💧 Somewhere in the madness of it all, grunts spy him in the hideout's kitchen. They can only wonder what he is making, but the smell of seafood clearly wafts through the air. You get pulled from a light slumber to a bowl of some kind of fish stew. Archie holds it out with big eyes. Needless to say, it was eaten by you. Even if Archie had to spoon it to you in a few moments of weakness. Truthfully, his cooking was not that bad. Just a tad heavy to consume while sick. You did somehow feel better after eating it, too.

💧 Honestly, when it comes to affection, he is all over his partner no matter what. Even if you are sick, he wants to be stuck to your side. You do not even have to ask for him to cuddle because his arms already tight around you and have you pulled into his chest. Your comfort is more than met. Archie even barely goes for kisses, despite the obvious risks. Your emotional needs are just as met as your physical needs. It made you wonder if that was why you became better so quickly. And, somehow, Archie managed not to get sick, either. His immune system appears to be something to be feared.

🔥Lysandre🍷

☕️ The tall man feels stricken when you begin to develop the tell-tale signs of a cold. Especially as you try to continue going throughout life as you usually do. Lysandre quickly works to change that. Right before your cold gets worse, you find yourself forced into bed by your very distressed boyfriend. He scolds you for neglecting your own health. His heart aches at the thought of you suffering for no reason. Needless to say, when a near seven-foot man tells you to rest, you probably end up resting. Your shared home is kept clean by his efforts and that of a housekeeper, thankfully.

☕️ He already buys you everything you could possibly want, adoring to shower his darling in gifts. But, now, he is doing it in a frenzy. Special orders for medicines he believes will truly aid in shortening your illness and help alleviate your more painful symptoms. Tissues are always in supply near you and anything from a humidifier to some weird home remedy he does not quite understand but nonetheless gets for you. He only wishes to bring you comfort and happiness in your unfortunate state.

☕️ It comes as no surprise that he makes sure all the food you eat (in general) is extremely healthy and filling. He only has the best made for you by a restaurant he finds to by one of the best in Kalos. Of course, there is a time you find yourself eating an unfamiliar soup after waking up quite late from a near all-day slumber. Its flavour is pleasant and there is clearly a lot of skill put into making the dish, but it was obviously not made by the usual person who apparently had been making your food. You only learn it was a personal recipe that Lysandre had made after getting over your sickness. Supposedly, it was something that Sycamore had made for him at some point during their long friendship.

☕️ Lysandre is a rare hesitant about affection while you are ill. The last thing he needs in his busy schedule is to be forced to rest. Team Flare would almost certainly fall about without his leadership, and his duties as the president of his labs would stack up to a distracting degree. Yet, still, when you look at him with pleading eyes in such a condition, he feels weak to his own love for you. He gives in, allows you cling to him. Perhaps a bit of physical comfort would give your immune system the boost it needed to get through all this. You both end up drowsing off, cuddled up together.

🌿N👑

🟢 He is not sure how to react when your cold becomes too obvious to ignore. Panic consumes as he thinks about statistics of deaths related to illness, before he recalls what his sisters used to do for him when he was younger. Suddenly, your green boyfriend is dragging you back to bed and demanding you rest. N is so very worried. He has never had to handle another person being sick, so having his lover be the first one is making him fret too much. Hilda finds herself in a hard place when N calls to ask what to do and has to give him a run-down. He was a very quick learner, thankfully.

🟢 He finds himself unsure what to get for your symptoms, so he probably nearly grabs one of everything for cold medicine in the hopes it makes you get better fast. This, too, means he ends up buying some strange homeopathic things, but honestly, it is the thought that counts. And, he did actually manage to grab a few helpful things in his whirlwind shopping trip. N was also careful to stock up on tissues and the like. He just wants to help you get better so desperately and seems to be trying literally everything to help you.

🟢 This includes cooking. While he is not too familiar with the skill, he quickly finds aid in both his pokemon and human friends. Hilda makes sure he follows the recipe as best as he can, while the pokemon bring him the best ingredients out from the wild (besides what he had to buy). The dish is carefully made before being brought to you as you wake up from an extended nap. The soul is very herbal and probably skews a bit too bitter, but the love N put into making it is obvious. (You did feel strangely more energetic after finishing it, too.) He is happy that you enjoyed his desperate attempt to cook for you.

🟢 Poor green boy is stuck to you like glue while you are in such a state. The fear of getting sick does not even occur to him, all he simply wants to do is make you feel better. His affection is always so gently and warm with a hint of desperation. You probably feel completely at ease with the near always present touch of your adoring boyfriend. Thankfully, his immune system is hardened from his youth spent partially in the forest, so he does not get sick too easily. Though, he trusts if he falls ill that you would care for him all the same as, he did for you.

💀Guzma🕶

□ The minute you begin to show signs of sickness, Guzma honestly begins to worry. He does not express it aloud, of course. His reputation must be upheld, but you do notice him pushing you to rest. Whenever he gets up, he is extra careful to keep quiet and scolds any grunts making noise outside his room. Big bad Guzma just wants his partner to rest and get over whatever was coming over them quickly. Eventually, though, he does actually demand you rest. Your steps were a bit too wobbly for him to want you wandering around in the endless rain of the dilapidated Po town.

□ Poor guy rushes into a pharmacy in a near frenzy trying to find things he swore worked the last time he came down with something. The clerk can only watch this delinquent scrutinises an antihistamine like he actually understood how the active ingredients worked. Eventually, he settles on two he trusts before buying them, heading back to you. He also grabbed a few boxes of tissues, but they go so fast he finds himself out buying more a day later. Guzma also grabs anything else he thinks might help. Like tea. His mom always told him to drink tea when he was sick, so it has to work. (He has no idea what he is doing, but he is trying his best.)

□ At some point, he realises there is no food in Po town that is good for someone who is sick, so he has to grab ingredients while he is out buying more tissues. It feels like a never-ending cycle of madness. Then, when it came down to actual cooking, he tried his best to make something edible. That failed, however, and he instead returned to the tried and true canned soup. Hopefully, chicken noodles would cure your ailments. You happily eat the soup, and thank him for going out of his way for you. He can only give a laugh.

□ He does hesitate a bit when you first get sick with affection. Guzma actually despises feeling ill due to the weakness associated with it. But, when you tug on his jacket when he is about to leave, he finds himself relenting a bit. Fine, yeah, he will cuddle his sick partner. If he gets sick, then thankfully he already has medicine to take and a stash of canned soup. It also feels nice to comfort you as you nuzzle into his chest. You probably hate being in your condition in a place like this. He just combs his fingers through your hair and gives you a light scalp massage. At some point, you both fall asleep.

#pokemon x reader #maxie x reader #guzma x reader #archie x reader #n x reader #lysandre x reader #pokemon/reader #pokemon archie x reader #pokemon maxie x reader #pokemon lysandre x reader #pokemon n x reader #pokemon guzma x reader #archie/reader #maxie/reader #lysandre/reader #n/reader #guzma/reader

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novasintheroom · 4 months

Text

048. Sunset

♡ Pairing - Vash x Reader

♡ Word count - 0.8k

♡ Warnings - mention of having future children? Very brief.

Part of the 150 Bullets drabble series on AO3

It’s been a slow traveling day. Not enough double dollars between the two of you to rent a tomas, so you’re left with the two feet you’re born with to get you to the next city.

The worst of the heat is over; the suns are dipping toward the horizon. Here, on one of the numberless sand dunes on No Man’s Land do you stop for a break, a drink of water. And here, while Vash puts the water away and hands you a pack of nuts for snacking, do you stare with a fond longing at a farm.

“When we get old,” you say, because there’s always going to be a ‘we’ with you two; to be together ‘til the stars burn out, “we should get a house like that.” You turn to him with a glint in your eye. “One with a wraparound porch. Lots of space.”

Vash straightens slowly from his sack and looks off at the distant farmhouse, with its small greenhouse domes and tracts of brushed sand. The suns are setting to the west. Everything is bathed in amber, and he squints against the shine of reflecting light through his glasses. It’s small, as far as farms go. Most are these days. With Plants growing healthier and technology being leaked slowly from Home, farms don’t have to settle as close to cities to survive. A sand tractor kicks up dust in the distance, the farmer prepping the ground for hardy plant life meant for deserts.

He feels a smile grow on his lips. A brow raising slowly, he gives you a playful look. “You want to sweep all the sand off the deck all day? ‘Cause that’s what will happen if we get that porch.” He hefts his pack on his shoulder and starts walking again. He knows you’ll follow.

And you do, feet steady on the sand. “Ah, you’re right,” you open the bag of nuts and pop a few in your mouth, savoring the one cranberry in the bunch, “But wouldn’t it be nice to watch the sunrise and sunset after a long day? Just sitting in some rocking chairs. Or one of those hanging benches!”

Vash hums, looking at the farmhouse again. “We could hang up some string lights around it. Have a little space off to the side for a firepit. Roast marshmallows and eat s’mores.”

You grin. “We’d have to have a workshop somewhere, for your arm and whatever else you want to build.”

He glances over his shoulder and gives you that charming smile. “I could build you some bookcases. Have our own library inside somewhere.”

“We’d need one with all the journals we have between us.”

Vash laughs in agreement, then pauses at the crux of the dune. The tractor moves along. He looks at the farmhouse now as if it is your own. “We’d have a master bedroom, and at least three guest bedrooms. For when friends come by for a visit.” He points. "Right there."

You stand by his side. Brushing his hand, you smile at him when he looks down. “There’d be lots of them. We might even have to add a second wing, especially when holidays roll around. Maybe some of them would move in for a bit, then they’d go off to start their own businesses, or their own families.”

“Now it’s starting to sound more like a bed and breakfast place. Or a hotel.”

“Or our own farm! With hired hands that can work the land with us, learn how to care for the Plant we get.”

He gives you a look. “You wouldn’t mind all the people?”

You purse your lips, then shake your head. “I know people’s more your thing, but I think they’d become like family eventually.” You give him a wink and bump his arm with your shoulder. “I’d do it for you.”

And a breath leaves in a slow rush from his lips. He's overcome. You’re golden in the sunset’s light. Beautiful. The perfect match for him. Vash often wonders, if there is a God, if He looked down on his pitiful state and said, ‘Alright, just this once,’ when he sent you. “Maybe…” he swallows and voices the imperfect little hope he has that can never be true, “…we’d have some room for the kids, too.” He looks down shyly, and is grateful for the hood of his coat obscuring his sight a bit.

Your smile only grows, and you hold his hand, leaning into his arm. “…Maybe.” You grin when his ears go red.

A solemn, bittersweet feeling overcomes him, even as he brings you close to hold you. He knows this is all wishful thinking. Two lovers hoping for a better, calmer future together. Something to get you both through the next day. There's a Plant to the east calling out, and he needs to answer it. But he still hopes, staring at that distant farmhouse, that it could come true someday. Somehow, someway, you’d both settle down. Have your own place. Your own family.

He sees a lone figure come out of the house, followed by a smaller one – a child – and his breath leaves him.

You both watch the waning sunset over the house and hope for a brighter tomorrow to find you soon.

#trigun #trigun stampede #vash the stampede #tristamp #writing #reader insert #self insert #vash x reader #nova writes #vash the stampede x reader #trigun x reader

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krypticcafe · 1 year

Text

Happy Super Late Valentines </3

rating: PG-13/teen

pairing: harry warden/the miner x gn!reader

warning(s): reader had a boyfriend, brief mention of cheating, small mentions of blood, violence, and gore, and harry being scary, for j u s t a bit.

synopsis: you had a shitty valentines day, and harry comes to pick up the leftovers.

a/n: okay, I haven't written fanfic in years, so please excuse me if this comes off as an uber corny dumpster fire. I'm just trying to have fun :'))))

So what if it's Valentine's Day?

So what if you wanted to spend a peaceful time with your boyfriend at home with some baked cookies?

So what if you accidentally burnt those cookies?

So what if you were so paranoid that it felt like someone was watching you the entire time?

So what if your boyfriend pushed asked you to go with him and his friends in some spooky abandoned mineshaft?

So what if you were surrounded by couples making out in a cramped, dark, and cold nooks and crannies and one of them happened to be your best friend and your now ex-boyfriend?

So what if you lashed out, dumped him, stormed out of the cave only to get more lost due to the heat of your anger?

It's fine. It's whatever. Could be worse.

Or at least that's what you told yourself to cope with the shredding of your heart and the burning tears.

Oooooh, but that bastard! The audacity to cheat on you, with her of all people! And he was such an idiot to do so after inviting you to come! Did he not think for a fraction of a second that he'd get caught? Or did all the blood in his brain just go to his dic-

God, what were you thinking, coming here with those guys, giving him the time of day?

Looking back on things, you realized you dodged not a bullet, but a whole missile. But did it reslly have to be on Valentines Day of all days? The world really is just that cruel.

And it was about to get even more cruel.

Screams, maybe half a dozen of them, echoed and bounced off the walls of the cave, finding their way to you. At first, you assumed the group was messing with each other. Either way, you could care less.

Then they started growing more frequent and louder, and you scowled.

'In here after that fiasco? Really? Christ, I'm never going out with any of them ever aga-'

Then you heard a blood-curdling scream. Suddenly, you started to prefer the possibility of what you originally thought they were doing.

Your head whipped to the tunnel left of you as you heard a scream far too familiar, and your body began to curl in on itself as you sat in a ball in the corner.

Footsteps began beating from the same corridor where the scream originated.

Anticipating the worst, you wiped the blur from your eyes, took a deep breath, and braced your hand over a nearby stone that you deemed good enough to buy you some time.

The footsteps grew louder, but remained at a painstakingly steady pace, as if to tease your demise. There was a loud thunk! before the screech of metal scraping rock pierced your ears. You were half expecting to see the grim reaper at this point.

Instead, you were greeted with someone else who might as well be the same person. They were tall, broad, and clad in nothing but a full set of miner's gear. Not a single speck of skin peeked past any part of their clothing, and their mask even managed to hide their eyes behind the dark lens. With what little brightness there was provided by the dim cave lights, you just barely noticed the glistening of the blood on their uniform and the way it dripped down the tip of their pickaxe.

You recognized him as the man from the town's local urban legend. It always seemed cheesy and way too cliche to you but here you were, face to face with the man, the myth himself. Would he make you another one of his victims tonight? Would your death become just another story told at the campfire? The thought made your stomach turn.

The two of you stayed in silence, your hand still gripping the stone while you stared at the miner, searching for any movement that suggesting that you'd be the next one to eat metal. But all you could see was the way his chest heaved, rising and falling from what you understood as the cause of all those screams from earlier.

Drip.

Clank!

To your surprise, he set down his pickaxe and approached you, kneeling down to your curled form. His head tilted slightly, as if to get a better look at you. A part of you wished you could see his eyes, wondered where he stared, why he stared. As embarrassing as it is to admit, you froze like a deer in headlights, squeezing your eyes shut when he lifted a hand and-

... wiped a tear on your cheek.

You didn't even remember the stone until he pried it from your hand and interlaced your fingers with his, pulling you up with him and into his embrace as he lightly petted your head.

Was he... comforting you?

It would've worked well if uh, he didn't reek of blood and dust.

Staying still as if your life depended on it (it probably did), you let him do as he pleased.

He pulled away from you but kept a gentle grip on your hand, nodding his head in the direction of the tunnels. You couldn't be bothered to question anything anymore, shock was the only thing that kept the fatigue from catching up.

He led you down countless tunnels and caverns, passing by bodies mangled beyond recognition, except for one. You were pretty sure that one was the cretin.

The entire time, the hold his hand had on yours was nothing short of soft and comforting, it almost warmed your heart. Almost.

Eventually, you found where he was taking you, back to the entrance of the mineshaft. He let go of your hand and urged you to the opening. Hesitantly stepping forward, you paused and looked back. He still stood there, though less menacing than he was before despite all the blood and dirt caked on him.

"I- uh... thank you."

Your voice was shaky from processing the events of the past few hours and you had no requirement to thank him, but you felt like you'd regret it if you didn't. The sentiment came across, and he nodded, reaching up again to trace a thumb on your cheek before giving it an affectionate pinch. You watched as he turned and left back into the abyss of the mines, disappearing into the cavern.

It was still dark outside, but you knew the way back from here. You were no longer shaking, nor seething, and the walk back home was oddly peaceful for it being so late in the night.

So what if you might want to see him again?

Bonus

The next morning, you woke up with your eyes feeling raw and your feet sore, but work calls and you had to get up nonetheless.

Nursing a cup of coffee, you checked your door for any mail, instead finding a bright red, heart-shaped box at your doorstep. Fortunately, it didn't contain any beating human heart as the urban legends told, but interestingly enough, a single wild rose and a card.

"Happy Valentines, won't you be mine? - Harry"

#x reader #harry warden #harry warden x reader #my bloody valentine #harry warden x you #slashers x reader #slasher x reader #slashers

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dulcesiabits · 9 months

Text

the paradox of touch.

summary: Mhin isn't used to your physical affection... but they're also not used to being without it.

notes: 1.5k words, fic, fluff, a commission for @mh8 (!!! thanks again for letting me write about mhin <3)

Mhin never tried to go to the Wet Wick if they could avoid it.

They didn’t mind the dinginess and the drinks (and the drinks left much to be desired) as much as the noise and the endless press of sweaty bodies, crowded onto the floor and spilling out of booths not designed to seat several people at once. Leander, irritably, saw nothing wrong with it; “the more the merrier,” he claimed, despite the obvious fire hazard.

As Mhin pulled their hood lower over their head, they slipped through the crowds as much as they were able to, inwardly grimacing as they dodged clumsy, drunk patrons. No, they tried to avoid the tavern as much as they could, unless they were dragged through its doors by Kuras or Leander, and then, all they could do was curse their luck.

But tonight was a little different. No one had dragged them through the doors this time. You were going to be there, as Kuras had off-handedly mentioned this morning. And it’s not like they liked you that much, but it was easier to tolerate the noise and heat of the Wet Wick if you were around. And maybe they enjoyed your company somewhat more than they did everyone else’s. Which wasn’t saying much, because they didn’t like most people’s company.

You were at the bar’s counter tonight, and Mhin made a beeline straight towards you, settling into the empty seat by your side. There was a glass in your hand, already half empty, amber liquid catching the dim lighting as you tossed it back. You made a face at the taste.

“What are you doing?” they asked, and you almost fell out of your seat.

“Fuck! Mhin, when did you get here?”

“Just now,” they said curtly.

“At least give some sort of warning,” you groaned.

They drummed their fingers on the counter. “You should have noticed me.”

You shrugged your shoulders, placing the glass back on the counter with a thunk. Their eyes trailed along the curl of your fingers around the cup, following the bent of your elbow to your shoulders, to your neck, to your relaxed face.

Sometimes, when you had drunk enough of whatever slop Leander passed off as alcohol, you would get touchy (more than you usually were, at least). Mhin had learned this the hard way when you had launched yourself into their arms one evening, beaming at them woozily as you ran your hands through their hair, calling them beautiful.

And… they hadn’t hated it. It could have been worse; you could have been a complete stranger, and if that was the case, there was no guarantee you would leave with all of your fingers still attached. And, additionally, the only reason they didn’t immediately push you off was out of surprise. And you were clumsy at that point; you might have lost your balance if they had shoved you away, which would have been more trouble than it was worth. Still, they watched you now, wondering if a repeat of last time would happen. They could still remember the warm, solid weight of your body, and the tenderness of your grip. No one had touched them like that in a long, long time.

Unconsciously, they placed their arm next to yours. You didn’t even look at it as you stood. “I’ve got an early day tomorrow. I can stay a bit longer if you need something, though.”

You looked at them expectantly, and they tried not to flush under your affectionate gaze. “Not today.”

“I’ll see you around, then.”

Without even a pat on their back in parting, you left, leaving Mhin feeling curiously empty and embarrassed.

ii.

Maybe Mhin had misjudged the friendliness of your relationship. Casual skinship among friends wasn’t anything unusual, and they’d seen you pull Leander into a hug, and put Ais in a headlock. You were a physically affectionate and touchy person, which wasn't unusual.

However, it felt as if you were more reserved with them. You would hold onto Kuras’s elbow when the two of you went out. Even Vere, the arrogant bastard, would let you touch his ears. But when it came to Mhin? There was none of that casual affection. In fact, it felt as if you went out of your way to avoid them. When they brought their hand close, you withdrew your own. There were no hand placed on their head for a job well done, or an arm slung around their shoulder at the bar.

Maybe you were trying to be considerate. Under normal circumstances, they would grudgingly appreciate it. But when had they asked you to be considerate?

“Is something wrong, Mhin?” you asked. During the night, when you lost track of the time working or browsing the market, they would accompany you back home to your room at the Wet Wick. It was dangerous at night, and normally, the two of you would enjoy a companionable silence. But this time, Mhin couldn’t bring themself to enjoy this usual nightly ritual.

They were scowling, prowling quickly through the streets. Irritation prickled along their spine, and they twirled their dagger in one hand, wondering if there was a suitable target nearby.

“I’m fine,” they said curtly.

“All right,” you said, shuffling your recent purchase of books under one arm.

They glanced down at your hands clutching the paper bag, and then glanced away before you could notice.

Then, you tugged at the end of their cloak, a light pressure that anyone else might have missed. When they turned, you leaned in towards them, and they lost their ability to breathe. “Hey, hold still for a second.”

The gentle rhythm of your throat as you swallowed, the way the moonlight turned your skin to silver, the warm breath from your lips— they were aware of each and every one of your movements, helpless as a rabbit caught in a trap as you leaned closer— your lips could brush their cheek if you moved even slightly— they could see the ridiculously beautiful medley of colors in your eyes— and then you backed away, holding up the stem of a leaf.

“This was caught in your hair,” you said cheerfully, flicking the offending object into the breeze. “Mhin? Hey, Mhin?”

They pulled their hood quickly over their face, stalking farther down the streets as you ran to catch up. Hopefully you hadn’t caught the growing blush on their face as they cursed you silently in their head.

iii.

Mhin was starting to wonder why they bothered going to the Wet Wick anymore.

They tried to focus on their drink, an unappealing, sludgy red color (“specially sourced,” Leander boasted) with a bitter taste that burned the back of their throat. You, the one person Mhin would bother to talk to, were seated at the other end of the bar, holding court with Ais and Vere, the absolutely worst people you could have surrounded yourself with.

It was only as Vere reached out to trail his fingers down your arm for what must have been the umpteenth time that night that Mhin finally slammed down their mug and approached the three of you.

It was the alcohol, they wanted to say, that made them act so uncharacteristically bold. But their head was remarkably clear as they hissed, low enough for Vere’s ears to prick in interest, “I have business with them.”

“Hm?” you said, tilting your head. “Me?”

“Yes. You. Come on. Let’s go.”

Ais raised a lazy hand in a parting gesture as Vere whispered in his ear, both their eyes following the two of you as Mhin guided you out the entrance and into a shadowed alley close by.

“What’s up, Mhin? Did something happen?” you said, concerned, and the sound of your sweet voice shot through their veins faster than the alcohol had.

“You—” They parted their lips, pursed them, and then spat out the words as fast as they could. “You— why— why is it that you don’t touch me?”

“Touch you?” Your eyebrows quirked. “Mhin, if you wanted to get into bed with me, then—”

“Not that sort of touch!” Mhin said hastily, glowering at your teasing smile. “It’s just— When you’re with Vere, or Leander, or any of those fools, you’re so casual about touching them! And— and! What about that time in that alley? Why did you get so close to me? I thought you were going to— that you and I were going to—”

“Mhin,” you said, and all the humor vanished from your voice, replaced by something so sincere and affectionate it made their ears burn. “Leander, Ais, Vere and Kuras are my friends. I like being affectionate with my friends. I didn’t think it would bother you so much; I just wanted to tease you a little because you always acted like you hated me touching you.”

“Well— I don’t hate it if it’s from you.”

“Let me make up for it right now.” And then you kissed their cheek, your soft lips lingering against their skin as you pulled back with a wink. “There. Was being honest so hard?”

“… You’re the worst,” Mhin said, but there was no heat behind their words.

“Ah, but you like me that way, don’t you?”

And they couldn’t find it in them to disagree, not with the press of your kiss still hot on their skin.

#liya writes #touchstarved #mhin #mhin x reader #touchstarved x reader #mhin touchstarved #x reader

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cthulhusstepmom · 10 months

Text

Fae!Soap Superstitious Bastard! Ghost: Gifts

(Just a heads up this got way more intense than I meant it to but that’s kind of the Fae for you.)

TW: mentions of torture, human remains

Soap is a collector, though not of any one thing that Ghost can discern. He’s seen the man pick up anything from an abandoned rolex to a nondescript piece of broken glass. It doesn’t seem to be about size, it’s not shape and definitely not value; Ghost had thought he’d pinned it down as things that caught the light a certain way but was swiftly proven wrong when Soap went on a spree of collecting pebbles and sticks. He’d glared sullenly at the first jagged gray rock when Soap had picked it up before swiftly changing the subject when he was noticed. There was no apparent rhyme or reason to any of it… well not quite. There was one singular pattern that stood out in his mind, a single thread that held firm no matter how much he rearranged or plucked at it.

Anything that Ghost gave him, Johnny kept.

The first had been a bit of pretty blue ribbon that was a close enough approximation to Soap’s eyes. It’d snagged on a bramble bordering the clearing where Ghost had set up for overwatch. Without even thinking he’d snagged it on his way to RV down the hill, offering it to Johnny in the armored car taking them back to base. Soap hadn’t said a thing. It was then that Ghost realized maybe giving your subordinate a piece of trash you’d found in a bush perhaps wasn’t the most well adjusted way to express affection. He’d been about to play it off with a quip, beginning to retract his fingers ever so slightly, when Johnny snatched it lightning quick from the palm of his hand, holding it close to his chest for a moment before stuffing it into his chest pocket next to his journal. Soap had given him a small strangled “Thank you” as they sat the rest of the ride in an awkward but warm silence. Johnny disappeared almost immediately after they got back to base but Ghost could see light in the space under his door so he wasn’t too worried that he’d done permanent damage to their relationship.

After that his eyes just seemed to catch on things that he assumed Johnny would like. He couldn’t help it. Little glass marbles, a river stone with an interesting marking, a large brown feather; Somehow it all made its way into the hands of his Sergeant. Usually with a gruff “Here”, barely waiting for Johnny to hold out his hands before he dropped his small offering into his gloved palms. Soap has also gotten over whatever his episode of silence had been, responding with a blinding smile and enthusiastic gratitude and a happy quip. (“Thanks Lt!” a piece of antler, Montana “Y’ shouldn’t have!” an old toy car, Finland “Find this on sale?” a scrap of pink fabric, Brazil “Ghost you’re spoiling me.” green river stone, India etc.(no he didn’t catalog all of them that would be creepy. He only wrote down his favorites.))

The next time Ghost thinks he’s permanently damaged their relationship and scared Soap off for good comes after an operation sweeping out an AQ base in Afghanistan.

It’s stuffy and dark, the blistering heat of the day beginning to fade into the bitter chill of the night. The compound has long since been abandoned by all but the stubbornest of rats, slowly being reclaimed by the wild desert it carved its blackness into. They roll into the courtyard through the open front gate, the outer walls have seen multiple breacher charges and calling them walls at this point is more out of respect than any dedication to accuracy. The whole place has already been swept by drone and Laswell has had satellite eyes on it for months confirming just how fucking dead it is. They’re here for information, the drone identified documents left behind as well as at least two hard drives.

The 141 has split off, each clearing their own section and radioing in at even intervals, they’ve learned the hard way that it’s better to be safe than sorry. Beyond extra caution, the whole place has an eerie, black aura that drags forth memories of scorpion stings and dull knives biting at his flesh. Assisting in his nightmarish stroll down memory lane, Ghost is assigned the lower levels of the compound. Each room is another scene from a past he tries to forget, filled with rusted over implements of pain and brown stains no one cared to clean.

Something in the last room makes him pause.

A small barred window allows light from a waning moon to pool into the room, catching on something on the table. Small, most no bigger than his fingernail, a collection of about five objects sits in a tray on the corner of the table. Brilliant white patches shine in stark opposition to the bed of rust brown they lay on.

Teeth. Human teeth.

His mind is acting on autopilot when grabs them and stuffs them in a pocket, so similar but so different to his first experience with the ribbon months ago. He finishes his sweep of the room, conveying his findings back on comms (“Seems like we’re late for the party.” “If only you didn’t take so long to get ready.”-Soap “Shut the fuck up the both of you I just saw a rat the size of a terrier.”-Gaz “I’ve got the hard drives if any of you fuckers remember why we’re here.”-Price), and turns back to rendezvous, his mind now firmly on finding his comrades and getting the hell out.

As they start readying themselves to duck into the humvees they arrived in, Ghost’s muscle memory kicks in to complete his self assigned mission objective. He turns to where Soap stands almost expectantly at his side. It’s not every mission that he has something he’s decided is a worthy offering but it has become more often than not. Mind already halfway back to base, a gloved hand chases down each tooth where they’ve burrowed themselves in the pocket of his tac vest, collecting them and dropping them in Soap’s proffered hand with a grunt. His brain turns back on when the bloody bones hit his Sergeant’s glove, panicking because what the fuck did he just do? What kind of fucking sociopath gives his friend(more?) human fucking teeth as a souvenir. Much less human fucking teeth that were pulled forcibly out of some poor bastard’s skull during a bygone torture session.

His hand is trembling.

Ghost forces himself to look down and meet Soap’s assuredly outraged and disgusted gaze.

Only he doesn’t.

Johnny is staring down at the teeth in his palm with a look of fucking reverence. His pupils are dilated beyond just the darkness surrounding them and Ghost’s detail oriented eyes catch the slight flare of his nostrils on every inhale. Soap slowly tilts his head up to meet Ghost’s eyes and a gasp lives and dies in his throat.

“Oh Simon, you treat me so well.” His voice is gravelly and thrumming with an emotion that Ghost doesn’t know the name of. But, god if this is the look he gets after bringing Johnny desiccated human remains?

He’ll rip the teeth out of some unworthy son of a bitch himself.

#Soap may be the one who is inherently Other but Ghost is fucked up too #I adore deeeply fucked up Ghost™#almost as much as soft Ghost #Soap is one lucky man #he's just sitting here happily obsessed with his human and then Ghost just up and gives him a courting gift #in folklore giving fairies gifts is a 50/50 chance to get them to go away #i however would like to introduce you to a secret third option: love #Also I'm like 60% certain I'm going to do sort of a mix of snippets here leading up to like a three shot culmination posted on Ao3 #would yall like that? would you prefer all on tumblr? do you even want story or just more little drabbles?#Fae!Soap #superstitious bastard!Ghost #cod mw2 #soapghost #tw torture #tw human dentition

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yokohamapound · 1 year

Note

Since it'd been so cold out, can we have some hcs of getting warm and cosy with Dazai, Ranpo, Akutagawa, Chuuya, Fyodor and Oda, please?

Hey, perfect ask for this time of year~ I hope you enjoy these! - FungusWitch

Characters: Dazai Osamu, Edogawa Ranpo, Akutagawa Ryuunosuke, Nakahara Chuuya, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Oda Sakunosuke

Contents: gn!reader, fluffy shit

Dazai Osamu

While Dazai likes to lounge around, what we've seen of his living spaces seems to be rather spartan. He has a futon and a table and that's basically it. He'd happily sleep on the floor if he had to. This is the guy who used to live in a shipping container after all. If you two are going to get cosy anywhere, it's going to be at your place.

That's not to say he doesn't appreciate all the touches that make your house a home. He has a habit of throwing himself dramatically across your bed or your couch and disturbing the throw pillows.

And tossing them at you when you least expect it.

"Why are they called throw pillows, if they're not for throwing? Think fast!"

His usual tomfoolery aside, Dazai takes any opportunity to be close to you and soak up your attention like a thirsty plant, so if you wanna get down and cosy, he's all for it. You're in a relationship with Dazai, so you'll likely be one of the few people he can shut off around and just be himself to some extent.

He just wants to stretch his long skinny legs out on the couch, rest his head on your lap, and either sleep or reread his well-thumbed suicide theory book for the hundredth time. If you occasionally want to fish a marshmallow out of your hot chocolate and stuff it into his mouth, well, that's fine with him.

Dim lights, warm blankets, mindless TV shows. <3

Ranpo Edogawa

Okay, you've all seen that episode of WAN! where Ranpo shuts himself in his locker with all his candy, right? One of the best ways to get nice and cosy with Ranpo is to build a den, whether it's in the bedroom or the living room. Build it, stuff it full of blankets and cushions.

Make sure there are enough snacks. No, that's not enough. You're gonna need some more. More! More, I say! Okay, that'll do.

Drag the TV to the edge of the den, charge up whatever games console(s) you've got, and prepare to hibernate for the weekend.

Like anyone, he'll want personal space sometimes, but that doesn't mean he won't spend the majority of his time cuddling or being cuddled. As long as his hands are free to hold a controller or a snack or a book, he's a happy little gremlin.

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke

You're going to need a dictionary definition of the word "cosy" around to explain the concept to Akutagawa. Just look at him: he's all cold, sharp edges. He never takes much thought for his own personal comfort, beyond making sure he has Rashoumon on his back to protect himself.

Being in a relationship does give him an avenue to explore a few more creature comforts without being seen as "weak". Mainly by blaming it all on you.

He doesn't need extra blankets on the bed and throw pillows everywhere. That's all your fault. You're the one who brought the fancy teas and hot chocolate, not Akutagawa. If he so happens to make use of them, that's beside the point.

He has to be in a very specific mood to allow you to cuddle up with him on the couch. A cold winter night is your best bet, since he can see the logic in huddling up together for warmth. Yes, you have central heating, but he's pointedly choosing to ignore that. Enjoying life's pleasantries takes a lot of cognitive dissonance for Akutagawa.

He sits stiffly on the couch, his arms folded, as you nestle in beside him with your blankets. If some of it so happens to drape across him, well, he cannot be bothered to remove it. If you made him a cup of that hot chocolate that smells so good, he has no choice but to drink it. It would be wasteful otherwise. It doesn't matter how many times he tells you not to make it for him, you never seem to learn.

Nakahara Chuuya

Chuuya will make fun of you for being cold, calling you a "little baby", amongst other charmingly condescending things, but these will be accompanied by him draping his coat-covered arm around you, like he's literally taking you under his wing.

I personally believe that having he probably runs a couple degrees warmer than a regular human, like a side-effect of having a literal god living rent-free inside you. This boy is toasty.

His penthouse won't necessarily give you "cosy" vibes, especially not the first couple of times you go there. Chuuya's a guy in his early twenties with a lot of money to throw around. Some of his crib is stereotypically rich boy man cave. Leather, chrome, glass, whathaveyou. It's mostly after you move in that some softer furnishings start to appear. He doesn't mind this, btw. It makes him lowkey giddy to have you adding your personal touch to his shared space...as long as your taste isn't too wildly different from his. He might object to Lisa Frank-style microfibre blankets, for example. He still has some appearances to keep up in case any one comes round.

While he loves going out on the town or for long drives, a night in is often appreciated, especially when it's cold and the weather is shitty. If you don't feel like cooking, he'll order bougie takeout, open a bottle of wine, and sprawl out on the couch with you on his lap.

Yes, you have to sit on his lap, even if you're taller than him. I don't make the rules.

Fyodor Dostoevsky

Fyodor is a man of contradictions. As a Russian, you would assume he is a little more acclimatised to the cold than your average person, but he also suffers from some form of anaemia, which can lead to circulatory difficulties. I imagine his hands and feet are always cold. He doesn't seem to take any special measures to correct his, such as wearing gloves, so perhaps it truly doesn't bother him.

That doesn't mean he doesn't enjoy warmth. Far from it. Just look at his little ushanka.

While he may not always have the time or inclination to show you physical affection, when he is in the mood for it, he wants you close to him.

This might take the form of allowing you to climb into his lap and cuddle up with him while he's working, curled into him while the glow of multiple screens flickers across his face. You might fall asleep there, and wake back in your shared bed, only to find him still working late into the night, feverish with plans.

Or it might be warm blankets, pots of tea, chess games he always wins, books falling apart from age in his chilly hands, while he talks about philosophies and ideals you struggle to keep up with but enjoy nonetheless.

Oda Sakunosuke

Oda is one who enjoys the simple creature comforts in life. You'll pick this up about him if you spend enough time around him. He doesn't particularly care about luxury or high-end things. It can be the most mundane day and he'll still appreciate it if it's with you.

This is a man who will cherish quiet evenings in, cooking a meal together (often curry, unless he had it for lunch), huddling up on the couch together, and reading your respective books. Or you might be sprawled on the couch, watching TV, while he sits on the floor next to you, using the coffee table as a makeshift desk while he writes.

Like pretty much everyone who's been through the Port Mafia, he's touch-starved , but he's much healthier about it. I guarantee you, there is no bad time to lay hands on this man. You can drape yourself over this man like a blanket and he's happy to exist like that. (This is also because he's unlikely to startle from being touched suddenly like Akutagawa might. Being able to see a few seconds into the future helps cut down on the accidental jump scares.)

#Yokohama Pound #bungou stray dogs #bsd #bsd headcanons #bsd imagines #Dazai Osamu #Nakahara Chuuya #Oda Sakunosuke #Fyodor Dostoevsky #Edogawa Ranpo #Akutagawa Ryuunosuke #bsd x reader #FungusWitch

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bitterie-sweetie · 1 year

Text

Redo

Pairing: Wonwoo x reader Genre: fluff WC: 3.5k Warnings: mentions of alcohol

The party was a little crazy and you wake up not remembering who you were making out with last night. Luckily your best friend was there and can help you solve this mystery, right?

Is it bad that the only thing you can remember from last night is making out with some guy?

Yeah, you were wasted out of your mind. The obnoxious pounding of your head and the lack of memories beyond your fourth shot at the party is only further proof of that. But oddly enough, you can clearly remember the stranger's gentle touch, the heat of his mouth, and your heart pounding so hard it might explode.

Which, when you think about it, is the other weird thing. That kind of knee-weakening, heart fluttering type of feeling has only ever been evoked by one person before—

"Y/N? Are you even listening?" Wonwoo waves a hand in front of your face, thankfully interrupting your train of thought. "Are you sure you don't remember anything from last night?"

"Based on the way you keep asking me that, I'm starting to think I'm better off not remembering it," you retort, groaning at the growing headache when you attempt to recall any memories at all. "Anyway, that's exactly why I called you. You're the last person I remember from yesterday, and I need your help."

Wonwoo's instant frown tells you that he's already wary about where this conversation is heading. And sure, he has every right to be after having spent years being dragged into the antics of his closest friend.

In your defense though, the party last night wasn't exactly your idea.

The party was Joshua's holiday party that he was co-hosting with his friend, Jeonghan, at a local bar where one of their friends works. You definitely weren't expecting an invite from Joshua, but there he'd been, handing it to you at the end of your tutorial one day. By this point, you'd already heard the rumours about how their parties tend to be... just a little bit sketchy. They had a bad rep, so to say, but no one ever talked about the reason behind that. Of course that only made you all the more curious.

So really, you were just an innocent guest attending a party that your friend personally invited you to.

And it was a good time, at least to you. But judging by Wonwoo's unamused expression, you're now wondering if you perhaps contributed to this bad rep, whatever it was you ended up doing.

"Yeah so. Did you see who I, um..." You have to pause to figure out how to ask your question without asking it directly. "Like, how I ended up getting home? After leaving the party?"

No response. You can feel him staring at you, likely to be judging you internally, but when you meet his eyes, he looks away.

"Right, okay." You give him a wry smile. "That's fine. I was thinking that retracing my steps from last night might help me recover my memories."

Wonwoo blinks.

"Please? I'll buy you that skin you've been eyeing lately?" The least you can do is try to appeal to his gamer side.

He considers for a moment, acting as if the two of you don't already know what the outcome would be. "Make it two skins."

"Deal. Now let's go do this thing."

An hour later, you're getting a strong sense of deja vu as the two of you head to the dinner spot you were just at yesterday. Nothing has changed within the span of a day—the lights are still up, not yet lit in the fading afternoon sunlight, and the trees are still decorated with the tiny trinkets and colourful tinsel. If anything, it's just slightly quieter on the streets without the same bustle of people out like last night.

The stillness on the streets coupled with Wonwoo's strange silence gives you the opportunity to finally slow down and think about why exactly you want to remember the events from last night. Why are you so adamant on finding this mystery person you were making out with? Truth to be told, you don't really know the answer to that; it was just a kiss after all, albeit a good one, but did it need to mean something? You save the thought to examine later.

"Here we are," Wonwoo breaks the silence. He opens the door to the restaurant and steps aside, waiting for you to enter first. "Anything ring a bell yet?"

You snort. "Please, it's not like I can't remember anything from this early on."

He follows right behind you, and soon, the two of you are seated. You're on the opposite side of the restaurant today, though yesterday's table with the couple currently occupying it is within your field of view.

"Oh yeah?" Wonwoo raises a brow at you. "Then what were we talking about?" He slides a menu your way and then opens his own, though he chooses to stare at you instead of reading it, awaiting a response.

You shoot him a dull look back. "We went over your hatred for the holidays. Sorry—not hatred, but distaste. The crowds are terrible, the lights are way too much, and you obviously don't like the red and green colour combo. Don't even get me started on the music."

When the waitress comes by to take your orders, you snap your mouth shut, hoping she didn't overhear this odd conversation. Wonwoo picks something off the menu as if he'd been reading it, while you end up ordering the same thing as yesterday.

"Wow, is that really how you think of me?"

"Who knows," you shrug, feeling the smug smile on your lips. "But you see, I have a theory that it's not really about any of that at all."

"Really? Go on."

You lean a little closer and gesture for him to do the same, intentionally pausing to up the suspense. "I don't think it's about the holiday or festivities at all. What you actually dislike is the—how do I say this..." you wrack your brain for the right term. "It's the couple-ness of it that you don't like. The whole cuffing season thing, the way couples are all around you, from the moment you step out of the house to when you turn on your screen and those hallmark movies are playing. You hate how love is in the air."

He doesn't respond immediately, and so you take a sip of your water to make your whole demeanour a little more nonchalant. The subject is one you don't bring up much—you may have known him for a long time and are his closest friend, but you still don't know why he's never shown any interest in love. There has never been a crush, a dating app, or someone he vaguely found attractive, and he's never cared much about your love life either and would much rather avoid the topic entirely.

Well, not that you've had much of a love life in a long time.

The crease between Wonwoo's brows deepens as he thinks, and by the time he opens his mouth, his entire face is a look of disdain. "I'll go with answer A: shitty crowds, lights, and colours."

"Bingo. I got it, didn't I?" You push it just a bit more so that maybe then he'll tell you what's really on his mind. But before he can respond, the waitress comes back with the food, and you know you've lost your opportunity.

Wonwoo stays silent for a while as the two of you eat, but you can feel his analytical eyes on you every now and then. He almost looks like he wants to say something, like he's wavering and might actually answer your question instead of avoiding it like you expect him to.

He doesn't, though. In the end, he decides to change the subject. "What about you? Why do you want to find the person you were with last night?"

"Because—"

You stop to think.

Perhaps it's what you remember about it that stirs this feeling in your gut. You remember the way it felt, the softness of his lips and the warmth of his fingers as they gently held you. The absolute tenderness that existed despite the heat of the moment and despite the alcohol in your veins making everything glow as the world spun around you.

And then there were the butterflies, the ones that only come out in the presence of that one special person. You're sure not just anyone could've made you feel like that no matter how inebriated you were, so this stranger had to be someone special. There was definitely something there.

Or so you think. Of course it might've been something you misremembered because of your delusional state last night, but at least it was something you could cling onto, right? You've been telling yourself to get out of this cycle of unrequited love and hopefully move on with your life next year. This would be the perfect excuse, and a much better one than the blind dates that your aunt keeps trying to set up for you.

"My family is still on my back about that blind date," you say, rolling your eyes for extra effect. You might as well lay the foundation now so that you have a back up excuse. "Maybe if I find this person and things work out, then they'll finally stop pestering me about that."

"How are you going to find this person? Surely you're not going to go around kissing strangers until you recover your memories? Do you remember anything about them?" Wonwoo's questions come one after the other, and it's the first time he's so interested in your love life. Usually by this point he'd be looking slightly uncomfortable and then changing the subject, and seeing this odd behaviour makes you wonder if it has anything to do with what happened yesterday.

"I... haven't thought that far," you admit. "I guess finding them isn't that important; I just want to know who they are."

"Does it matter who they are?"

The question surprises you again, so you peer at him, trying to analyze him the way he often does to you. Wonwoo's face doesn't give anything away though; he stares back without moving away once you meet his gaze, almost as if daring you to answer the question. Just like you did earlier when asking about his aversion to the holiday stuff.

"Hey, how are we doing over here?" The waitress stops by just in time.

You send a silent thanks to the greater powers.

After finishing up the meal mostly in silence, you're now heading toward the bar where the party was held last night. It's not too long of a walk from the restaurant, which was good for yesterday when you were trying not to freeze in your party outfit—or, well, maybe it wasn't so good since Wonwoo did pull you in and open up his coat to try to shield you from the wind with it.

What this short walk is also not good for, is today when he seems to use every opportunity to convince you to turn around.

"Are you sure you want to know, Y/N?" Wonwoo slows down his steps beside you until he's practically dragging his feet. "It's not too late to go home. We could watch that movie on your list or put up the new ornaments you bought."

His offer is so strange, not quite unlike your offer to buy him skins for his game, that you nearly accept on the spot. But as tempting as it sounds, today needs to be spent finding the potential love of your life.

You pretend to consider for a moment. "Tempting, but no," you shake your head. "I need to solve this mystery."

He doesn't say anything to that, but you don't give him a chance to before you're speeding up and heading to the next spot.

The sun has now set, and the many coloured lights of the streets are just beginning to light up as the two of you head towards the bar where the party was last night. More people are out and about; couples holding hands as they walk side by side, singles hurrying home, groups of friends heading to the Christmas market nearby. Everyone you look at could potentially be the person you were with last night.

But who could it have been? Surely it couldn't have been the worst-case scenario, your ex—you don't even think he was at the party since you've never talked about him before, but knowing Jeonghan and Joshua, they totally could've found a way to bring him there. Maybe it was the hottie, Mingyu, whose name is the only thing you can remember just because of his thousand-watt smile. Or maybe it was—

No. Your heart gives an involuntary jerk at the thought, and you have to shake your head to get rid of the idea. No, it's not possible at all.

"Y/N?" Wonwoo stops a few steps ahead of you, glancing back with concern at your abrupt stop. "You good?"

"Yeah, of course." You shoot him a quick smile but avoid his gaze. Now you definitely need to get rid of that thought.

The two of you make your way to the bar, but the search is futile the whole way. People are everywhere all around you, walking along the streets and gathered by the bar, and yet, somehow no one you look at seems to fit the picture. You see the same bartender from last night and he greets you with a wave, but his hair is much longer than what you remember about the mystery person, and his lips much thicker.

But you soon realize that the lack of resemblance isn't even the issue. At the back of the bar when you do seem to spot an attractive stranger with similar features to what you remember, your heart still sinks at the thought of having kissed them. And it's the same with every person you look at, which only means one thing: the problem is that you can't possibly imagine ever being in love with them. You can't imagine being in love with anyone other than your best friend.

It feels like hours later when the two of you finally decide to call it a day.

There's an empty bench just down the street from the bar, close enough to the Christmas market that you get a nice view of the lights when you collapse onto it. The bustle of earlier has calmed down at this late hour, though it does little to calm the nervous pulsing of your heart. You can't quite pinpoint what it is that's making your stomach twist, and it certainly doesn't help that Wonwoo is so close you can see the fresh snowflakes landing on his eyelashes and in his hair.

It'd be nice if this moment could last forever—only the two of you existing as the rest of the world is muffled by the snow.

But nothing lasts forever, and you know that you have to end this and move on with your life.

"It was someone from the party, wasn't it?" you ask tentatively. Wonwoo seems to be analyzing you when he looks over, but otherwise doesn't respond. "And you know who it is."

That earns you a nod.

"I thought so." You heave a sigh, turning away from him to stare at the lights in the distance. No wonder he seems to have been dropping hints all day—the cryptic questions, the subtle slip ups. He can be a really careful guy when he wants to be, but this time it's as if he wants you to know that he knows. And yet, the two of you still spent all day aimlessly retracing your steps. "Then why wouldn't you just tell me who it is?"

"Because," Wonwoo mumbles, "what if it's someone you don't want it to be?"

"Then it would just have been a fun time and nothing more, I guess. Why does that m—"

"What if it's someone that you can't see that way? Someone you'll never be able to have feelings for?"

The question catches you off guard. Here you are, half expecting a name drop at this point after having spent so long searching in vain—you expect him to simply tell you that this mystery person really was your ex or maybe the bartender, or maybe even Joshua himself for whatever reason. Gross. So yes, there might be a list of people you don't want it to be, but what you don't understand is why Wonwoo is making such a big deal out of it.

When you look over at him, there's a sort of apprehension written on his face that he doesn't bother hiding. And while it confuses you why he's taking this so seriously, you can also feel the growing tension in the air between you, making each ticking second veer towards a slope that you'll be unable to turn back from. You never thought this would matter so much, but it's as if everything depends on this one, singular moment. The instant when he reveals the truth.

Why would he care so much about it though? Why would it matter to him who his best friend was drunkenly making out with? Why would he be so oddly hesitant yet curious about what you thought of this person—

"What if you're disappointed by who it is?"

The memories rush back so quickly that you nearly kneel over.

Stumbling out of the bar, finding this exact bench. The world spinning in a kaleidoscopic blur of lights, the warmth of his hands guiding you. You'd sat here and teased him about his distaste for the holidays—you asked if he hated it when you brought him to the Christmas market with you every year, and if he'd much rather not help you put up the tree. You asked why he even went to the holiday party with you this year despite hating both the holidays and parties.

Then when you looked up...

"The mistletoe." You let out a gasp when you see it right above you, still in the same position it'd been in last night. The very mistletoe that you'd pointed out to Wonwoo and asked him if he hated it too.

If he hated being underneath it with you.

"You remember it now?" he asks quietly. He appears calm, stoic as usual, but it's all too easy to see that there's anxiety swimming just beneath it all.

"Yeah, it's coming back to me now. So that's why you didn't straight up tell me even though you knew all along." You nod to yourself as you put together the pieces.

"We were drunk and caught up in the moment so I didn't think you meant what you said or would even want to remember it. I was going to let you forget it, Y/N, in case you thought it was a mistake."

It all makes sense now. All of that would explain his nervous energy today, the odd questions, the sudden interest. Except there's just one more thing... "But then why did you agree to come with me and retrace our steps? You—you wanted me to remember."

He sighs and gives in with a nod. "Yeah, it was a chance to redo the day. Last night was wild and things kind of went out of control, but this way, we can do it differently. I kept hoping that maybe there's the slightest chance you really meant it, what you said about..."

About being in love with your best friend, you think, internally cringing when you can hear the words in your own voice from last night. You'd nearly screamed it out loud, and the situation was probably more than embarrassing and not pretty at all—blame it on Joshua for having this party in the first place. This was nothing like how you might've pictured confessing to a crush at all.

But as crazy and mortifying as it was, it feels almost like an inside joke, a moment that only the two of you would ever know. And when you finally manage to process what Wonwoo just said, your heart speeds up for an entirely different reason.

Hope. This is what you'd been hoping for, too.

"I meant all of it," you quickly say, diving right in before you can chicken out. "Did you? When you said that you don't hate all this holiday stuff, but actually enjoy it because it's with me? That you... feel the same way?"

"Yeah, Y/N. You have no idea how long I've been holding onto that." The tension in his body has eased and there's finally a smile on his lips, perhaps for the first time today. "And about the mistletoe right above us? I don't hate it, Y/N," Wonwoo repeats his words from last night. "Not at all."

"Ah, I see," you tease despite the hammering of your heart at what's to come. "Is that what you want to redo this day for?"

Wonwoo's smile widens. "I'd gladly redo any day if it's with you."

When the distance closes and you feel the tenderness in his touch and taste the soda on his tongue, you know that this redo of a night would be committed to memory forever.

#wonwoo fic #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo imagines #svt imagines #svt scenarios #svt fluff #seventeen fluff #seventeen scenarios #my fic #if you've seen this for a diff fandom... this was the og :')#i promise i have other stuff to post!!!#but oh well at least it's fun guessing which member might be the equivalent? ahahah

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moodywyrm · 10 months

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Mk moony what about Vi taking a bath with you?? All soapy and slippery and sitting on top of her

She loves the way you rake your hands through her hair and how you rub over her skin! She also loves running her hands all over you omg I’m drooling<3

this one has been plaguing me bc it can be both so so soft and a little smutty and I need it, rn :(

modern au vi where I've decided she was in college, eventually went part time and became a full time boxer, same au as no breakdowns here but I've been fleshing it out in my head? kinda?

she's always coming home exhausted from the gym, because she puts in an insane amount of work to make sure her dream works out. she comes home to the sweet little apartment she shares with you, her girlfriend, who she met while she was still a full time student.

this time she just so happened to come home while you were talking a bath. it's a peaceful sight, you in the tub with a drink and a book, the lights turned dimmed and candles lit. the water was a milky blue with the bath bomb you'd added, decorated with slowly rehydrating flower petals. you looked gorgeous, and Vi couldn't wait to get it. she mentally congratulated herself for showering at the gym, so she could hop right in with you.

she'd been standing at the cracked bathroom door for a few minutes, debating how to approach this, when your voice rang out. "Vi, baby, are you gonna join me or are you gonna stand there like a creep?"

"Sorry pumpkin, didn't know if you wanted alone time or some shit," She apologized, stepping into the bathroom and starting to strip.

You sat up, twisting to the side to watch Vi undress. Watching the way her tits bounced when she pulled her sports bra off, the drag of her shorts and boxers down her hips and thighs. The slow reveal of soft, firm skin. Once she was fully undressed, you were practically drooling, staring at her with so much love she felt heat flush over her.

You snapped out of your reverie, handing her the bath tray so she would have enough space to slip in. spinning around and moving away from the back of the bath, you watched as Vi climbed in, resting against the wall of the tub.

"C'mere pumpkin," She murmured, reaching out for you and tugging you onto her lap. You straddled her, pressing close to her body and wrapping your arms around her neck.

With a soft kiss to the line of her jaw, you rest your head on her shoulder. "How was your day, baby?"

Vi smooths her hands over your thighs, trailing one up around your waist to keep you close. With a kiss to the top of your head, she hums. "Mm, tiring, couldn't wait to get home and see you. Vander's been accepting a bunch of new fighters so I've been stuck training the new kids all day."

"You say that as if you don't love it, we both know you like taking care of newbies," You mumble, lifting your head to stare at her. She gives you this exasperated look, but you can see the smile forming on those pretty lips. You're right, and you both know it.

"Whatever, point is they're rough as hell and need work," She grumbles, sitting up and pulling you with her. You yelp, gripping at her shoulders to make sure you don't tip back into the water.

As you wiggle around on Vi's lap, trying to get comfortable, Vi holds back a groan at the feel of you. The soft press of your thighs against her, the heat of your cunt on her thighs as you shift. The warmth of your tummy and, christ, the feel of your tits against hers. The way her tits squish against you makes her head fuzzy, especially when she looks down to see you both decorated in pieces of rose petals and dribbles of milky water trailing down wet skin. It makes her heart beat a little bit faster, her breath coming a little bit quicker.

"-needed work too, don't forget that," She hears you say, only catching the end of your words. Her eyes snap up, looking at your face and hoping she hadn't got caught.

"What? Sorry, I - uhh- wasn't listening, sorry pumpkin," She fumbles, smoothing her hands over your damp waist, feeling for the dip of your back.

"I said, you needed work too. God knows how many times Vander and I have had to patch you up."

"Yeah, okay, you may have a point," She grumbles, unable to stop staring at your body. No matter how hard she tries, her eyes keep dragging themselves down to your nipples, the curve of your arm, the press of your stomach against her, the way your hips are subtly grinding down onto her thigh, the– wait.

She zones in, eyes narrowing as she watching the slight swivel of your hips, just barely grinding your cunt down onto on muscled thigh.

"What are you doing, pumpkin?" She practically purrs, sliding her hands down to your hips and holding you in place. For good measure, she even pulls you down onto her thigh a little harder, flexing the muscle to tease you. She watches as you get embarrassed, your chest heaving a little faster with the shock and excitement of being caught.

"I was just- uh- fuck," You stumble over your words, unable to confess. Not when Vi's watching you like that, her gaze heavy and predatory, dragging over every inch of your body.

"Yeah? You were just what? Getting off on my thigh like a pretty little slut?" She teases, leaning forward to press kisses beneath your ear, trailing them down your neck and biting at the spot where your neck meets your shoulder.

You whine, trying to grind down her thigh but being met by a rough smack on your ass, stinging even under the water. It caused a bit of water to splash out of the tub, pulling both you and Vi back to each other.

"Can we continue this in the bedroom? Please?" You beg, giving Vi your best puppy eyes. She just huffs out a laugh, gripping your ass tight before sliding that hand down, dipping it between your folds and lifting you enough for her to slide one slick digit into you. It's cruel, a tease, because you're more than ready for two, three, hell maybe even four fingers, with how much you'd teased yourself before she came home.

"Not yet baby, let me have my fun and then I'll fuck you nice and hard, got it?"

#anon #arcane vi #arcane vi x reader #arcane vi smut #arcane vi x reader smut #arcane #arcane smut

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