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#he's the lighting expert so to speak

avi-on-jumblr · 6 months

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awful tweet warning:

Before I describe everything that's wrong with this tweet, let me transcribe Stephen Fry's words:

I am Stephen Fry, and I am a Jew. The great Irish thinker and writer Conor Cruise O'Brien once said that antisemitism is a light sleeper. Well, it seems to have woken up of late. The horrendous events of October 7th, and the Israeli response, seem to have stirred up this ancient hatred. It's agonizing to see all violence and destruction that is unfolding, and the terrible loss of life on both sides brings me an overwhelming sadness and heartache. But whatever our opinions on what is happening, there can be no excuse for the behaviour of some of our citizens. Since October the 7th, there have been 50 separate reported incidents of antisemitism every single day in London alone, an increase of 1350%, according to the Metropolitan police. Shop windows smashed, stars of David and swastikas daubed on walls of Jewish properties, synagogues, and cemeteries. Jewish schools have been forced to close. There is real fear stalking the Jewish neighbourhoods of Britain. Jewish people here are becoming fearful of showing themselves, in Britain, in 2023.

(Then it cuts off.)

For those who still don't know why this tweet was ignorant and inane, let me explain.

"To hear him conflate antiZionism with antisemitism has shocked me."

Guess how many times Stephen Fry mentions zionism? Zero! Guess how many times he mentions the country of Israel? Zero! (Unless you count "the Israeli response" which is unrelated to the existence of the country, or Zionism at all.) What this person is saying, is that they consider the smashing of shop windows, and the vandalism and marking of Jewish property, to be anti-Zionism. Considering they are an anti-Zionist, by following their logic, we can conclude that they not only believe this destruction and harassment is acceptable, but they believe it is ethical.

Further, they accuse him of showing no care for the Palestinians, even though he explicitly states that the loss of life on both sides brings him overwhelming sadness.

Finally, they accuse him of "[Centring] people in this country". It is disturbing that this person believes one cannot be concerned over two issues at a time. It perpetuates the idea that we can only talk about the "worst oppression" and talking about anything else means you are complicit in "silencing" someone else. If this were true, we would not be allowed to talk about Gaza either, or Ukraine, or police brutality, racism, islamophobia, homophobia, transphobia, and so on and so on, because clearly there are other issues with hundreds of thousands more deaths, and millions more displacements, so why bring attention to it ever?

Unfortunately, people are not talking about those countries, like Syria, Yemen, Ethiopia, Congo, and more, and anyone who does is spammed with "free Palestine" comments. In fact, the most I've heard people talking about Sudan is when these TikTok geopolitical experts attempt to spam the Palestinian flag and get it wrong.

This is not new. This is obviously not new. I have seen tweets like these every single day in the hundreds for the last 80 days. It is not surprising that people think smashing windows is "anti-zionism", nor that they think it good. It is not surprising that they hear a Jew speak, and experience shock and disgust, regardless of what we say.

I do wonder if they would regard anything short of a second Holocaust as antisemitism.

#antisemitism #i/p #jumblr #israel #palestine #stephen fry #israel palestine conflict #leftist antisemitism #gaza #avi posts

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kishibei · 1 year

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LICK BACK

leon s kennedy x reader | smut, 18+ | >1k words

summary: back in your RPD training days, rookie leon was just too easy to pick on. now that he's all grown up, leon is dead set on getting his lick back in the way he thinks best: finally getting the chance to fuck you.

cont: f! reader, morally grey (?) leon, revenge plot, light degradation, choking, manhandling, rough sex.

just having turned twenty-one, the bright-eyed and blushy virgin who you thought had no real understanding of how the world worked, was just the perfect target for your teasing.

but running into leon who's all grown up now is such a trip. he's changed much more than he'll ever know, a seasoned expert at practically everything. you can tell he’s witnessed unspeakable horrors; everyone has, but his weary expression betrays that fact more than anything else, the perpetual downturn of his lips telling his entire story.

and despite everything leon's been through, he's still hung up over the little things; running through almost every single time you poked fun at him back in RPD, eyeing you from above with a steely gaze. he speaks slowly, making sure you hear it all from him, just a small reminder in case you'd forgotten all these years later.

you laugh awkwardly as he brings it up, fiddling with your hands before looking up at him with a timid smile. he was such a loser then, practically begging for the chance to be with you. but as he stands here now, you can't help but to notice exactly how much he's grown. that scrawny little frame you remember all too well had matured so well into this leviathan of a man, the very mountain of muscle and bone that towered over you.

he knows you find him attractive, it's evident in the way you shift your weight from one foot to the other, how you flutter those pretty lashes, and lean in real close when he talks, pretending you can't hear what he’s saying.

he smiles a bit crookedly now, and when you part those perfect glossy lips to speak, he can't think of anything else but slamming his cock down your throat, making you eat every last one of your mean words to him.

leon knows he should forgive you, really… you were so much younger then, unaware how deep the teasing had actually gone for him.

yet still, all leon wants to do is settle the score, to get his lick back for all the torment you put him through. he thinks for a moment, a quizzical expression flashing on his face for a moment. what better way to exact his little plot of revenge than by getting exactly what you'd been denying him of for years?

he's been waiting for this chance for ages, ever since the day he laid eyes on you at base. this was his opportunity; the opportunity to finally fuck you.

engaging in this conversation is all part of his newfound game, and when he’s finally got you split open on his cock, he knows he’s won.

...

"fuck, leon! 's too much!" you cry out, the words leaving your lips in the whiniest manner.

it's almost pathetic really— the way fat tears start to well in your eyes, just threatening to spill as leon pumps into you. he's got you folded in on yourself on this shitty mattress; long gone flat with springs exposed, stained with grime and the remains of other unidentifiable fluids.

it's so dirty, almost filthier than the way leon's fucking you now; pressing your legs so far into yourself that your knees practically muff your ears, just barely lowering the sounds of his slamming back into that sloppy cunt.

leon's pace is unrelenting, and when you look up at him there's something dark clouding his gaze; like this means more to him than you think it does. you can't help but to think it's the result of all your bullying back then, and you know you're not too far off when he grabs your neck, squeezing at your throat like a man gone mad.

your eyes roll into the back of your head, panting and whining as he fucks you like this, but soon your vision grows hazy and a certain panic starts to settle in your bones.

"leon... lee!" you strain, voice coming out a small whisper as you begin to claw at his hands, trying to pry his fingers off of you.

he's so much stronger than you, always has been— even back when you would push him around during training, you knew it better than anyone. and here he was: the same wimpy little leon, using that very strength against you, closing around your esophagus while he fucks you into oblivion.

you're gonna die, you think— no, you know. you've convinced yourself of it when you stop scratching at his fingers, just moaning wantonly as tears roll down your cheeks. he leans down to press a kiss against your ear, releasing you for just a second before he's back at your neck.

"stupid, ungrateful, bitch..." he seethes, spitting the words at you like venom as he drags his cock out of you, only to ram it back in again and again.

the words are mean— hurting just a little worse than the bruises you know are forming under his fingertips. but your body betrays you, that messy cunt just clamping down on him as he whispers those cruel words over and over.

"stop! just stop, leon!" you babble, gasping for air as he let's go of you for another moment, bringing his lips down to kiss all over the bruises he's just made. leon's eyes flick up to yours, a wicked grin taking over his features.

"you don't mean that, y'know you don't..."

he's right, more than that.

so you let him fuck you, whispering obscenities far worse than the one's you've called him all that time ago as you cry and wail for him, overcome with equal parts pain and pleasure.

"lee... leon, i can't!" you whimper, fingernails clawing at his back as you tense up, legs shaking while you hold onto him tightly.

"yes, you can... you're fine." he sighs.

his response is surprisingly reassuring, and the way he strokes your cheek as it leaves him causes the tight coil in the pit of your stomach to snap, making you spasm beneath him with weak cries of pleasure.

"see? there you go..." he cooes, looking down at you with a softer gaze now. "feels good when you aren't fighting, doesn't it?"

you cant say much, just whining as he delivers his last few strokes with a grunt, filling you to the brim with thick, hot spurts of cum.

"shit..." leon pants.

"isn't this the part where you tell me you're sorry?"

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bluelockmaniac · 25 days

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⌗ "I'LL GO EASY ON YOU," ⋮ but you absolutely fucking destroy him.

★ nagi seishiro x gn!reader ╰ how come you've obliterated him in something he's so good at?

▯ content warning. mentions of video game gunfire, shooting, etc.

"sei, this game looks fun," you murmured, shifting slightly to adjust your position on his lap. his eyes remained glued to the glowing screen, the faint gleam of colours casting a hazy light across his face. his arms were looped firmly around your waist, thumbs expertly swiping over the controller in his hands.

as you were cozily nestled inside his sweater, filled with the subtle scent of his cologne, you felt the gentle rise and fall of his chest. you observe him deftly move his virtual character across the battlefield, shooting enemies and cursing under his breath at each hindering obstacle. after being in this same position for quite some time, a sense of boredom had begun to bubble within you.

"mm, yeah?" he mumbles, resting his chin on your head. he tilts his head down to press a kiss onto your soft hair. "it is."

"can i try?"

he stays silent for a moment, the room filled with the sounds of obnoxiously loud bursts of gunshots. he finally takes a breath and speaks, his voice muffled against your hair. "tis’ really hard though. i don’t think y’can win,"

your brows furrow as you whip your head slightly to meet his gaze, raising your hand to pinch his cheek. "hmm, how would you know? i could be better than you!"

"yeah, yeah, fine," he pulls his face away from your fingers’ grip on his cheek. he gives you a faint smile, exiting out of the game and clicking 'new game'. "i'll go easy on you."

you slide off his lap with anticipation, grabbing the fluffy bean bag he had bought exclusively for you from the corner of his room, placing it next to him. giving it a pat to smoothen its wrinkles, you made your way to the tv stand's drawer in quick strides, retrieving an extra game controller.

"you don't have to, sei," you smile warmly, settling into the softness of the bean bag as you prepare to show nagi seishiro what you were made of. "i want it to be fun."

he nods, hesitantly clicking the start button. while watching the one-minute timer displayed on the screen, he remembers to explain the rules to you.

"basically," he begins, "there’s a five-minute time limit. the person who reaches one hundred kills first, or whoever is the closest to one hundred kills, wins."

"yeah, i know, dummy." you tease, reaching out to tousle his hair, in which he responds with a subtle blush tinging his cheeks rose. "i've been watching you play for at least an hour now."

the bolded numbers on the now-split screen enlarge, signaling the beginning of the new game; 3...2...1...

you waste no time, immediately equipping your weapon, fingers swiftly moving along the buttons. silence was quick to envelop the room, thick with the weight of your competitiveness.

nagi shoots you a surprised, quick glance, before focusing his gaze back onto his side of the screen. suddenly, his attention is drawn to the corner of your part of the screen, where your kill count is displayed.

to say the least, this man was astonished to find out that you’ve racked up 63 kills in slightly under three minutes. his eyes widened in disbelief ever so slightly, registering the number with admiration.

"what the heck..." he accidentally huffs, quickly pressing his mouth together as the sound of his confused voice reaches his ears.

you let out an amused giggle, "surprised?"

he does not respond, lost in his own muddled thoughts. how could he, after underestimating you so badly? how could he say anything when you, as you were currently speaking, have over 60 kills compared to his mere 34?

the white-haired boy feels a prick of suspicion creeping in; he hadn’t known that his partner was an expert at video games. why hadn’t you told him? he sighs, realizing that the person he could have played with all this time was right beside him all along; he would no longer need to play with his tediously boring game-mates or those doltish bots which he had always deemed a hassle.

then, the game came to an abrupt stop.

98 - 52

he stares hard at the game over screen, a deep frown creasing his forehead. "nuh-uh, let's do it again..."

"ahh, i told you i could win!" you cheer, your finger lightly tugging on the skin under your eye as you stick your tongue out in jest. "and sure, i really want to hit one hundred this time!"

a soft grumble escapes his pouty lips as he buries half his head under the inside of his sweatshirt, leaving only his eyes visible. "m'baby's so cocky..."

100 - 67

"fuck, again!"

99 - 75

"this game's gotta be rigged!"

96 - 56

"seiii, i'm boredddd—"

"one mo' time,"

89 - 88

"ack–fuck this shit… i'm going to sleep."

you blink your eyes in silent amusement— this was a side of him you had rarely ever seen. your usually calm, bored boyfriend trying so hard at something; it was adorable seeing him so invested, even if it was simply a video game.

but somehow, you had managed to fire him up enough to the point of rage quitting?

"y’know sei, i was going easy on you..."

"..."

despite his muted response to the fuel you've added to the fire, you catch a glimpse of a proud smile tugging on his lips as he retreats back onto the bed, beckoning you to join him. “that was fun… play w’me again, ‘kay?”

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moonhoures · 8 months

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“It Just . . . Slipped”

🕷️ kinktober — day 12: daddy kink 🕸️

pairing: chan (stray kids) + reader (afab/fem)

genre: non-idol!au, smut

warnings: 18+, minors do not interact, explicit smut, established relationship, vaginal penetration, no mention of protection but please use it irl!!, pet names ‘princess’ & ‘baby’ for reader and ‘daddy’ for chan

word count: ~1.2k

synopsis: the title is pretty self-explanatory 😅

posted: october 12, 2023

kinktober masterist

On a random Wednesday night, Chan definitely wasn’t expecting to discover one of your kinks. Yet, there he was. The two of you had been together for about a year at this point, so you had sex countless times. If asked, he would say he was fairly confident that he knew a lot about you intimately. He knew what you liked and didn’t like. He knew what certain sounds meant. He knew what buttons to press to turn you on or make you cum. It was almost like a form of science to him. He might not be an expert, but he could teach a class, you know? Metaphorically speaking of course.

So you could imagine the surprise on his face when on this night, as he’s fucking into you tirelessly, he hears you say, “Please fuck me harder, daddy.”

He almost didn’t catch it. For a split second, he even wonders if he heard you wrong, or imagined it. Several seconds went by before his hips caught up to the speed of his brain, and his body faltered. His pelvis stuttered, coming to a halt between your thighs. Your face was already growing heated as you realized what you had said. Your hands reached up to cover your face, but the damage was done. You couldn’t hide. You couldn’t run. There was nowhere to go.

“What was that?” he asked, less with accusation and more so with a tone of playfulness. If your eyes had been open, you would see a teasing grin on his lips.

“I��m sorry!” you quickly responded, your voice coming out squeaky from the embarrassment that flooded your entire being, “It just . . . slipped.”

“It’s fine, I just . . . didn’t know you had a daddy kink,” he laughed softly on the second part, which made your heart drop into your stomach, “That’s new. Where did it come from?”

“I don’t have a daddy kink,” the defense left your lips instantly, like a reflex. But the both of you could tell you weren’t one hundred percent confident in what you said. For the most part, it was true. You didn’t have a daddy kink, that you were aware of, at least. You didn’t actively seek out any kind of erotic content with that word. And you hadn’t been immensely turned on by the term before. You didn’t have a problem with the term by any means, but never had it crossed your mind to use it in practice? Honestly, you had found it kind of cringy. But now you were rethinking everything.

“You sure? Because you definitely just called me daddy, and it sounded pretty natural,” he said, the cheeky smile still on his face, “You’ve been thinking about that for a while, haven’t you?”

“I haven’t! I swear,” your words muffled through your fingers, making him laugh again. He redistributed his weight so he could reach up and peel your palms away from your eyes. When he had your hands pinned beside your head, he interlocked his fingers with yours and enjoyed the beauty that was your face. Your wide eyes, full of nervousness and shyness. Your cheeks, full of the warmth that came from his scrutinizing gaze. Your lips that he could tell you were biting on, a nervous habit of yours. He loved all of it.

“It’s okay, _______, really. Don’t think about it too much,” he spoke softer now, leaning down slowly to press relaxing kisses against your chest. , “Sex is supposed to be natural. So just let your body do what it wants. Say what feels right, yeah?”

You nodded, still feeling the humiliation deep in your bones. But Chan always had a way of putting you at ease. He was like the human embodiment of the comforting feeling you get from a hug. Like lighting your favorite candle and relishing in the relaxing aroma after a long day.

Your boyfriend continued to kiss you wherever he could reach, returning to thrust into you. You were so immersed in the feeling of his cock moving in and out of you as well as his lips on your skin, that your nervousness began to melt away. Your lips were released from the grip of your teeth, parting as pathetic moans fell from them. Chan kept your hands on the pillows, his fingers tightening around yours as he grinded his hips a little more precisely between your own. He drew the most carnal noises out of you, much to his pleasure.

As his orgasm grew close, he noticed your tell-tale signs hadn’t happened yet. He usually preferred cumming with you, or as closely as he could get. So he reached between you two, wetting his fingertips with your own arousal before circling your clit. Soft whimpers caught in your throat, making him smirk against your neck where he was pressing kisses and making hickeys that he knew you would nag to him about later.

“Gonna cum with daddy, princess?”

“Princess” was not a new pet name for you, but it still made your chest flutter. “Daddy”, however, sent your body into a tingling fit. Maybe it was because it was him that was saying it. You really weren’t sure why it suddenly had this kind of effect on you, but Chan seemed to be eating it up, much to your chagrin. You groaned in embarrassment at his question, feeling like he was mocking you, though you knew he would never do so maliciously. He just liked making you flustered.

“Hm? Speak to me, baby. Who’s your daddy?”

Okay, now he was just having too much fun with this. For a second you wondered if you should give in and play along, or ignore him altogether. But you knew your boyfriend just as well as he did you. You knew he wouldn’t let this go, even after this was said and done. He would make you revisit this moment again and again unless you begged him to stop. And you weren’t sure if you wanted to do that just yet. Maybe you could give this a try, at least this once?

“Come on, _______, answer me,” he tried to urge a response out of you by nuzzling his nose against yours, making you giggle softly.

“You, Chan,” you finally caved, making his grin widen. His dimples showcased on his nearly flawless skin.

“I didn’t hear you, baby,” he teased you further, making you whine. Though it was mixed with a moan as he slowed his thrusts down, focusing on going deeper. He was reaching the spot that had your thighs twitching with pleasure. That, plus the toying of your clit, was bringing you so close. He could practically taste your orgasm.

“Chan, don’t-“

“Uh uh, say it again, ________. Who’s your daddy? Come on, make my day, princess.“

“Fuck- You are,” you repeated, a little louder as your orgasm came rolling down and out of your pussy. Your cunt throbbed and clenched around him, and he finally allowed himself to cum with you. Your two essences became one as they coated his cock, making a mess between his thighs and yours (and the sheets, unfortunately).

“That’s right,” he whispered, but you picked it up. He let out a laugh as you pinched his waist.

“You’re not going to let me live this down, are you?” you asked while he kissed your cheek.

“Absolutely not.”

— taglist #1

@jaylaxies @xiaoting999 @kookthief @zaddywilk @wonrangwoo @pedriswrld @ikykleeknowww @odisdad @abby-grace @jungwonloveer @pinklemonadeflav @celestialplatinum @luvkpopp @nlklstan @kisses4denji @jenos-eye-smiles @a-l-i-y-a @channiesprincess @bekah931215 @heerinnie @fairygirl18 @cinnikoi @im-ur-calico-cat @unlikelysublimekryptonite @k-drizzle

#stray kids smut #bang chan smut #chan smut #skz smut #stray kids fanfic #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids x reader #chan fanfic #chan imagines #bang chan scenarios #chan x reader #[🕷️] kinktober 23

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thehighladywrites · 2 months

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ACOTAR men x reader, meeting your parents

𐙚 summary: the acotar men meet ur parents for the first time, how will it go?

𐙚 warnings: crack, fluff

𐙚 amara’s note: thank u sm for the req anon!!💗 i need cassian so bad i’m not joking 🙁 | based on this req

Rhysand

okay so in my mind there are two ways this could go

either ur parents are scared shitless bc of him or they absolutely adore him

They’re real scared if your parents live in the Hewn City and have only seen Rhysand’s bad side, you know, when he was with Amarantha and just seemed like a real jerk overall

The part where they adore him would come into play if your parents lived in Velaris and witnessed Rhysand's true self, not the facade he presents to his court, but the genuine person behind the mask

I think he would act very nonchalant and act like its a casual thing meeting your parents but he is shitting himself behind the facades

He's just really eager for your parents to like him, so he ends up accidentally over-complimenting your mom, which might make your dad a bit irked.

“Mrs. L/N, your beauty is as radiant as the stars. And your cooking is absolutely divine,” he has a hand on his heart, his famous smirk playing on his lips

“Aw, thank you so very much Rhysand, how very kind of you. I’m glad you like it!” your mom beams at him sweetly

“Alright, Rhysand, let's not get carried away,” your dad mutters, staring daggers at rhys as he gets drags your moms chair closer to him

After a while they grow to love him and your father’s distaste for him lessens

Azriel

it’s kind like rhysand’s situation, your parents score is based on how much they know about him

okay, so if ur parents know he’s the scary night court torturer and spymaster who does dangerous things for his work, he might not be very well liked. not only that but they would be genuinely worried and very scared

but if they only know he works for the high lord, i believe the chance of liking him is big

I think azriel’s calm aura when he’s with you makes him very likeable and trustworthy

Your parents see how much he cares for you, the little things he does for you and they approve

they see the small things he does, like this vid right here

Azriel is actually so fucking nervous, he stalks your parents before meeting them. He knows what your dad likes and he knows what your mom likes. Azriel brings their interests up casually in conversations and see how their faces light up

of course you know about all of this but you let him think he’s slick

Eris

Just like rhys and az, it depends on how much they know ab him.

If this is pre berons death eris, they will probably not like him bc of the way he presents himself

I still think Eris is charming and will win over your parents

He’s an expert on charming people and he uses it when he meets ur parents

he is very respectful, tho not very talkative. He speaks when spoken to basically

He gets very nervous when he is asked questions about your relationship bc if there’s one thing he loves it’s privacy

Eris is super vague, i’m talking one word answer for everything

“So how did you meet?”

“at a meeting.”

“Okay! so whats the story?”

“we fell in love.”

Absolutely melts when ur parents decide to like him bc he has never had any parental figure like him that much except for his mom and he is very happy on the inside when ur parents love him

literally thinks of ur parents as his after a while

Lucien

He is extremely well liked, like right off the bat, they love him

We all now he is prythian’s most charming male

is the type to say “wow i see where my girl gets her beauty from” to your mom and “you raised her well, she is very smart” to your dad

I swear he will flirt with anyone. your brother, your sister, your mom, your dad

he brings gift baskets whenever u visit them and it’s always personalized gifts too

your younger siblings always greet him before you bc they think he’s wayyyyy cooler than u

he just basks in the attention bc slowly ur family basically adopts him and he becomes part of the family very quickly they all love him

Goes on walks with your parents, bakes with them, talks to them, literally becomes their fav in a heartbeat making u a lil jelly

This is SO him and ur mom LINK

Cassian

awww😭 bless his heart he is so awkward

he is so adamant about being liked, he goes all out

i’m talking gets a suit, shaves and gels his hair back even though you say it’s really not that deep

sweating bullets, wings drooping a tiiiiiny amount. not noticeable to anyone but himself

anyway

cassian knocks on the door w flowers for ur mom and his hands are literally sweating

absolutely doesn’t let you touch him in a romantic way. he literally swats of your hand on his bicep, “bae, we can’t do that right here, are you crazy??” he says in ur mind, looking around to see of anyone saw that super scandalous touch

at the dinner table he almost knocks over a glass and drops a fork on the floor

his tie is too tight and he carefully tugs on it for air until you decide it’s too much and take him to your childhood bedroom

“Cas, are you okay? They love you so much, there is really no need to be this nervous.”

“Are you sure they like me? Be honest.”

“Baby, I promise you, if they didn’t, you would know. Now get rid of this tie, pop a button and relax, let me get you a drink.”

After you kiss him and get him a drink, he calms down and goes back to his normal non nervous, lovely self

🏷️: @amara-moonlight @rowaelinsdaughter @redbleedingrose @artists-ally @thelov3lybookworm @clairebear08 @riddlesb1tch @cupidojenphrodite @readychilledwine @berryzxx @fell-in-luvs

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daisynik7 · 4 months

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I blinked and suddenly I had a Valentine

Author's Note: modern setting, no curses, high school setting. ~1.3k words. Divider credit to @/cafekitsune. Title from the song “Valentine” by Laufey. Rice bear bathing in Japanese curry looks something like this (reddit link). Part of the past lives vignettes series. Thank you for reading!

It’s almost the end of January and you’ve spent the past three weeks at your new school eating alone, either in the classroom or in the cafeteria. You’re too shy to socialize with your peers, who are already well-established in their own social circles. This is what happens when you transfer in with less than three months left of the schoolyear. No one wants to be friends with the new girl, right?

Well, two people prove this theory wrong.

Yu Haibara is the first to approach you in the cafeteria during lunchtime. “Hi there!” he greets, taking a seat across from you, a cheerful smile on his face. You can tell from his aura alone that this is someone easy to get along with. Jovial, optimistic, kind-hearted. You’d normally feel nervous interacting with someone you’ve never met before, but his welcoming presence immediately puts you at ease.

He’s followed by a blonde boy, slightly taller, a bit lanky, and sulking behind him. His name is Kento Nanami. You recognize him from your homeroom, though you’ve never spoken before. Occasionally, he eats his meals there, usually in the back with his headphones in, listening to music, while you’re in the front, indulging in whatever homemade bento box you decide to make for yourself that day. It’s crossed your mind more than once to join him so that neither of you are alone, though you’ve chickened out each time, convinced that he’d rather remain that way than be bothered by a nobody. Unlike Haibara, his lips are pressed together in a natural frown. You don’t sense unhappiness or animosity from him; rather, it’s indifference, apathy. When he sits down next to his pal, he gives you a nod, acknowledging you.

Haibara does the courtesy of introductions. You hold your hand out to him, doing the same. He takes it enthusiastically, beaming at you. “I know who you are. I’m a first-year too!”

It doesn’t strike you as odd that he’s already somewhat familiar with you. Instead, you’re relieved to finally be making friends in this cutthroat environment called high school. After this first meeting, the three of you are inseparable. You get on well with Haibara, who’s an expert at keeping the conversation flowing. Nanami doesn’t say much, though you notice his subtle mannerisms that speak volumes more than what his actual words do. You can tell he admires your homemade lunches each time you uncover them at the table. His eyes light up, marveling at whatever creation you’ve concocted the night before: yakisoba, onigiri, chicken stir-fry. He doesn’t say anything, relying on Haibara to do the complimenting. You appreciate how intently he listens to you, even if he doesn’t have much to contribute. In homeroom, you sneak glances at him when your teacher says something particularly ridiculous, to which you spot the faintest hint of a smile flitting on his lips. And you realize that every time you’re walking beside each other, he makes sure to switch his bag to his arm away from you. Part of you hopes the real reason behind this is to be closer to you, but you try to keep those lovelorn thoughts buried in the back of your mind, being certain that’s not the case.

You eventually find out that Haibara has severe allergies, especially during the seasons of Winter and Spring. He explains how he has to take at least a few days off once a month, sometimes an entire week. Today, he dons a face mask, already anticipating it. “Don’t miss me too much,” he jokes, his bright smile noticeable even behind the mask. It’s February now; the three of you sit together at your regular spot in the cafeteria. Nanami eats his rice bowl in silence while you say to Haibara, “You’re going to miss Valentine’s Day.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, smirking. “I guess the two of you will have to be each other’s Valentines.”

At this, Nanami almost chokes on his food, face turning scarlet. He reaches for his water bottle, which is empty, still clearing his throat as he excuses himself to refill it. When you’re alone, you glare at Haibara, scolding him. “Why would you say that?!”

He shrugs innocently. “What’s the big deal? He likes you.”

Your jaw drops at his surprising statement. You’ve always thought that Nanami tolerates you, but you never truly believed he could ever like you. “What do you mean?”

Haibara blinks at you, as if the answer is so obvious. “He told me about you. Said how you always had the most amazing bento boxes for lunch. How cute your smile was whenever you’d take a bite. He was too shy to talk to you first, so he had me do it. You…didn’t know that?”

You stare at him, shaking your head slowly, stunned by this revelation.

He laughs nervously, scratching his head. “Oops.”

Nanami returns, back to his normal self now, remaining quiet. There’s still the faint blush on his cheeks; you pretend not to notice it. Nothing else is mentioned about Valentine’s the rest of the day, though it lingers on your mind the remainder of the week.

Haibara is out sick February 13th, leaving you and Nanami alone together for the first time since you befriended them. You’re curious to see if the dynamic would change, if Nanami would actually speak up now that his buddy isn’t around to fill the void with his amicable chatter. But lunch ends up being a quiet affair. You do your best to ask questions, start conversation, but he’s even more tense than he usually is. When you mention Valentine’s Day tomorrow, the familiar rosy tint spreads across his face. You drop it, not wanting to make him uncomfortable, though you can’t help thinking how sweet he is for reacting that way.

He likes you. The words have been replaying in your head since you heard them. And the truth is: you like Nanami too. Based on what Haibara said, he might be too shy to tell you.

So, you take matters into your own hands.

The next day, February 14th, you come to school carrying a box wrapped in red ribbon. Inside homeroom. You greet Nanami politely, catching the way his gaze drifts to your hands. You smile wider to yourself, excited to present it to him later. At your seat, you can smell the decadent scent of homemade chocolates and heart-shaped candies from the other girls in your class. You get increasingly nervous about the gift, wondering if he’ll receive it well. Still, it’s worth a shot.

When class is over and it’s time for lunch, Nanami waits for you near the door to walk to the cafeteria together. Ready to leave, you stop him, clearing your throat before you announce, “I have something for you.”

His eyes widen, his jaw clenches. It’s obvious he wasn’t expecting this.

You don’t hand it to him, afraid he wouldn’t know what to do with it. Instead, you untie the ribbon yourself, uncovering it. Inside is the bento box you prepared special for him. “I made this for you. Happy Valentine’s Day, Nanami.”

He reaches inside, holding the bento in his hands like found treasure. He snaps the cover off slowly, revealing rice balls formed into a cute bear, bathing in Japanese curry. A sheet of seaweed cut into a heart is placed directly in the center.

You watch him for his response, heart racing against your chest. He inspects it carefully, his expression softening to one of adoration. When he looks at you, he smiles, and you swear you’ve never seen anything more beautiful than Nanami Kento smiling.

“Do you like it?” you ask, needing to hear it in his own words.

He nods, still smiling. “I love it.”

You spend your lunch in the classroom, eating your matching bento boxes together while listening to his music on shared headphones.

For the first time in his life, Nanami has a special Valentine.

#nanami kento fluff #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #Nanami Kento #kento nanami x reader #kento nanami x you #kento nanami fluff #nanami fluff #nanami x reader #nanami x you #jjk fluff #past lives vignette series

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bits-and-babs · 8 months

Text

✦ 𝐁𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐌 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄 ✦

– KINKTOBER DAY 8: ROLEPLAY

könig x reader | smut, 18+ | 1.2k words

summary: as with all of your bedroom antics with könig, you plant the seed. but when he finally succumbs to your devious plan, you struggle to withstand the heat.

cw: f!reader, roleplay hostage situation, faux attack, faux disregard for partners comfort (könig cares a lot though, i promise) oral sex (m receiving), rough oral sex, face slapping, rough deep throating.

⇽ KINKTOBER MLIST | DAY 9: WITCH!READER ⇾

The answer is unyielding and finite; ❝ no ❞.

König was consistent in his promise to separate work from pleasure, so to speak. He refused to amalgamate something as pretty and delicate as you with something as ruinous and hideous as war— as his job.

KorTac and Task Force 141 were unaware of your existence. König assured you it was for your protection. The less his allies knew about his valuable and beloved, his adversaries knew little still. Despite this, he offered you insight into his hostile world through a minute embrasure; the Scottish bomb disposal expert, Soap, the handsome Gaz who König colloquially named ‘helicopter boy’. Ghost.

Still, he insisted upon keeping you pure. Scratch free, barren from the agonising shrapnel of grief and the devastating shells of brutal warfare.

So when you pose the idea, quiet and shy in your approach, of König wearing his tactical uniform and treating you like a captive… The ‘no’ is adamant. However, as with everything you do or say to König, the idea worms its way into his mind.

Days pass, but the thought seems to stick with König. He’s unsettled, fidgety almost. You suppose he thinks he’s being subtle, but with a frame as enormous as König lugs around, it’s almost impossible for the pitiful giant to do anything indistinctly. One nervous bob of his knee appears to set off avalanches in Tibet.

When you return from work, everything is still, and abnormally quiet. It’s unusual for the house to be vacant upon your return from work, König always at the door as if ready to spring and remove the damn laptop bag that threatened to pop your shoulder from its socket as though it were an incendiary with a lit fuse. Nevertheless, the lights are off today, and the TV is silent.

Creeping forward into the apartment, the door slowly swings shut behind you. The click of the lock setting into place isn’t alien to you– but neither is it, it seems, to your attacker. Poised and lethally swift, your assailant leaps from the shadows of the dimly lit apartment and smothers your mouth before a scream can even bubble past your trembling lips. Soft hushes breathe against your ear before terror can truly kick in, a familiar lilting accent turning your knees soft beneath your weight.

“You are to do as I say when I say it, Meine Perle.” König sounds so relaxed, as though he’s not breaking a sweat beneath the tactical vest you can feel digging into your shoulder blades. With a fizzling arousal skittering up your vertebrae and trembling beneath his touch, you nod your head slightly. It earns you praise, whispering a quiet ‘good girl’ against your hairline.

So in tune with König’s non-verbal commands, you kneel as though he had barked the order when you feel him tap your shoulder absentmindedly. It’s foreign, the disregard König shows to your knees by making you settle on the hardwood floor in front of the entrance door– usually he would situate a pillow beneath you to ensure you didn’t bruise. Not today. You were his hostage. His plaything.

Gazing up at the startling bulk of the behemoth standing before you, a thrill prickles at the nape of your neck when you watch him unzip his camo trousers deftly. It’s as though your taste buds tingle with anticipation as König pulls his already leaking cock from them, the leather of his gloves protesting quietly as he grips his length hard.

“Open your mouth.” It’s an order. A threat. Excitement rouses between your thighs as you do just that, gazing up at your captor demurely and situating your palms on your lap. He’s unforgiving, winding your hair around his fingers and violently pulling your mouth onto his twitching cock.

You barely register what’s happened before the rumble of his groan reaches your ears. A quiet ‘fuck’.

Then he’s pushing, using the heel of his palm on the curve of your skull to sink you down his length before you’re ready. Firm, velvety flesh hits the back of your throat and sends you reeling, tears welling in your eyes as you gag around him, attempting to draw back.

“Stop,” he barks, the frigidity of his tone triggering sparks in your abdomen– so unlike König. He halts your retreat, shoving you forward onto his cock until your nose is buried in the thatch of dark curls at the base of his shaft. Salt burns in the back of your throat, and tears spill down your cheeks. There’s a gleam in his eye that tells you he’s grinning.

“If you value the air in your lungs,” König murmurs, voice sticky and thick with arousal as he rocks his hips slightly, your nose bumping his pubic bone and the head of his dick nudging your at your gag reflex, “it’ll do you good to stay put.”

Heaving breaths through your nose, you flinch as König raises his leather-clad palm. It strikes downwards, connecting with your cheek harder than you suppose you’d both anticipated– because König lets out a sadistic groan of bliss, head lilting to the side slightly as he tries to bury himself further down your throat. It crushes your nose into his abdomen, and you feel the skin stretched above the bridge wrinkle.

“Shit–” you hear him heave, the fingers in your hair tightening mercilessly, “I felt that in my cock.” The murmured admission, a slight deviation from that character König was attempting to play. Glee buries itself at the base of your spine, pulses in your clit.

“Again,” he snaps back into character, with his dick buried as far down your throat as possible. Again, he lifts his wrist, bringing it down with a brutal smack against your cheek. The skin prickles, and you heave against the intrusion of his cock until tears spill down your cheeks.

König’s lungs rattle with the force of his growl. His eyes are dark behind the mask, pleasure swallowing the pretty jade-green of his irises and he watched you choke on his length.

Of course he’s getting off on you kneeling in front of him, dick buried in your throat and making a mess of your work makeup— but he can feel the vibrations of his slaps in your mouth around him. It’s making his nostrils flare; you can hear it.

“A-gain.”

The crack that sounds against your cheekbone this time makes you whimper with the pain that follows. König loses control of himself, it seems, grasping desperately at your skull to hold you in place while fucking into your throat wildly. His head rolls back, grip bruising as his whole body seems to seize.

Cum spills down your throat, heavy and thick and plentiful. König sounds almost pained by the force his orgasm is ripped from him, groaning loudly and high pitched to your ears as you gag around him again, the squeezing of your throat muscles adding to his bliss.

“Hah—“ he gasps, pulling himself from your mouth to allow you to breathe. It’s not pretty, the ridiculous sounds of your frantic breathing, but when König kneels in front of you and cradles you in his massive arms, you feel precious. Priceless.

König presses kisses to your temple, pushes your hair from your face and tells you just that.

“Meine Perle.”

cod mwii/kinktober taglist:

@mortallyuniquepeach @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @crybaby-blue-blog @heart-atttack @pansa-1-san @maviee @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @s-u-t @ghostslynx @solidly-indulgent @glitterypirateduck @gummyfang @bii-aan-ckaa @konigsblog @crissteetee @crissteetee67 @sylvanasthebansheequeen @akaym2 @exploremyworldsm @thriving-n-jiving @su57 @cabreezer0117 @cathnoneofyourbusiness @marygraceee @thatchickwiththecamera @legend-o-zelda @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @tusk89 @bellasbees01 @dog55teeth

@mockerycrow @bubuslutty @cheezitwh0re @haunt3dh3art @levi-llama @thebiscuitsheep @maelstrom007 @alexxavicry @bug-sy-boy @glennrheesworld @kittenfrostt @luvfromkat @blingblong55 @whore4dilfs @wolfyland07 @doggydale @dog55teeth @cabreezer0117 @cathnoneofyourbusiness @marygraceee @thatchickwiththecamera @legend-o-zelda @whore-for-anime @i-love-ghost @cyberpr1m3 @mockerycrow @bubuslutty @lundenloves @cheezitwh0re @haunt3dh3art @babychoi03 @infectedkura @allekat1988 @whore-for-anime @soupbinsoup @passi0np1t @mockerycrow @cyberpr1m3 @i-love-ghost @allekat1988 @infectedkura @babychoi03 @freakquenci @maviee @yunggoblin @sleepystaarr @watyousayin @soupbinsoup @passi0np1t @damn-dean-blog @pheonyxmoon @magicalreviewphantom @limegreenbabx @johfaam0 @iaur @justsayk

@bloodmoon-bites @wiltedwonderland @doggydale @limegreenbabx @namelesshumanperson @ninahhh-brahh @km-ffluv @decaffeinateddinosauronearth @domaniquessidehoe2 @arrozyfrijoles23 @amisouki @sleepysheepsstuff @chunguk @lundenloves @marylovesdilfs @ninahhh-brahh @namelesshumanperson @limegreenbabx @doggydale @wiltedwonderland @justsayk

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philistiniphagottini · 3 months

Text

Zenith

Jing Yuan suddenly got me in a choke hold and I just had to write something for him ahhhh, so have this while I work on other stuff :)

cw. penetrative sex, cuddle fuck, fingering (fem receiving) fem! reader, implied cubby reader, fluff, 3.9k words

nsfw below the cut

Rain was rare on the Xianzhou Luofu. You could smell the fresh dewdrops of water when you were roused from your slumber in the early hours of the morning. Light struggled to creep through under your curtains and the soft pitter patter was tempting you to fall back to sleep and simply slumber the day away. But the warm press of your partner's body behind you coaxed you to stay in the waking world.

Large, warm, hands weathered by countless battles slipped under your night shirt, curious fingertips tracing over your soft and delicate features. A pleased hum stirred in the back of your throat as Jing Yuan’s hands squeezed your soft belly, fingers sinking into generous amounts of skin until the soft pudge spilled over. The feeling made you squirm in his grasp, your back hitting the solid wall of his muscular chest as you tried to retreat from his grabby hands. A warm chuckle breezed past his lips, his breath hot against the back of your neck when he spoke.

"Good morning, my little sparrow" Jing Yuan greeted, his voice thick and gruff against the shell of your ear.

You lay your small hands over his, rubbing your thumb across his knuckles as you tipped your head back.

"Good morning" you replied.

You stifled the loud yawn that tried to crawl out of your throat as you huddled yourself closer to Jing Yuan’s alluring warmth, your chest feeling light as he pawed at your stomach like a needy cat pining for your attention. He pressed his lips to your shoulder with a contented noise rumbling in his chest, the vibrations sending pleasant chills to creep down your spine and pool in the pit of your stomach. You rubbed your hand along his arm as he continued to knead and paw at your pliant body, another fleeting kiss pressed to your shoulder making you jolt in his grasp. His affections made the corners of your mouth twitch with a faint smile as his larger frame curled protectively around you, the heat of his skin licking at your body like the flames of an open furnace.

"You’re in a good mood this morning" you commented. "Did you have pleasant dreams?"

Jing Yuan hummed in response, rubbing himself further into your embrace as he dragged his lips across the sensitive skin on your back until every hair on the nape of your neck stood up in anticipation.

"I always have pleasant dreams with you by my side" Jing Yuan confessed, his fingers walking over your stomach as they slowly crept higher up your shirt.

A sharp gasp tumbled from your parted lips when you felt something hard press up against the fat of your ass. A lightbulb suddenly sparked in your head and everything was starting to make a lot more sense now. You shivered in delight when you felt his hands cup the swell of your breasts, squeezing the soft mounds together as his lips grazed the shell of your ear.

"Mmhmm, you’re so warm my little dove" he purred with a husky whisper of your name, cuddling further against you. “Do you mind sharing some of it with me in this cold weather?”

You leaned into his touch as he squeezed your breasts once more, expert fingers easily finding your pebbling nipples and teasing the pert tips with short tugs. You rubbed your thighs together as your core throbbed, pussy already dripping wet as your mind started to cloud with lustful thoughts. Each press of Jing Yuan’s lips against your heated skin only made the haze in your mind thicker and you struggled to think past the dense fog long enough to speak.

"Don’t you have work today?" you asked.

A salacious moan bubbled up your throat as Jing Yuan pinched the back of your neck with his teeth, playfully biting on your supple skin as his hands squeezed at your breasts. Your soft noises were almost drowned out by the rain that continued to pour outside, wet droplets spattering against the windows as the wind softly howled.

"This is more important" Jing Yuan decided.

You sighed wistfully. Damn, you couldn’t argue with that. Well, you tried. And with that, you decided to completely give in to Jing Yuan’s whims. A purr of delight rumbled in his throat when you shifted beneath him, rolling over to face him and eagerly plant your lips upon his. You placed your hands on his chest, feeling his thunderous heartbeat pulsing rhythmically against your palms as you kneaded at his pillowy chest. You weren’t the only one to be blessed with fat tits. Jing Yuan moaned as he tasted the shape of your mouth, golden eyes gleaming with elation as you kissed him slowly, savouring the taste of him melting on your tongue. His hands slipped down your waist as he intimately devoured your mouth, swallowing your soft mewls and eager moans as his hands discarded your nightwear. Even when your clothes were discarded it did little to relieve you of the stifling heat of your bodies tangling further under the sheets.

Your head felt dizzy when you parted from the kiss, a thin strand of saliva breaking when Jing Yuan swooped down and caught your lips in another passionate embrace. Your pulse pounded in your ears as you swiftly pushed down his pants, your heart racing wildly in your chest when you felt the fat head of his dripping cock slap against your stomach.

"When was the last time I indulged in you?" Jing Yuan mused as he nuzzled his nose into your soft cheek.

You hummed in thought as you drummed your fingers along his stomach, feeling the muscles flex under your touch as he pressed himself into the palm of your hand. You weren’t sure about the answer to his question. It could have been a few days ago? Perhaps a week or more? It was hard to keep track of with his hectic schedule. But there was one thing you were sure of.

"Too long" you replied.

A chuckle rumbled in his chest, eyes burning like pools of molten gold as he gave you a fond smile. "Allow me to rectify that."

You squeaked as he suddenly wedged his leg between your thighs and effortlessly hoisted you further up the mattress. You tangled your hands in his wild mane of hair to hold on, your face burning with a mix of shame and arousal when your slick pussy slid across his muscular thigh. A coy smile painted the general’s lips as his hands curled around your hips, holding you steady as he peered up at you beneath long, dark lashes. He didn’t have to say a single word. His smug face said it all.

"Ass" you gently scolded.

A feline grin tugged at his lips as he nudged his face between the scorching valley of your tits, peering up at you with an innocent look.

"What have I done to deserve your ire, wifey?"

You sighed. "Nothing dear. Just keep kissing me."

You leaned down and gently pecked his lips, trailing your kisses up between his relaxed brow before kissing his forehead. You tugged on his soft hair, earning you a throaty groan as Jing Yuan dragged his bruised lips over your soft breasts, enjoying how you leaned into each touch with a shuddering breath. One hand slipped between your thighs as his mouth toyed with your plush chest, his fingers skimming along the soft insides of your thighs. You whined into his hair when his fingers ghosted across your wet slit, your pussy throbbing in response to his addictive touch.

"My, my, so wet, already flowing like a river…"

There was a witty reply rattling around somewhere in your brain but you could hardly focus when Jing Yuan was busy emptying your pretty head of every single thought. You could only whimper in response as his thumb brushed against the pretty pearl of your clit, the nerves flushing to life as heat rapidly coiled in the pit of your stomach. Your eyelashes brushed against your burning cheeks, eyes threatening to slip close against the onslaught of bliss as Jing Yuan’s fingers parted your creamy folds like a delicate flower in bloom. He knew exactly which spot to touch to render you into a speechless puddle of goo in the palm of his hand. Jing Yuan hummed into your chest, sharp teeth latching onto a rosy tip and sucking the soft bud into his warm mouth. A wet sob tore from your throat when his tongue pressed against the sensitive tip, the white-hot nerve sending a jolt of electricity crackling down your spine and making your toes curl into the soles of your feet. You buried your burning face into his hair, the familiar scent of his shampoo comforting as a thick finger sank into your fluttering hole. Your grip in his silky locks tightened, threatening to rip his hair out at the roots as he buried his finger all the way up to the knuckle in you. Your plush walls clenched around him, your pussy drooling slick into the palm of his hand as he pumped the thick digit into you. Your hips shuddered as you grind down onto his finger, pussy trying to swallow him faster as the heat inside you coiled and twisted like an untamed inferno.

"Jing Yuan…fuck" you whispered breathlessly. "Fuck, baby it feels so good."

Jing Yuan purred in content in response, a second finger teasing your opening as his thumb continued to circle your clit, drawing out your pleasure with each flick of his wrist. You hissed softly as a second finger slipped inside of you, the stretch causing a light burning sensation at the apex of your thighs as he scissored you open. Jing Yuan let go of your breast with a wet pop, cooing your name softly as he nuzzled his face into your chest.

"Shh, love. It’s okay. You’re doing so well for me, my good girl."

His words made your walls flutter around his fingers, the digits curling as the tips brushed against the soft, gummy patch inside of you that made stars waver in your vision. You struggled to keep your eyes open as your breathing wavered. Your gaze lingered on the nightstand at the other end of the bed. You reached out with your hands and tried to crawl closer. You couldn’t get far as you pushed further against Jing Yuan’s body, a pleased moan stirring deep in the back of his throat as his face was squished between your fat tits. His cock jumped between your legs, the drooling tip slapping against the soft insides of your thighs as his head was trapped in such pillowy comfort.

"Where are you going, little love?" he asked with an amused lilt to his voice.

You strained to reach the other side of the bed and with a small huff you gave up.

"Lube" you said.

Jing Yuan sighed with amusement. He removed his fingers from your slick warmth, your pussy clenching around nothing and mourning the loss of feeling full as your husband reached for the bottle of lube in his nightstand. You gently pet his hair, teasing out the tangles you had caused as the drawer to his nightstand shut with a dull thud. Without tearing his gaze away from your sumptuous body, Jing Yuan popped the lid of the small bottle and let some of the contents pour onto his fingers. He made sure they were generously coated before his hand reached back between your sticky thighs. You tipped your head back with a sweet moan when two fingers pushed back into you with little resistance, the lube lathering your pussy until pearls of it were creating rivulets down the insides of your plush thighs. Jing Yuan placed a soft kiss on the swell of your breasts as he smiled lazily up at you.

"Does that feel good, pretty girl?"

You nodded, teeth nibbling at your lips as soft mewls clawed their way out of the back of your throat. You scratched your nails along the nape of his neck, the heat in your stomach burning brightly with a renewed fire as you rocked your hips along to the probe of his fingers. His free hand curled around your waist to rest on the beautiful dip of your back, pushing against it and urging you to press closer and be smothered by the heat of his scorching skin. You whined softly; lips pressed into his hair as your entire body trembled with longing.

"Jing Yuan, put it inside me" you softly begged.

"Now?" he teased.

You nodded, fingers curling around the baby hairs on the back of his neck and desperately tugging. "Yes now."

"And what was it that you needed?"

You sighed sharply. The fierce rain outside had nothing on the fierce storm that was currently brewing inside of you. Your hands slipped around Jing Yuan’s handsome face to cup his cheeks. You tilted his head back, your forehead pressed against his as you stared down at him. His cat like smirk was present as he stared back into your dazed eyes, patiently waiting for you to peel your tongue off the roof of your mouth to form a coherent response.

"Cock. In. Me. Now."

He grinned. "Anything for you, my sparrow."

His fingers slipped out of you once more and you didn’t mourn the loss this time, anticipating what was to come. Jing Yuan’s slicked hand dropped to his swollen length, fingers wrapping around hardened warmth. His jaw tensed as he hissed through clenched teeth, moaning softly as he roughly pumped his cock a few times to spread a combination of lube and your arousal along the length. Once he was adequately slicked up, he started to lower you, the head of his cock brushing against your silky lips. You both shared a moan, his grip on your body tightening as he guided the tip of his cock to catch on your sopping entrance. He nuzzled his cheek against yours, words so soft that you almost didn’t hear it over the drizzling rain.

"Take a deep breath for me, sweet girl."

You took a deep breath just as he started pushing forward, his cock piercing your centre. Your arms immediately coiled around his neck to hold yourself steady, stretching around his thick girth. He was stretching you with such dizzying ease your arms started to tremble, a constellation of tears clinging to the corners of your lashes as the feeling of him finally filling you made you ache. Your nails scratched along his back, his spine curving in delight as you left behind angry, red welts in his flesh, marks he would wear proudly and think fondly of. Your lungs pinched in your chest as Jing Yuan slung your leg over his hip, helping him to penetrate you deeper until you were completely stuffed full of him. His lips were a soothing balm against your skin as he kissed you, your face now tucked into the crook of his neck as he sheathed his cock into your pussy.

"Are you okay little dove?" Jing Yuan asked, voice laced with concern.

You nodded gently, arms squeezing around his thick neck as your tears of bliss wet his skin. Aeons, you didn’t realise how much you needed him until he was one with you like this. His cock completely crowded your poor pussy, every thick vein lining his girth steadily pulsing inside your soused walls and sending your mind reeling from the overwhelming pleasure. Your stomach bunched itself into tight knots as Jing Yuan placed his warm hands on your hips, his lips kissing the crown of your head as he buried his nose in your hair. He took a deep breath, your intoxicating scent curling deep in the pit of his lungs and making his blood simmer hotly in his veins. He nudged his hips forward, teasing his cock a little deeper into your plush walls until you cried out.

He started to move slowly, the pace of his hips moving with no sense of urgency as he repeatedly buried his cock into your pussy over and over again. Your arms tensed around his neck as you panted into the crook of his neck, his skin boiling against yours as he rocked his hips into you. A warm purr rumbled in his chest as your tongue tasted the perspiration clinging to his skin, lips sucking on his Adam’s apple as your senses started to spin out of control. You could feel his cock moving intimately beneath your skin, your eyes catching a glimpse of the cute bump forming in your soft belly every time you looked down to see where your bodies were joined in fervid rapture. Jing Yuan’s lips brushed against your forehead as he softly cooed, hands squeezing at the scruff of your ass as he yanked you closer, your soft cries muffled into his skin as he bounced you along his cock.

"You’re making such sweet noises for me" Jing Yuan praised. "Am I making you feel good?"

"So good" you moaned, softly slurring your words.

You could barely hold onto the fraying edges of your sanity. Every white-hot nerve in your body was shocking you like a live wire as the pressure in your stomach grew rapidly, your eyes rolling into the back of your head every time Jing Yuan massaged his cock against your soft walls. You could feel the drooling head of his cock fill your belly with sticky warmth, the fat head smothered against your cervix and aching to release. Your heart felt like it was stuck in your throat as your plush walls started to flutter, desperately trying to swallow Jing Yuan whole as your body teetered on the brink. Your toes curled as you dug your foot into his thigh, trying to drag him closer which was impossible with how tightly you were both already pressed to each other. He kissed your cheek sweetly, his golden gaze catching your teary eyes.

"Is my pretty little song bird going to cum now?"

A soft noise rumbled in your chest as you nodded along dumbly. You moaned harshly as Jing Yuan jammed his thumb against the hood of your clit, rubbing the nerve in tight circles as he pressed his lips to the shell of your ear, tongue tracing the curve of your lobe as his hot breath tickled your skin.

"Then make a mess for your general."

You screamed so loud you were sure that not even the crack of thunder was able to drown it out. The coil inside of you snapped as you screamed with rapture, your veins flooded with white hot relief as fireworks exploded in your stomach. Jing Yuan growled as your pussy squeezed him so tight he thought you were going to strangle him, his boiling cock twitching as your juices gushed around him. You stained his thighs and abdomen with thin threads of translucent fluid as you continued to whine with bliss. He worked you through your pleasure high, drawing out every single drop of your bliss before he allowed himself to finally give in and have the delight of filling your womb with his viscous seed. His hips shuddered as he grew still inside of you, his cock kicking as he painted your insides with thick ropes of white.

You whimpered softly as the heat blossomed across your abdomen, the feeling of his seed filling you to the brim causing the pleasure to mount rapidly in you once more. You twisted in his hold as he dragged his lips across your jaw, keeping you firmly planted on his cock as the pleasure threatened to take hold of you once more.

"Yuan, gonna cum again" you mewled softly.

Jing Yuan hummed in response, tongue briefly dipping past your bruised lips as he tasted the sweetness of your mouth. He smiled softly.

"It’s okay. I’m here. You’re safe. Let go."

Another searing burst of his thick seed pumping into your overly stuffed pussy made your eyes roll so hard into the back of your head you thought your skull was going to explode. Amidst the overwhelming heat you felt your body tip over the edge again into the gaping maw of oblivion, coil in your stomach unfurling as your pussy squeezed his cock snug. Jing Yuan purred like a contented cat on a lazy afternoon as you writhed so deliciously for him, your reactions so endearing to him that he only wished to keep indulging in everything you had to offer like the filthy beggar he was.

The sheets between your bodies were completely soaked by your own fluids, your second orgasm still running rampant through your system as your head refused to come down from the clouds just yet. Jing Yuan pressed his lips into your clammy skin over and over again, whispering praises and reassurances until his voice melted into your ears like warm honey. Your body felt incredibly warm and light as you cuddled into the general, your heart slowly settling back inside your chest as you tried to regain control of your frantic breaths. Jing Yuan massaged his hands along your sore hips, rubbing soothing circles into your soft skin as he pinched the fat of your thighs between the gaps of his fingers.

He gently coaxed you onto your back as he removed his softening cock with a loud and wet pop. His stare lingered on the apex of your thighs, watching his thick cum leaking from your overstimulated pussy and cascade down your legs like a flowing river. The sight of your round belly so full of him only stirred his appetite once more. He hadn’t indulged in you enough yet. He pressed his nose into the soft pudge of your stomach as he nestled himself comfortably between your parted thighs, readying himself to descend on his favourite place of worship. The smell of your arousal was making his mouth water.

"You look so beautiful, little dove" Jing Yuan cooed as he rubbed his hands along your thighs. "I could just eat you up."

You hummed in content as you stretched your arms high over your head, grabbing onto the fluffy pillow that supported your head as Jing Yuan’s mouth descended between your legs. You noticed that the rain outside had finally decided to taper off, rays of sunshine trying to pierce through the dark clouds. A thoughtful noise rumbled in your chest when you glanced at the time.

"What about breakfast?"

"My meal is right here" Jing Yuan replied, fingers pushing against your puffy folds until your sex opened up and prompted another thick trickle of his seed to gush out of the hole he had been so passionately fucking.

You snorted softly with laughter, your chuckles turning into soft moans as Jing Yuan dragged his tongue through your creamy folds and tasted your sweet nectar.

"Fu Xuan is gonna be cranky when she finds out you’re shirking your duties~"

You squealed when Jing Yuan sank his teeth into the fat of your thigh, growling playfully before letting go of your skin. A cheeky smile tugged at his shining lips before he blew cool air against your twitching clit, coaxing the small bud to flush back to life.

"Let her be. Spending time with you is much more important" Jing Yuan replied.

You sighed wistfully. "Okay. I’ll send her a text that you’re too busy knuckle deep in my pussy to come in to work today."

Jing Yuan scoffed. "How scandalous. Do it" he said before promptly stuffing his mouth with your gorgeous pussy.

#my writing #honkai star rail #honkai star rail smut #hsr smut #hsr jing yuan #jing yuan smut #jing yuan x reader #fem!reader #x reader

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petrapalerno · 4 months

Text

Submitting to the Alien Barbarian #4

Alien x fem reader, a dom/sub erotic short.

TW/CW: rough consensual sex, primal play, knotting, breeding, aliens, dominance/submission, blood play, spanking, breath play, and violence.

MASTER POST

You reach for him, but find nothing but a fistful of purple fur. Maybe he’s finally gone back to the orgy and found something else to rut.

You blink, trying to clear your crusted eyes of sleep. Could you even find your way back to the spawning pits on your own? You weren’t really paying attention to what direction he walked when you were slung over his shoulder.

He couldn’t have walked that far, could he?

With a deep breath, you push your body up to sit; every muscle feels overworked and stiff as you move. Bringing your hands down to your pussy, you wince.

Being overworked is an understatement. You’re ninety-nine percent sure that you’ve torn something.

Sure, you like it rough, but everyone’s got a limit. You could stay here one more night and soldier back to the pits for more fun before you’re taken to the Volkroth nesting grounds.

The actual giving birth part of the breeding program isn’t really the thing that excites you, but it’s kind of package deal. Luckily, you’ve been assured that the gestation time is short and birth is much easier than for normal humans. The Volkroth deliver very undeveloped young and are brought to term outside the body at the nesting grounds.

When it was being described to you, they made it seem like they reproduced similarly to pandas or kangaroos— but no pouch was required. The tiny baby bean goes into some kind of pod, and you can go about getting fucked roughly for the rest of the spawning season. They raise the young communally too, so there’s no expectation of parenting for you either.

Looking at the sheer size of the Volkroth, the whole idea of a tiny bean of a baby seems ludicrous. But then again, you’re no expert on alien reproduction.

You’re just here to be ripped apart, and you’ve still got three months left until the spawning season ends. One rest day won’t put that big a damper on your orgy fun, will it?

The fire you slept next to is low, and you nudge a puck of the fuel you saw Drohako stoke it with last night into the flames. They instantaneously spark and the fire greedily engulfs the puck of dried vegetation and mud.

You’re just about to lie back down when you hear grunting and the hide that covers the cave’s entrance flies open.

The sun blasts into the cave, and your eyes struggle to adjust to the alien sun’s intensity. Slowly, two forms begin to block out the light.

Drohako stands, one arm up, holding the lead to some huge alien animal. As he guides it through the opening, it limps on one of its four legs.

“Stupid Grasyi, I hope the run was worth it.” He barks at the beast that looks like a cross between a Bengal tiger and a moose. As he ties the animal up, you see its legs are far too tall to belong to a big cat, but its blocky head is feline. A set of large and branching black antlers curl around his head. Its striped yellow fur is thick and fluffy, but you can tell it masks how vicious the beast is. The animal’s almond eyes flick over to you as it licks its lips lazily, revealing a viciously sharp set of teeth, it's incisors lengthening out like a snakes fangs.

“Drohako?”

“Who else would it be?” He turns to me, annoyed and scowling.

“I don’t know. I figured you headed back to the spawning pits. Don’t get pissy with me.” I stand slowly and with a great deal of shaking effort.

“And now you’re hurt, too? You, little human, might have eyes bigger than your cunt.” He gestures down to his crotch. His massive cocks are covered with some kind of loincloth. It does little to hide his thunder, so to speak.

You scoff, but he’s probably not wrong. Taking a step forward, your knees unexpectedly give out. Closing your eyes, you expect to fall face first into the fire.

You feel the heat on your cheeks, but not the licking sting of the flames. Bringing your hand up to your chest, you feel Drohako’s brawny forearm. It grips your chest tightly, holding you just above the fire.

“You move pretty fast for a big guy,” you chirp, still woozy.

“You are injured,” he tells you earnestly.

“No shit, Sherlock,” you mutter under your breath, and he pulls you into his arms.

“You will tell me next time you’re injured. You won’t be stupid like this again,” He scolds as we walk further into the cave.

My stomach grumbles and clenches uncomfortably. “Maybe I’m just hungry.”

Drohako groans, “You are both, and you’ve informed me of neither.”

“Sorry, I thought you hit it and quit it,” I laugh. “I’m sure I would have figured it out once I made it back to the spawning pits—“

Drohako wraps his hand around your hair and tugs your head back hard.

“You are not going back to the spawning pits. In fact, you will not leave the home cave,” he seethes.

“What? Were you serious last night? Isn’t that the point of me being here?” He steps over some kind of ledge, and you realize he’s lowering you both into the hot spring you saw last night.

Drohako tucks his legs under him, sitting over his crossed ankles, and cradles you as he slowly brings your body under the water’s surface. Now that you’re actually in it, you don’t think it’s water. It’s not sticky, but it is thick like syrup. It clings to your body and displaces in ways that water wouldn’t. As you lay across his lap, he looks at you with a sour scowl and tugs your hair back into the pool, “Hold your breath.”

You don’t do it fast enough, and some water gets into your nose and lungs. You choke when he lets you up, gasping for air and forcing the warm water out of your chest.

“What the fuck? You’re mad that I’m injured, so you try to drown me?” You sputter at him.

“The frustrating fact that you have no self-preservation skills, and also can’t follow instructions, isn’t my fault…now is it? Quit complaining before I gag you again. The planet’s blood is healing.” He acts like he would rather do anything other than caring for you…but does it all the same.

“Planet’s blood? Healing?” You ask, but realize that he’s right. Your muscles are relaxing, and even your crotch isn’t as sore.

“How injured is your cunt?” He asks as if you’re talking about the weather.

“It’s sore,” you say, trying to mitigate how painful it actually is.

With a sigh and an eye roll, he spins you so that your head rests just below his pecs. You feel pint-sized when he’s manhandling you.

You don’t resist when he pulls your knees apart wide enough so that your feet fall on the outside of his own legs. You watch him with curiosity as he slides a big purple hand between your legs. He rubs broadly over your mound and lips, working the healing water over your pussy.

You ease into him as some of the stinging is instantly soothed.

Your mouth parts as his hand dips lower, and two of his thick fingers run up and down the lips of my pussy before pressing into you entrance. You flinch slightly as he touches your torn skin.

“I should fuck you even rawer for not telling me you were hurt,” he says through gritted teeth.

You wonder if maybe he actually did scrambled something in your brain when slammed it into the ground. A cord tightens inside you as your arousal grows. It would fucking hurt, but in a way, you feel you would like.

You buck your hips a little, maybe giving him the gentle nudge he needs to fucking wreck you again.

His other hand wraps around your neck, squeezing the sides hard. You bite your lip, unable to help the warmth spreading over your body.

“You are an insolent thing who will only get fucked once she listens. You’re going to have to earn these cocks.”

You expect him to move his hands a little faster, perhaps slipping at least one of his cocks up into you.

But he doesn’t. He rubs your torn pussy slowly, and you can almost feel it mending itself, thanks to the weird alien liquid. The new skin that grows is more sensitive than what was there before, and it doesn’t help you lessen your arousal.

“Do you want this seed filling your belly, growing my spawn?” He breathes into your ear, and all the while, his hands move torturously slowly on your no longer painful pussy.

“Yes,” you sigh as he squeezes your neck all the harder.

“Do you want your tight little human cunt to milk these cocks?” He rasps, letting his fingers find your clit. Because the liquid your in, the planet’s blood, is thick and viscous, it lets him glide over the sensitive spot at your pussy’s apex with ease.

Your legs shake as he runs circles around the bundle of nerves, your muscles clasping, begging to be filled up with his thick cocks. You want to feel the delicious swell of his knotting dicks again.

“Please Drohako,” you moan, arching up.

“Do you want to come, little human?” He bites your ear lobe hard.

“Fuck yes,” you say, so close to the edge of no return.

“Then you will fucking listen to me from now on,” his tone changes from sensual to angry in the span of a heartbeat.

You’re surprised when he stops petting your pussy and pushes your knees shut. You're still throbbing with need when he pushes you forward into the pool so he can leave it.

“Did you really just do that?” You pant as you watch him walk back toward the front of the cave, pushing your own hand between your thighs. If you don’t find your release, you feel like you’ll explode and your fingers work furiously, trying to expedite your own ecstasy.

“Don’t you fucking dare touch yourself,” his voice booms as he snarls at you. You jump almost as much as the strange creature tied up by the cave’s entrance. “You will come only when I allow it, and right now, you don’t deserve it.”

Oh. This is a thing, a thing you like. Do you get off on withholding?

“You will let your body heal, you will eat the food I’m about to bring you, and you will stop talking about returning to the spawning pits. You took my knot, you are my mate.” He balls his fists up. “I will teach you some gods’ damn discipline if it’s the last fucking thing I do,” His purple face is flushed near blue as he points an accusatory finger at you.

“Your mate?” You ask, bewildered.

#monster fucker #monster fuqqer #monster smut #monsterfuqqer #monster romance #monster lover #smut #terato #aliens #i love aliens #alien romance #alien x reader #alien x human #alien #Petra palerno #STTABshort

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bruisedboys · 5 months

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please write for tmr!thomas i beg of you

tmr!thomas x reader | established relationship, fluff and hurt/comfort, 1k words (set in the scorch trials!)

you, thomas and your friends find sanctuary from the scorch with the right arm. unfortunately, they don’t provide any sanctuary from nightmares.

“Are you awake?”

Thomas feels you shift under his arm. You’re curled into his side, arm slung over his chest and thigh pressed to his. He hums.

“Yeah, I’m awake,” he murmurs back. “What’s up?”

He feels your hand glide across his stomach and your fingers curl around his hip. It makes him shiver.

“Nothing,” you hum. “Just thinking.”

Thomas huffs. Typical you, keeping yourself awake for no good reason. “Stop thinking and go to sleep then, sweetheart. You need rest.”

You muffle a giggle in his shirt. It warms his chest all the way through. “You’re mean.”

“And you’re keeping me up,” Thomas says back, only half serious. “Go to sleep.”

Eventually you do as he says. These days Thomas always always has waits for you to fall asleep first before letting himself drift off. It makes him feel better about himself. He does everything in his power to make sure you’re safe and healthy and happy, but it’s hard when you’re on your own in a sick world, running from a government organisation that wants you for your blood.

The Scorch has been unforgiving, but you’ve braved through like you always do, never once complaining, always making sure the rest of the group are okay. Thomas thinks someone as lovely as you doesn’t deserve to live in a world like this. It’s half the reason he’s as determined as he is the find somewhere safe.

Well, you’ve found sanctuary for now, at least, with the Right Arm. You and Thomas are sharing a tent with the rest of the group — Minho, Newt, Frypan — none of whom seem to be willing to seperate from each other, despite the spare tents the Right Arm offers. It speaks volumes about where the real safety net is.

Eventually Thomas falls asleep too. He’s not sure how long he sleeps until he’s woken by you. You don’t mean to wake him, he thinks, but he’s a bad sleeper at the best of times, and he’s got a sixth sense for this kind of thing, anyway.

He blinks his eyes open sluggishly. It’s dark, but the campfire still flickers outside the tent, so he can just make out your figure. You’re sitting up straight, stiff as a board. Panic slices through his heart like a cold knife.

“Y/N?” He murmurs. He finds your thigh under the sleeping bag you’re sharing and braces his hand on it to help him sit up. “Baby, are you okay?”

Thomas’ eyes slowly adjust to the light until he realises, with a pang in his chest, that you’re crying. Thankfully, you don’t seem to be in any immediate danger. Everyone else is still fast asleep, and everything’s quiet outside the tent. Still, he doesn’t like the way your shoulders are shaking.

“Sorry,” you gasp. You’re holding your face in two clammy hands, fingers cruel where you scrub at your tears. “Didn’t mean to wake you. I just—“

“Bad dream?” Thomas asks gently. He can guess well enough. He’s had his fair share, and while he’s not an expert on the human mind or anything, he can see that you’re pretty shaken up.

You nod. Tears splash down your front. “Yeah,” you mumble. “Sorry.”

Thomas frowns at you as he brings his hand to your shoulder.

“Stop apologising,” he says, squeezing you gently. His drags his thumb across your collarbone, soothing. He doesnt want to think about what you’d’ve done if he hadn’t woken up. Would you have suffered all by yourself? The thought alone feels like a bullet to his heart. “It’s okay, babe, really. Can I give you a hug?”

You nod viciously. Thomas makes a pitying sound from deep in his chest and wraps you up in a hug, sliding his hand to the nape of your neck to encourage your head over his shoulder. You’re shaking like a leaf, your cheek damp and warm where it presses to his neck.

“You’re okay,” he murmurs to you. It’s all he can say, really. He can’t tell you it wasn’t real, because the chances that you had dreamed about something very real, and equally horrifying, are high. He strokes your hair, feeling a little useless but a lot sorry. “I’ve got you.”

Somebody stirs across the tent. Thomas watches over your shoulder as that somebody sits up.

“Thomas?” It’s Newt. His voice is raspy with sleep but he sounds concerned. “Is everything okay?”

Thomas feels something akin to a rush of gratitude for his empathetic friend. If anything was ever to happen to Thomas, he at least knows for certain Newt would take care of you.

“Yeah, Newt,” he says. “Everything’s fine. We’re good. Just a nightmare, I’ve got it.”

Newt hums and his lanky figure drops back to the tent floor. Meanwhile you’re sniffling over Thomas’ shoulder, your hands screwed into the back of his shirt.

Thomas can’t be sure if Newt’s still awake, but he doesn’t really care if his friend hears him or not. He’s past being embarrassed about how much he cares for you. Thomas draws back and takes your face in his hands.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks you.

“Not really,” you whisper back. Your anguished tone breaks Thomas’ heart clean in two.

“Okay. That’s alright,” Thomas tells you, as kind as he can when he’s up to his ears with worry. He swipes his thumbs over your cheeks, rubbing away your hot tears. He gives you a reassuring smile. “Do you want some water?”

You nod. Thomas reaches behind him to pull his metal flask from a meagre pile of supplies. He unscrews the lid and encourages the bottle into your hands.

“Here, babe,” he says softly. “It’ll help.”

He steadies your shaking hands with his own and helps you have a few gulps of water. When he returns the bottle to it’s place you’ve calmed significantly. Your cheeks are still damp and sticky but your tears have ebbed, at least.

Thomas smiles at you. He’s sure he looks sick with concern but he tries not to let it show, thumbing your cheek with as much tenderness as he can manage. “Let’s lie down, yeah? C’mon, sweetheart.”

He tugs you down with him. You slump onto his chest and push your hand under his shirt. You’re really warm, but it gives him goosebumps anyway.

“You’re safe with me,” he promises. It’s a promise he doesn’t plan on breaking, ever. He rubs your back. Big, rough sweeps that have you going lax in his arms almost instantaneously. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. I promise.”

thank you for reading! please consider reblogging if you enjoyed, and feel free to send more reqs for thomas!

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my-writings-and-musings · 1 year

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Transformers ROTB

Mirage x Reader

(Hurt/Comfort)

It's a billion degrees here so thinking is hard and I've been imagining cold... This fic of Mirage keeper reader warm after a snowy rescue was born. As the last fic proves, I just love writing Mirage cuddles, and can you blame me?

Look at him. Absolute cuddlebug. Has to be.

---

Everything was cold and aching when you came to, but considering you'd expected not to wake up at all, you could tentatively call that a win. Too exhausted and pained to shiver, you cracked your eyes open as sounds finally drifted into focus. A blue figure moved through the darkness with curses of frantic frustration, their inhumanly large frame bent over a pile of damp wood they were having no luck lighting. Recognizing their familiar shade of blue in the brief flashes of light from their attempted fire, you perked up despite your exhaustion.

"Mirage?"

The mech snapped his helm around, optics wider than you'd ever seen them as he looked at you in total disbelief.

"Hey, you're not dead!" he gushed as he crawled across the cave, looking so overjoyed he must not have believed you'd ever speak again. Too worn out and stiff to chuckle, you managed to crack a smile as the mech leaned over you, seemingly drinking in your presence as if he hadn't seen you in ages. Not having the slightest clue how you'd gotten here, you found your head free of worry despite your injuries, and you couldn't resist the urge to crack a joke.

"Should I be?"

"No, definitely not! Don't you go getting any ideas!" Mirage replied, his tone a solid mix of playful admonishment and serious warning. Adjusting a small emergency blanket that you'd been loosely swaddled in, he fretted long enough for you to pick up on his worry despite the continued jokes. "I've busted my aft keeping you alive this long, you don't get to put all my hard work to waste."

"What happened?" you asked as you tried to hug the blanket closer, numb fingers making it nearly impossible. Confused but able to recall a blurry series of events, the lack of other Autobots stuck out to you, especially when you remembered the whole group had been together in battle the last time you'd seen them. Not seeing a single other being in the cave activated your worry. "Where's-?"

"Shhh, questions take stamina you can't spare. I'll do the talking for both of us." Mirage interrupted gently, still teasing but sounding much softer as he encouraged you to lie back. The warmth of his servo and the comfort of his much larger frame beside yours allowed you to relax and listen, but as you did so It became apparent you were still quite exhausted, and you had to fight the urge to sleep. A fascinating narrative made consciousness stick around despite your heavy eyelids. "It took some expert tracking, but Bee was able to find two sets of tracks; a big ugly bot and the human he was tearing after. Unfortunately enough for him, we found him first."

Now you could remember how you'd gotten into this mess; running from a Decepticon and trying to lose them in the dense, frozen forest... The last thing you'd seen of Mirage had been the main battle, and you couldn't even begin to recall how long you'd been out in the cold, but it was good to know everything had more or less worked out. If only you weren't so terribly cold...

"I don't know how you outran him, but you were sorta... asleep and awake when we found you, so cold you weren't even shivering. We called Noah, and he's arranging to meet Optimus somewhere "clandestine" and escort a medic this way. They're gonna look you over and then pretend they didn't see us." Mirage continued. Nodding in incomplete understanding, you tried to keep your eyes open, and would have yawned if you'd had the strength. You knew what was being said meant a lot to you, and that a doctor was very much in order, but it all felt so far away. Aching body going increasingly numb, you barely found the strength to reply.

"Thank you..." you croaked, so terribly tired you couldn't convince yourself that staying awake was worth it. Mirage reacted swiftly, cupping his hand behind your head and looking into your eyes. The fear in his optics made you yearn for the energy to comfort him, but as it was you couldn't even understand why he was so upset.

"Don't thank me, just stay awake, yeah?" he encouraged, positive facade crumbling as he scooped you up in a panic. Feeling his chest, which radiated a reduced but still appreciable amount of warmth, you sighed and leaned into his embrace. The speedster held you tightly against him, digits patting your cheek as he tried to get you to focus on him. "Talk to me, Y/N, tell me what I can do."

"Cold..." was all you could say, exhaustion all but dragging you down into unconsciousness. Only your desire not to upset him kept you awake, but you knew there was precious little fight left in you. Mirage frantically reached back to the damp wood he'd been attempting to dry and ignite with his blaster.

"Okay, okay... I can... Scrap, I can't get this to light!" he cried in briefly hopeless frustration, his servo transforming back into a limb so he could hold you close to share what little warmth he had to spare. The pain in his expression compelled you to comfort him, but you didn't have the strength to do anything but lay your hand on the glowing center of his chest. You only wanted him to know it was alright, but the mech took much more from the gesture, his optics widening before his brows furrowed in determination. "Plan B then; come here."

Snapping open his chest panels and revealing the beautiful yet surprisingly soft glow of his spark, he pulled you close, allowing you to practically snuggle against the heat generating essence of his being.

"Sorry if this is weird... but it's warm, right?" he said quickly, aware of the awkward intimacy even if the situation was desperate. Being held so close allowed you to finally thaw after hours of exposure, and the feeling of life returning to your limbs was soothing enough to compel you to sigh. Cradling you tightly against his spark, Mirage sat back against the cave wall and relaxed at your increasingly less pallid complexion, returning to a more playful tone filled with affection. "My spark always runs hot, part of being an Outlier. I'll keep you close until the doc gets here. Least I can do for my little space heater."

Smiling back at the joke, you sighed once more and touched your hand to his spark, able to feel the soft hum soothing your aching body. As much as you still yearned for sleep, being so close gave you the strength to stay awake a little longer, the growing ease in his frame compelling you to keep going for both your sakes. A tender cupping of your face helped make you all the more certain that everything was going to be alright.

Mirage continued to encourage you, the devotion in his spark more than warm enough to keep the dark, frigid cold of the cave at bay. "You just keep getting nice and toasty. I've got you..."

#transformers #maccadam #tf #mirage x reader #tf mirage #rotb mirage #transformers rotb #tf rotb #rotb #transformers: rise of the beasts #rise of the beasts #human reader #self insert #transformers x reader #x reader #hurt/comfort #fluff

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cherrybombfangirlwrites · 1 year

Text

Hey, remember how during Pride Month the writeblr community has posts circulating where queer authors are encouraged to promote their books with queer representation?

July is disability pride month, Disabled people are at risk of falling below the poverty line especially and i'd love to help those who are published get paid this month if i can, so...

Let's do the same thing but with Disability Pride Month!!!

Disabled Writers feel free to promote your stuff!

I'll start:

Hello, I'm Anna, I'm an Autistic and ADHD author! Here are my canonically disabled characters in books that will come out in like 50 years because I'm a slow writer:

(I noticed most of these are mental disabilities and disorders, probably because that's where most of my personal experience is, BUT i do have quite a few physical disabilities in there, and there's also quite a bit of intersectionality <333)

Prince Kaye (FSF series): Kaye has OCD! He's also mixed latino and bisexual <3 very sweet scrawny peacemaker prince born to a family of warlords <3

Captain Cassandra (FSF series): Cassandra is mute due to trading her voice and tail for human legs, and partially deaf due to an explosion on the seas during a battle. Due to losing her tail for human legs, she also experiences chronic pain in her feet (the original curse of every step feeling like walking on knives if you will). She's also plus sized, pansexual, and gets a pirate girlfriend

Erica (FSF series): Erica is an amputee pirate with a peg leg. She's also lesbian, polynesian, plus sized, and Cassandra's hopeless romantic pirate girlfriend.

Princess Hestia (FSF series): Hestia has an anxiety disorder! She's also plus sized, South Asian mixed (like her brother), and falls in love with a shy blonde bookworm trans boi named Elliot

Raven (FSF series): Raven is Autistic! He's a morally gray knight charged with being the personal bodyguard of a reckless princess. He's so Latino and bisexual <3

Princess Sapphire (FSF series): Sapphire has ADHD! She's the reckless adventure seeking and impulsive princess that Raven has to protect. She's also a redhead, and demisexual <3

Triveya (FSF series): Triveya is autistic and adhd! She's the resident wizard and magic expert in the cast of FSF, and is a little bit feral with a bubbly and nerdy personality

Kylee (TCIO series): Kylee is autistic and non speaking! She's a superhero with super speed and invisibility powers, and she's the youngest of the team while also being a mischievous and outgoing ball of sunshine

Bryson (TCIO series): Bryson is diabetic! I'm still developing his character so i haven't figured out which type he is yet (leaning towards type 2). He's the superhero team medic with healing powers (can't heal himself or emotional injuries with said powers), and he's also a black guy and the token straight of the team that's on thin ice

Chase (TCIO series): Chase has OCD, a bipolar mood disorder, and chronic depression and anxiety to go with it! He's the tech guy on the team of superheroes, and doesn't have any supernatural abilities, but he's really good with computers and tech. He's cynical and sarcastic (because of the ableism he's experienced in the past) but secretly does care, and he's also Romani American and Jewish!

Corie (Galaxy Des. series): Corie is a cyborg and has prosthetic limbs! She has a prosthetic eye, arm, and leg. The eye does come with a small interface and her arm does have a laser gun attachment. She built and repairs all of her robot parts herself, and is a highly feared and valuable assassin in the galactic underworld. She's also mixed brown and is AroAce!

NOVA (Galaxy Des. series): Nova is epileptic! She is an android who was scrapped due to malfunction, and became a smuggler who is good at her trade. Due to faulty wiring she's epileptic. She's a cynical and grumpy android who accidentally falls in love with a loveable human lesbian rogue. She's bisexual and has shiny chrome skin with cyan lighting in the cracks.

Pandora (Galaxy Des. series): Pandora is a part-time wheelchair user, autistic and adhd, and tourettic! He is a biologist that formerly did morally questionable work for the galactic government, and now does that same work in the criminal underworld and sells it to the highest bidder. She also uses he/she pronouns, is mixed brown, and pansexual!

Ethel (unnamed witchy wip): Ethel has one eye and PTSD! She's a witch in a world where magic has just been outlawed, and a witch hunting cult has been hired by the new king and queen to hunt down and eradicate witches. She's also AroAce and very underdeveloped because this is a backburner wip.

Thanks for reading! Links to my wips are in my pinned post! If you are a disabled writer and or have disabled characters, do share!

Happy Disability Pride Month!

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dira333 · 3 months

Text

The cutest Todoroki - Touya x Reader

A/N: Angst to Fluff, Real Life AU, requested by @chelseaquake

at 5 years old

You think little Natsuo is the cutest, with the little streaks of red in his hair and his deep grey eyes. You wish you could hold him too, but Fuyumi’s not giving him up, cradling him like an expert as her mother watches.

“He’s not that special,” Touya points out again, pouting a little. He comes to stand next to you, twirling a forgotten volleyball in his hands.

“Do you want to play?”

“But we’re playing happy family right now,” you point out and he huffs.

“That’s boring. Play ball with me.”

You consider it for a second. Fuyumi’s probably not going to let you hold Natsuo any time soon, and Touya never plays with you in school because he’s one class over you and much cooler.

Before you can say yes, though, his father appears, and you shrink away. Todoroki-san is scary, taller than any other parent you know, and always angry-looking.

“If you’ve got time to stand around, you’ve got time to practice,” he calls out to Touya. “Come on.”

“Do you want me to braid your hair too?” Fuyumi asks when you are awed by her skills. Her hair looks so nice. Tomorrow, when her hair has dried, it will curl a little.

“Would you really? That’s so nice!” You take your place in front of her, thinking once again that sleepovers at Fuyumi’s place are the best. Her Dad might be a little scary, but everything else is so much better than at home.

Fuyumi’s working diligently, not noticing when the door to her room opens slightly.

Someone peeks through. You recognize those bright turquoise eyes immediately and wave a little shyly. Does he think your All Might Pyjamas are childish? Or does he think they’re cool? You don’t own fancy sleepwear like Fuyumi.

He waves back just as quietly but does not speak. You pull a face in the hopes of making him laugh and he presses his hand against his mouth to silence it.

It’s only when Fuyumi looks up that the moment shatters.

“Ugh, Touya, go away!”

-.-

at 7 years old

Little Shouto is so cute, with his pouty mouth and his mismatched eyes. You even get to hold him once, but only because Rei had to discuss something with her husband in the kitchen and Natsuo dragged Fuyumi out of the room for a second.

“He’s not that special,” Touya points out. He’s still pouting like he always does when you spend more time praising his brothers than him. But there’s an angry furrow to his brows now that you haven’t seen before.

“He looks a little like you,” you tell him. “He’s got that cute little pout from you.” You tap your fingertips against Shouto’s puckered lips and bite your own right away, realizing how that sounded.

Most girls in your class think that Touya’s really cool. Most boys in your class think that girls are annoying. What if Touya thinks the same?

“I am pretty cute,” he huffs next to you but when you blink at him, he’s blushing.

“And he’s got your pretty eyes,” you whisper because it has to be said, but not as loudly.

“Only one,” Touya points out, leaning into you a little. You nod, swallowing awkwardly.

“Ah!” Todoroki-san makes from where’s appeared in the doorway and you flinch. Touya stiffens next to you. “Where’s Fuyumi? Rei, please, I don’t want just anyone to be holding Shouto!”

Rei shuffles up to you, smiling apologetically and brushing your hair as she takes her son. You might not be as smart as Fuyumi, but you’re pretty sure Todoroki-san just insulted you.

“Touya, if you’ve got the time to stand around, you’ve got the time to practice,” Todoroki-san points out. “Come on now, get going.”

When you wake up at night, throat parched and unable to fall asleep again, you creep into the kitchen.

In the soft glow of a reading light, Touya’s sitting at the kitchen table, head bowed over a book.

“Aren’t you going to sleep?” You ask, too surprised to see him there to care about the fact that you’re still wearing your Allmight Pyjamas, threadbare, and a little too short around your ankles.

“Dad said I can only go to bed after I’ve got all the answers.” He explains, his voice both tired and annoyed. “I hate math.”

“Let me see,” you slip onto the chair next to him. “I’m not good with languages but I’m good at math. Maybe I can help.”

One look at the questions tells you that you’ll be no help at all.

“But…” You’re shocked. “You’re just one class above me.”

“That’s high school math,” he explains. “Dad says I have to unlock my full potential.”

“My Mom always says that I can’t learn if I’m tired. She always has me take naps before doing homework.”

“Your Mom sounds nice.”

“She is!” You smile. “But she has to work a lot. That’s why I can come over so often. When I’m sleeping over she can work a double shift.”

at 9 years old

The house feels different without Touya there.

It’s only ever Natsuo, who interrupts your playtime with Fuyumi, who asks you to play with him when you’re supposed to be doing your homework, who asks if he can, too, sleep over.

Fuyumi’s not good at saying no and neither are you, so you end up sandwiched between the two, thinking about how weird it is that the only time you ever see Shouto is during meals when he looks at you like you’re something alien. He rarely talks, not like Natsuo who couldn’t shut up way before he turned four.

You wonder, with fear in your heart, if Fuyumi will have to go to a boarding school too next year.

She’s the only friend who doesn’t mind sharing her lunch with you when your mother forgets to pack it yet again. Who lets you sleep over this often without getting annoyed. Who doesn’t make fun of you for still wearing the same clothes as last year, a little too short and a little too tight on you.

You miss Touya’s presence at school too, the way he sometimes came over during recess and talked to the two of you despite him being much cooler than you’ll ever be.

But it’s only at his home, where he’s supposed to be, that his absence weighs the most.

at 12 years old

Every summer holiday you hope against hope that this year, Touya will return.

Last year he went to a camp for gifted children but surely, this year will be different.

But you can tell, right at the door, that he’s not home.

It’s the way Natsuo sticks close, hides behind your back even though he’s long grown taller than you. He’s always preferred his big brother over you and Fuyumi over Touya.

But Fuyumi’s busy most of the time.

You try to help her cook and clean, but in the quietness of the night when he rests her head on your shoulder, she tells you that all she wants to do is play with you, feel like she’s a child and not her mother’s replacement.

“Do you want to come over then?” You ask softly. “If your mother needs to rest so much, we can sleep at my place. We can be as loud as we want there.”

The Todoroki’s place has been your refuge all through your childhood.

Maybe it’s only fitting that your place will be their refuge all through their teenage years.

It hurts though, when you pick them up. Because Touya should come with, and Shouto too. Sometimes you can see them though, in the single turquoise eye that peaks out from behind the curtains, in the pout on Shouto’s lips when he realizes he can’t come with, yet again.

“Touya said we can write him,” Fuyumi tells you one day, in the safety of the girls bathroom at school, “But not directly. There’s an older lady living down the street that gives him the letters once a week. Do you want the address too?”

“Yes,” you try to sound less eager than you feel. But Fuyumi’s been your friend for too long. She can read your mind from less than a word.

She smiles though.

at 17 years old

It’s the redness blooming around a single turquoise eye that brings everything down.

Fuyumi calls you crying after it happens.

You’ve never been more thankful for your mother than that day. She knows exactly what to do, never once freezes in the panic that has taken hold of you.

Shouto’s clinging to you, bandage covering his left eye, like the little kid he is.

This is how he finds you, crammed into an uncomfortable plastic chair at the hospital, Shouto in your lap, Fuyumi sleeping against your shoulder, Natsuo’s long body stretched out on two more chairs, head resting in his sister's lap.

You recognize him immediately, even after all those years, even after the terrible job he did at dyeing his hair.

“Touya?” You call out to him, where he’s standing frozen in the hallway.

You don’t want to get up, don’t want to wake up Fuyumi, or Natsuo, or Shouto, but there’s something flickering in Touya’s eyes that tells you that some moments need to be seized.

Touya sinks into your cautious embrace. He’s sorrow and hope at the same time, and it doesn’t matter that he hardly ever replied to one of your letters, that you haven’t seen him in years.

“Everything will be okay in the end,” you whisper into the blotchy blackness of his hair, “I promise.”

Your mother and you move into the Todoroki house until either one of their parents are able to care for them again.

It feels like a constant sleepover some days and a terrible idea on others.

More than once you wake up from Shouto climbing into your bed late at night.

More than once you find yourself wandering the kitchen late at night, hoping for Touya to be as sleepless as you, as yearning as you.

“Are you going to the dance?” Touya asks.

You’re alone in the kitchen for once. Fuyumi’s out to visit Rei, Natsuo’s staying at a friend’s house for the night and your mother is out with Shouto until later, check-ups with doctors and the obligatory ice cream treat afterward.

“Depends,” you say, trying to focus on the stir fry you’re making. “Why?”

“Did someone ask you out?” His voice is coming out gruffly and you turn to look at him.

The black’s almost completely washed out of his hair, darkening it only in some spots to something akin to blood. He’s staring at the floor, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans.

You have been thinking about the senior dance before, but more in an abstract way. There’s simply not enough money for a dress and no boy interesting enough to wonder if he’ll ask you out. Well, no boy but him.

“No.” You turn back to the sizzling food.

“Do you want to go?” Touya asks now.

“I don’t have a dress.”

“But do you want to go?”

“I don’t have-”

“If all that did not matter?” His tone is sharper now, more desperate, “Would you want to go? With me?”

You turn again. His eyes are open, wide and vulnerable, like is voice when he uttered the last two words. Your throat is tight, your hands shaking.

You nod, unable to speak for a second.

He smiles, shyly and slowly. There’s something in his eyes that is asking you over.

You turn down the heat without looking.

His hands meet yours readily.

He blushes a fiery red when you lean in to kiss his cheek.

He pouts and you think, that in the end, Touya is the cutest Todoroki.

My Kofi if you want to tip me

#my writing #mha x reader #mha angst #mha fluff #touya todoroki #dabi #dabi x reader #dabi fluff #dabi angst #touya todoroki fluff #touya angst #touya fluff #touya todoroki angst #todoroki family #todoroki family fluff #todoroki family angst

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lacollectionneuse1967 · 6 months

Text

remembering you

Theseus Scamander x Reader

summary: the year is 1916 and you live with your family near the western front in france. after a chance encounter with a wizard soldier during the war, you don't think you'll ever see him again, although you're sure you'll always remember him.

nine years later, you find that the man not only works with you at the ministry, but he also happens to be the annoying auror who keeps accidentally sending interdepartmental memos to your desk. you develop a friendly, albeit anonymous, banter through sending each other notes, but the question remains--does he know who you are? and, if he does, does he remember you?

fem!reader. theseus scamander x reader.

category: office romance. smut with plot.

warnings: 18+ smut scene. unprotected penetration. oral sex (fem receiving). dirty talk. mdom/femsub. fyi he begs for it.

author's note: i am not an expert on the wizarding world nor am i an expert on wwi / world history! with respect, i do not claim to be. this is a work of fanfiction.

1916, Northern France

How strange it was, being at home when it no longer felt like home.

Your memories from childhood were precious and few, almost unreal. It was uncanny to be back with your father at that small, unchanging farmhouse on the far outskirts of Verdun. Your school waited until the last possible minute to send its students home, as they would have been sending many students home to die.

The perpetual afternoon, summery quiet of the countryside that you were so used to took on a disconcerting edge, an unspoken terror. This was the silence of a stalemate, of a breath being held. Not far from here lay the trenches and, beyond that, the Germans.

The flat, low-slung lines of Meuse were an additional shock to you. You'd spent the last five years of your life in the high, rocky mountains of the Pyrenees, at Beauxbatons Academy of Magic.

The river-run grasslands around you now had a vacant, exposed quality to them, the trees bare of birds, the squat buildings in town possessing the hollowed-out feel of an abandoned amusement park.

Even before the soldiers came you'd felt like a sitting duck.

Your sister's scream was the first noise to break the deadlock silence of the night.

You run from the windowsill without looking back. Smoke smell pricks your nostrils.

Your front door is swinging frenetically on its squealing hinges, left open, gapingly and awfully so. There are three uniformed men in boots, heavy gear, standing in your living room, looking around your small, low-ceilinged house with barely concealed reproach on their faces.

The wooden floors creak weakly underfoot. Through the doorframe you can make out some distant fires burning, you can't see them but you can smell them.

The sharp, whistling sound of war planes tears through the air.

"Parlez-vous anglais?" One of the men says in mangled French. He's redheaded, maybe in his early forties. There's black soot on his face which makes his irises look so light blue they're nearly white. "English. Anyone speak English?"

Your younger sister cowers at the booming cadence of his voice, she doesn't speak English. One of her bare feet takes a step back.

So they're English soldiers at least, but you don't recognize their uniforms. The redheaded one is brandishing a wand. But that can't be...

"[Your sister's name]," your father is too sick to rise from his chair, but he beckons to your sister, feebly, calling her away from the door in French. "Please, darling. It's okay, he's a soldier."

"There are no wizard soldiers," you step forward, placing yourself between the men and your family members. They look to you in plain surprise. Your English is unaccented. "The British and French Ministries of Magic abandoned us, forbade any wizard from involvement in-"

"I'm here, aren't I?"

Your gaze shoots to the man who spoke.

He looks young. He has a long face and short-cut, curly brown hair. Handsome but not roguishly, not like a soldier ought to be. Handsome in an upright, gentlemanly way, the kind of face that exudes goodness and inspires trust. He almost seems out of place in his uniform, dressed for combat.

"What do you want?" you ask warily.

The third, sunken-eyed man gawks and lets out an incredulous sneer.

"Ungrateful little-"

"Quiet, it's fine," the brown-haired man says, silencing his comrade before turning to you. "We're here to evacuate all magical families in the area. We've received prophetic intel that invasion is imminent, the battle will begin moments from now and will span months. Hundreds of thousands will die. Pack your family's things."

Your brother lets out a noise of trepidation, turning to your father.

Your father--paler every day, made older by his illness, slumped over in his chair. He could not even make it out to the front garden, nevertheless survive an evacuation. His eyes are twinkling acutely, buried like gems in his wrinkled, ruined face.

"Come on!" Says the redheaded man in frustration. His blackened, ash-covered face is frightening to your siblings, as is his anger.

He pulls the man standing in the back towards him roughly by the shoulder to hiss in his ear.

"I'd understand if it was an estate that had been in their family for centuries, some of the pure-blood families that we…" For a moment his whispers are unintelligible, but you make out the last words well enough. "But this little farm?"

"Little farm?!" You step forward again, bristling. "This is our home. Can't you understand wanting the dignity of dying in your own home?"

The handsome one looks sharply to your father in his chair then. It is like he is seeing him clearly for the first time, you can see it click in his mind.

"Your father is a Muggle..." he says sympathetically.

"And he is sick. He won't survive apparition. Besides," you protest. "The Germans haven't broken the line since the Battle of the Marne."

The other two soldiers are stilled in shock, aghast at the fact of you, a young girl, arguing with them at all.

"Please," you entreat them. "There's been no movement. This is trench warfare, sir. They won't-"

"They will," the redheaded soldier's voice is grave, uncompromising. "Tonight, tomorrow. I don't know when, but the Germans intend to bleed the French white. They will break the line at Verdun. It is certain."

If what they said was true, if there was a prophecy....

Your hope sinks away from you, you feel your palms go limp and bloodless.

For a moment no one speaks. The silence of the night returns from wherever it fled to, creeps and settles around you.

When you find it again, your voice sounds heartless to your ears.

"Take my siblings," you say.

[Your brother's name] shouts in objection, your little sister cries out.

"No! Y/N, you can't-"

"Not another word!" You order. The words burn you to say. "You will go with these men, I won't hear anything about it."

The redheaded man grabs your sister by the forearm swiftly, and the sullen one extends a hand to your brother. They apparate away in a solitary whoosh. You feel the last remnants of your heart tear away and leave with them.

When the last man, the handsome one, steps towards you, you shake your head and retreat, backing up against the wall.

"I'm not going, sir."

You speak firmly, but the man scoffs anyway.

The front door is still erratically swinging on its hinges like a weather vane. Your father's neck has drooped forward, his chin buried in his chest. He falls in and out of sleep like this lately. He grows worse every day.

The lone soldier purses his lips, his eyes gleam testily. You think he might grab you then, and it sends a tingle down your spine.

"I'm a war nurse, you know?" Your hands are trembling suddenly. No one to pretend to be brave for now that your siblings are gone. Your courage takes on a raw, desperate quality. "Or I want to be. I know enough to help."

"Miss," the man speaks sincerely. Unlike his comrades, he really looks at you when he talks, looks you dead in the eyes. It should be unnerving, but it isn't. You can't name what it does to you.

"I vow to take full responsibility for your father's health and safety. Home or not, he won't be better off here. I will personally care for and protect him, I promise you."

You swallow and nod. He's about to grab your hand when you speak again.

"And them?" You say. "The Muggle soldiers? Who protects them? You can take my father, but I will stay."

He makes a noise of gentle surprise.

"Miss, we're here to minimize the global wizarding community's losses. No magical blood needs to be spi-"

"I don't care about all that," your voice is sharper than you intended. It appears to have cut him to the core. 'Magical blood,' he'd said. But you've never been ashamed of being a half-blood. You've never been ashamed of being your father's daughter.

He frowns in contemplation, more to himself than at you.

"You want to stay so badly. Why?"

"I told you, I'm a nurse."

"You're a child."

"I'm sixteen," you bite back.

"Like I said," his rebuttal is delivered with a sly smile. You amuse him, though you're not sure why. "A child. Not even old enough for Muggle conscription."

"I'm no Muggle."

"No, you're... You're something else."

You bite your lip. Your words are braver than your feelings now.

"If what you say is true, the Muggles--the Allied soldiers--will need medical attention. A woman in town has been training me as a nurse. I've been to the front, I can help. I couldn't live with myself if I didn't."

His eyes don't leave your face, some silent assessment taking place within him. You're already thinking of what else you can say to him, how else to convince him.

"Okay," he says, unflinchingly. "You can stay." He'll turn a blind eye.

Your shoulders slump in relief.

He walks towards your father, who is still sagged over in a worrisome-looking unconsciousness, too deep to be sleep.

'No,' you think. 'Don't go yet.'

Mindlessly, senselessly, you feel a blooming alarm. Some death rattle, some dying burst of life.

"Wait!" You call out to him, stepping away from the wall.

The man turns. "The handsome one," you'd called him in your head, fancifully, maybe even teasingly. Nothing about it seems funny now. It never had to mean anything to you, people being handsome or beautiful. It didn't have to be about you. But this, it feels serious, personal.

You don't know what overcomes you, how you could act so boldly. He'll probably think you deranged, hysterical.

But you can't imagine he'll deny you.

You've seen enough soldiers these last two years of war to know what they want from women and girls, what they all inescapably hunger for.

"Kiss me," you say, and then add, "Please. Please kiss me."

He halts completely. When his brows knit together your heart shutters closed, meekly.

"Why?"

"I..." It's hard to admit, even now, the world burning around you. "I've never been kissed. I want to be kissed, just once, before I die. In case I do..."

You're losing your breath as you speak, your stamina sputters out.

You know how he must see you--naive, insane, maybe even pathetic. You can bear the rejection, but, suddenly, can't bear to face him anymore.

You don't hear his footsteps. His touch is so gentle you barely feel it, are still turning away when you notice his fingertips resting on your wrist.

When you look up at his face it's so unexpectedly close that you gasp. His eyes are blue, a deep and true blue. You were a fool to think him anything like the other soldiers you'd encountered. No, his expression was achingly kind and perceptive. Devastatingly handsome.

He smells like engine smoke and soap and spearmint. He smells like a man. It's intoxicating. It makes you shudder.

You close your eyes tight and hold your breath. There is the smell of fire and the echoes of distant warfare around you, but your entire body drones that out, pauses and prepares for this moment, readies itself to be kissed.

The man rests a hand on the side of your face, that alone is as intimate as any kiss, the warmth of his palm. He hesitates.

His lips on your forehead are not what you expect, but your body thrills anyway when you feel them press there.

But you are sixteen and you want a real kiss.

You don't even care who from. You want just this one selfish, childish thing in a warring world where no one is afforded childhood.

You stare at him in unhappy perplexity when he pulls back.

You might cry, you realize, and the swelling tears in your vision, they stun you.

"Live," he says, softly. Insistently. "You'll live to be kissed."

He turns to leave, but stops midway. Your siblings gone, soon your father too. The Germans invading. Your whole life taken in one fell swoop, one night. The last trace of your girlhood will be the sight of this soldier's back as he walks out the door of your childhood home. This, you know.

The man looks back at your face and asks you a question no soldier has ever bothered to ask you, not when they burst into your home, not even when you were cleaning their wounds and saving their lives at the front.

"What is your name?" he says.

"What's yours?"

"Theseus Scamander," he doesn't miss a beat. He's an open book. "Do you not want to tell me your name?"

"It won't matter soon enough..."

"Do you so badly not want to live?"

"No, I do. I am just no longer afraid of death."

The look in his eyes is so tender and considerate, it's almost painful.

"I don't need a name to remember you," he's smiling again, it's so strange and out of place and, you admit, heartening. "Good luck. Goodbye."

Theseus Scamander leaves with your father in tow, closing the violently fluctuating door, at last, on his way out.

----

1925, London, Nine Years Later

'It can't be,' you think to yourself. 'Improbable.'

It's just too soon. You've hardly sat down at your new desk when you receive the interdepartmental memo. It unfolds from its airplane shape mid-air and sways delicately, falling in a rocking motion until it's flat on your desk.

A memo already?

You have just been moved to the Department of Magical Games and Sports from the Department of Mysteries. The man who sat there before you was moved to a bigger, better office, had been some hunching, Quidditch-loving Old Boy who wore long socks and smelled of moth-eaten cotton. Allegedly his name was Mr. Byrne.

A real success story in his department, or, rather, your host department, as you'd been appointed Interdepartmental Liaison for the Department of Mysteries. A new position. In fact, the only "above ground" position in your department, which was, expectedly, shrouded in mystery and sunken deep within the depths of the British Ministry of Magic.

In truth, you were also here on a mission. There had been rumors of conspiracy, political mutiny. Grindelwald supporters who had infiltrated the British Ministry of Magic. And the top suspect was the Head of the Department you'd been moved to. You'd been instructed to investigate, discern the truth of the rumors.

This would usually be a job for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but they had also been compromised. Or so you'd been told...

Your new position meant that you were to be kept in the dark more often than not, but it also meant having a desk above ground and being around other people. Luxuries.

No more time travel experiments, thought experiments, or, thankfully, demented blood purity experiments that always made your half-blood boil. You could live without all of that.

Still, none of that explained you receiving an interdepartmental memo before you'd even settled in.

You lift it from your desk in annoyance.

You do a double-take at the words, blinking hard at them.

"Holy hell," the memo reads. "When I told you I wanted to investigate some cursed Gobstones I didn't mean I wanted you to send them to my office, fuck's sake. Next after-work pint is on you, my friend."

You scoff.

It must have been misaddressed. The unfortunate writer must not know about Mr. Byrne's relocation.

It's beneath you, and childish, but you can't help but write back.

It's the sort of enchanted parchment that you can just write your responding message on. The ink disappears into the scrap of paper and appears wherever your mystery correspondent may be.

For your own amusement, you try to picture their reaction the best that you can.

"First of all, 'Holy hell'? 'Fuck's sake'? How dare you," you write. "Second of all, I'm not your friend and I most certainly will not be paying for an 'after-hours' pint. If I'm not clocked in, I'll have nothing to do with the Ministry."

It takes him so long to write back you nearly forget about it, have already gotten to unpacking all your silver nibs and ink pots and lining them up in the drawer like little soldiers, just how you like.

"Who is this?" Comes the message.

It's so dry, the response, so worried and perfunctory, that you nearly laugh out loud.

But something about the formality and genuine concern in your mystery messenger's script compels you to reply with mercy.

"Relax. Mr. Byrne's desk has been moved. If you want to write him, he has the big office on level seven with the view of the Atrium now. Lucky bastard. I'm at his old desk. Was just kidding about being offended. You can say 'fuck' and 'hell' all you want to me."

His reply comes quickly this time.

"Oh, good. Fucking hell, I was scared for a moment there."

You smile in bemusement. Who knew anyone at the Ministry could have a sense of humor? You'd thought you were the only one. You can't help but write back eagerly.

"Damn, I should have lied and said I was the Minister for Magic."

"Have mercy. I think I honest to God would have cried."

"So, no after-work pint for me then?"

"Forgive me, where are my manners? Today. The White Horse. Not sure who you are, but pint is on me, sir."

"*Miss!!" You correct. "And I was only joking. I really meant what I said before about not wanting anything to do with the Ministry unless I'm at work and being paid for my time."

"How very patriotic."

There's nothing in his writing to indicate sarcasm, but it practically drips off the page. This person is cheeky, you realize. Sarcastic. And a little annoying.

You like it.

The Department of Magical Games and Sports is a sleepy, uneventful affair compared to the work you'd been engaged in for the Department of Mysteries when you were "below ground." You look around at your colleagues, your dreary officemates. They were relatively sedentary outside of Quidditch season. Sleepy, slow-moving creatures.

As interdepartmental liaison for the Department of Mysteries, a fabricated position, really, you were already bored out of your mind.

Maybe that's why you write back with unfounded enthusiasm.

"Mystery boy: Tell me something about you. Tell me something true."

----

London hadn't been kind to you.

It seemed you had a hard time of everything: finding a flat with your sister as two unmarried, unchaperoned women, making friends outside of work, making sure to look the right way when crossing the street to avoid getting hit by a bus ('They drive on the left side, Y/N. Get it together'). All these things had proved to be excessively difficult. Especially the not-getting-hit-by-a-bus part.

During the war, while you served as an underaged combat nurse on the frontlines, your father died, but your siblings lived.

They told you the soldier from that night, the one who denied you your first kiss, had kept his word. He'd done the best he could to care for your father and, more importantly, he'd stayed with him until the very end.

Your brother was still in France, working with magical aquatic beasts around les Calanques de Cassis, but your sister was here with you. She worked in some Muggle field you didn't quite understand.

Her, your brother, and, now, the mystery man you'd been writing to every day were the only real people in your life. The only people who really talked to and knew you.

Day by day you'd grown closer to the mystery man. What had started out as vaguely funny, sometimes hostile banter had developed into something more. You'd both genuinely warmed to each other.

"Morning, sunshine!"

You were so accustomed to reading his greeting with your morning coffee that you reached for it automatically, as soon as you arrived, hand sweeping wide over the expanse of your desk to pick it up.

"Hope you caught some bad guys today. Or at least got to enforce a law or two. Bye-bye, idiot." You sign at the end of most days. Or some other joking farewell.

It's a constant correspondence between the two of you, scrawled-in between assignments and research. On your desk there is your inbox, your outbox, the stack of parchment (whatever you happen to be working on), and, just to the side of that, the discreet piece of paper you use to correspond with the mystery man.

However, you do try to mitigate the sharing of identifying information. Even when he learns you're an "Unspeakable," or someone working for the Department of Mysteries, it does little to deter him.

"Keep your department's secrets," he writes. "I just want yours."

He volunteers information about himself, his initials ("TS") and even his department (Magical Law Enforcement), in the hopes that you'll reciprocate.

You do, but you offer unimportant, silly facts about yourself. Nothing that will help him identify you, though he's insistent that he'd know you anyway if you ran into each other.

"I'm an Auror. I fought in the war," he reveals one day. "Your turn now."

"Fine: I never learned how to swim. So if you want to kill me you should probably drown me."

"I'm considering it. I'll bring a bottle of water when I finally see you. Why won't you tell me something more about yourself?!"

"What do you want to know? Can't a girl working for the Department of Mysteries be mysterious once in a while?"

"It gets old."

"You're a liar. You love me."

"True on both counts. But one of these days I'm just going to show up at your desk. I know where it is, you know... Mu-ha-ha."

You write back dismissively. "Why show up? So I can berate you in person?"

Your heart pounds stupidly as you watch the message sink away. You don't want to encourage him.

It's been one whole month of your daily exchanging of magical notes.

You know his biggest stressors at work, you know what he finds irritating, what he finds funny. Know his hopes and dreams.

You hate to admit it, but you'd be completely adrift without it, without him. Even when you're back at your flat with your sister you find your hands moving to write whenever something weird or funny happens, just to tell him, instinctually. You find yourself missing him.

It makes you shudder, the thought.

You don't want anything more... You're both comfortable and satisfied with how things are now. It's really only him who jokes about meeting up sometimes. But you? You're afraid meeting him in person would ruin that.

Maybe it's easier to have a close relationship with him across the merciful distance of anonymity.

"Night night." He writes at the end of the day. He seems to get to work earlier than you and leave later, but he's learned to say goodbye right at 6:00pm, when you usually leave.

For some reason, the words don't disappear from the page, even when you write back beneath them. His boyish script stays put.

"'Night night?'" you write back. "Ouch. I'm not a grandmother, I do intend to go out for dinner after work. Why the bedtime message?"

His words fade in and your heart swells.

"I wrote it so you can put it in your pocket and save it for tonight. I get to say goodbye to you, and good morning, but not goodnight. Just trying to cover all my bases."

You smile and tear off the message, putting it in your pocket. On the remaining paper, you cast a spell for the same, lingering text that he'd gifted you.

"Okay. You can save and reuse this message: Goodnight then, T. Sleep well, I'll talk to you tomorrow, and tomorrow. And the day after that, too."

----

You're prone to daydreaming, you'll admit to that.

"You live in a world of your own!" your favorite professor at Beauxbatons would say fondly.

"Ditzy girl, that one!" your least favorite professor would scowl within earshot of you.

But it's so easy to slip away, especially when you have something, someone, to dream about.

You watch your feet sweep across the dark green tiled floors of the Atrium, but hardly pay attention to anything else as you make your way to the elevators.

You're chuckling to yourself, remembering something your mystery correspondent wrote yesterday. It was some outrageous story, so ridiculous you wouldn't have believed it if it came from anyone but him, who was honest to a fault.

It was about a disastrous trip he took with his younger brother and involved camping on a storm-logged beach, an angry Graphorn, and frantically singing some maritime folk song they'd been misinformed would calm the beast.

You're still smiling at the floor when you step into the elevator, or, more correctly, step directly into a tall man in a three-piece suit. You crash into him with a crushing momentum.

"Oof!" you redden immediately, try to catch your breath and sputter out an apology at the same time. "I'm so sorry, forgive me!"

But the man is engaged in a conversation with two other men in the elevator, laughing.

He doesn't look over to you, he just stills you with an attractive casualness, steadies your frame with a firm hand on your shoulder. You know you hit him hard, his nonchalance is for your benefit.

"S'alright. Sorry, miss," he says with a half-glance, before turning back to his conversation.

A half-glance is all you need.

The profile of his face in the elevator light. His exact height and the feeling of being next to him. His voice, for Christ's sake!

You go stiff, your face wan.

It was him. Unmistakably. The English soldier from that night at your father's house in France. From the last time you saw your father, the last time you felt like a girl...

You couldn't speak if you wanted to. You feel something like seasickness come over you, you don't dare open your mouth.

"Theseus Scamander," his colleague is joking. "I mean it when I say well done! We should've known our young war hero would make the best Auror in the department!"

"Really, really spectacular job, son!" The other man claps a hand over Theseus's back in agreement. They're both older, sort of brash men, they don't seem to sense Theseus's discomfort at being complimented.

Theseus is grinning bashfully.

"Just doing my job," he delivers with charm, shrugging.

"Nonsense! Tonight, we celebrate. I'm not taking no for an answer. I've actually felt somewhat of a mentor to you, when you first started out-"

"We ought to invite Mr. Byrne out with us!" The third man exclaims with revelatory fervor. "How has the old chap been? Do you still go down to the pub with him, Theseus?"

It is the second, overlapping wave of nausea that really does you in, digs in its claws and drags downwards. You feel your feet physically sink into the floor. You can't bring yourself to move at all, you drone out the rest of what they're saying. It's white noise, the buzz of flies.

Mr. Byrne.

War hero.

Auror.

Initials T.S.

God, how stupid could you be? No, that's not fair.

The chances of seeing him again were slim. The chances of the two of you working together were even slimmer. The chances of him, the soldier from that night, Theseus Scamander, being your mystery correspondent these last weeks.... It should've been impossible.

When the elevator doors ding open at level seven, you step past the men quickly, rudely, afraid they'll turn to say something to you. Even a belated greeting or perfunctory farewell you couldn't bear.

You don't know why you feel so shaken.

'It's not a big deal,' you tell yourself consolingly once at your desk. 'You were sixteen. So what if you asked him to kiss you?'

But deep within your core, in a space beyond words or reason, you know that it was more than that. You weren't embarrassed about a stupid non-kiss. No, you haven't been able to shake that night, to shake him.

You'd connected. Or, rather, he'd seen you. Something about his gaze and his words had cut through the fat of life, of circumstance, and he'd seen you for who you really are.

And he'd promised to remember you.

It's gutting, harrowing almost. Realizing he'd been writing to you all this time, unaware. Some sick joke from the universe with no punchline--because you decided then and there to stop writing to him, immediately.

Theseus realizes long before the end of the day.

After you crumple his unanswered "good morning" memo and push it to the far corner of your desk, another flies in.

"URGENT: Is it just me or is Mr. Byrne particularly dapper today? The magenta top hat I can forgive, even the monocle is pardonable, but the polkadot bowtie? Inexcusable. Unbecoming of the Ministry. Need your thoughts immediately."

You had seen Mr. Byrne's polkadot bowtie today. You still found the magenta top hat more scandalizing. You wanted to laugh, but felt too much like crying to give way to the urge.

Then:

"I'm dying. Dark wizard lead in Suffolk but I can't be bothered. Tell me some funny story about you telling the professors off in school. I'm relying on tales of your genius to boost my morale. The fate of the Aurors Office depends on you alone. T."

It's three hours before the next memo comes flapping around the corner like some wounded bird.

"Have I done something wrong?" Shortly after, "More importantly--Are you alright?"

You don't know why you can't leave them be, why you keep reading them with no intention of responding.

"Scaring me here, mystery girl. Write back and I'll stop harassing you, write anything at all. Even a little drawing or scribble will suffice."

"You're not liaising very well, Liaison... Sorry, that was a joke. Ha-ha. I know the Department of Mysteries isn't expected to answer to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement but I'd always hoped you'd still answer to me..."

You throw yourself into your work with rigor.

Even your Department of Magical Games and Sports officemates comment on it, commendably. They don't realize you're just trying to occupy your brain, distract yourself from the sizable pile of memos lying formidably on your desk until you can go home.

The last one comes late in the day: "Really--Are you alright?"

Your heart aches weakly.

But no, you know how persistent and how persistently optimistic the mystery man ('Theseus,' you correct yourself) could be. If you wrote back he'd want an explanation, which he'd inevitably refute, and, besides, you weren't ready to tell him the truth or to face him again.

Your head is a jumbled mess of half-formed truths and complicated emotions.

It's a few minutes before 6:00pm, but you click off your desk lamp anxiously and begin to organize your things.

The nature of your position for the Department of Mysteries required you to lock your work up before you left. It involves two spells and four charmed latches and bolts, and it takes some time. You sit back in your chair with a sigh, waiting for the process to finish. The soft, mechanical whirring and clicking noises are a comfort to you.

The frosted glass door to the office swings open thunderously, with the unnecessary force of someone unfamiliar with the delicate door.

You sit up straight in your chair, startled. A few of the workers behind you even look over in alarm, heads shooting up from their desks.

No. Fucking. Way.

Theseus's chest is heaving softly. He's looking right at you, purposefully.

He actually showed up to your desk like he always joked about doing. You want to feel angry, indignant that he'd betray your trust, but all you feel is a numbing shock.

The sight of his face alone would've been a shock. Blue eyes. High cheekbones. Wavy, dark hair. Handsome as the day he left you.

He seems genuinely rendered speechless. The open part of his lips suggests that he had come with some speech prepared for you when he first burst in, although now he is, evidently, lost.

His eyes keep flitting up and down your form, lingering especially on your lips. It makes you flush. Yes, he gets a good look at your face, and at the small pile of his opened memos shoved to the far corner of your desk.

Whatever he expected to find, expected you to look like, this clearly wasn't it.

"Mr. Scamander!"

Your officemate Ana's voice from behind you makes you jolt again.

She walks over and places a hand on your shoulder tenderly. She seems to be completely unaware of any tension between the two of you, speaking to Theseus with ease.

"I'm sorry to steal Y/N from you, but I have to talk to her about an interdepartmental issue before she leaves. Can't wait!"

You wince at the mention of your name, but you're standing, bag clutched like a shield, and Ana is already whisking you past Theseus and through the frosted glass double doors.

"Y/N..." you hear Theseus echo, dreamily, as you pass, just before the doors close in his face and sever you from him completely.

-----

The next day you see him at a far distance.

You feel less shaken about things after having screamed to your little sister about it all last night. But she'd said something stupid about some "string of fate" that irritated you so much that you'd ultimately resorted to screaming into your pillow.

Regardless, you feel more secure. Less unsettled.

Still, the sight of Theseus's open expression in the Atrium, looking back at you in recognition across the crowds of businessmen and women just as the doors to the elevator you're in close--it's a bit haunting.

You gulp once in the safety of the elevator.

He saw you.

His eyes had drifted up and down your form, unreadably, before settling on your face. You didn't have time to react, and he was too far away besides.

Later, later than usual, a small memo floats onto your desk.

You don't hesitate, reaching for it, but the words aren't what you expect. No "good morning," not even anything referencing what had happened yesterday.

The words are so unexpected that his handwriting is the only indication that it's from him.

"You were so beautiful in that skirt this morning. So fucking beautiful. You look so enchanting in blue."

You flush deeply. So, that was what his look this morning had meant.

The relief comes delayed, second to your shyness at his flattery.

"Oh, thank God," you think.

He'd seen you, twice now, and hadn't recognized you.

He didn't remember. Or maybe he just didn't recognize you, it'd been nine years after all and you were no longer a scrawny, scrappy sixteen-year-old. But it was more likely that he just didn't remember.

You decide his not referencing your awkward encounter yesterday either is another mercy, so you go along pretending nothing happened.

"Are you flirting with me, sir?"

It's a comfort to be writing to him again.

"No," he writes back. Then, "Yes."

You laugh aloud at his candor.

"Y/N, I apologize for my outburst yesterday. I shouldn't have sprung on you like that, unannounced. Uninvited. I wish I could say I was afraid something had happened to you, but really I was just afraid you had stopped writing me for good. But then I just stood there like an absolute idiot, you probably had no idea who I was."

You huff at that.

"I knew who you were. I'm no Auror but 'Department of Magical Law Enforcement,' 'war hero,' and 'initials T.S.' aren't exactly subtle hints."

"Hey! I mentioned the war but never called myself 'hero.' I have a strong sense of propriety and I pride myself on it."

"How British..." you write back mockingly, unthinkingly.

"Are you not?"

Fuck. Well, you've already met.

"I live here now, and have for years, but I'm French."

The ink feels seared into the paper, how black your scrawl is, how you can't take it back. You don't know what you want from him. You wish he'd go away. You wish he'd never stop writing.

You wish he'd remember you on his own.

"Hmm..." he writes back.

Your heart is pounding. When he writes again your anxiety dissolves but your heart continues its steady, heavy drum.

"You're beautiful."

Your head is a scattered, overstimulated mess. You can't think straight.

He's still writing. The words fade in one by one.

"Why didn't you tell me you were beautiful? God, I didn't expect it, it took any coherent thought or word right out of me yesterday when you looked up at me with those eyes. And this morning, that skirt. Y/N, you should've warned me."

You laugh at the words on the paper, but your body's reaction to the thought of him writing them, thinking them, thinking of you, is anything but funny.

It feels overly warm in the office suddenly, and you are agitated. You stand and pace around your desk, fanning yourself with your hands.

Your fingers are shaking around the quill when you bend over your desktop to write back.

"Don't be dramatic, you'll live."

You worry you sound cruel so you add.

"And thank you. I don't think anyone has called me beautiful in a very long time."

He writes back: "Any time. And I highly doubt that. Y/N, I'm sure you've been beautiful your whole life. I can tell just by looking at you."

You don't know what possesses you when you write the next words:

"Can I come see you?"

There's a few, atypical beats before he writes back. It's excruciating.

"What, you mean at lunch?"

You look down at the small, oval face of your wristwatch.

Lunch is too far away. The bundle of nerves and anticipation you feel about Theseus, that swarming anxiety, is too unbearable to wait for lunch. You need to get him out of your system now, get him over with, and then you can move on and focus on your work.

"I mean now. In your office." You write back.

'Am I being presumptuous?' The thought makes you furrow your brow and bite your fingernail in worry. But then you remind yourself, 'Beautiful. He called you beautiful.'

It takes so long for him to reply that you almost write again to tell him never mind. But then his words come, like the sweet relief of rain:

"Yes, please. Level two, the very back left office."

You leave at once, smoothing down your skirt and brushing your hair back out of your face.

The anxiety ebbs and peaks at random. On the elevator ride you feel like you're dying. You recollect your confidence while walking to the wooden door of the Aurors Office only to feel another stab of panic as you make your way down the curved hall.

You feel so frazzled and worked up, too distracted to work or even ponder work. But you don't understand why until you push open Theseus's door, not bothering to knock. Until you're alone in the room with him, just the two of you behind closed doors.

He stands quickly upon your entrance, like a soldier.

For a moment the two of you just stare.

'Oh, God,' you realize with mounting dread. 'I am attracted to him. I am like this because I'm attracted to him.'

It feels terrible, awful, that sapping loss of power, that weakness in the knees. You haven't had a crush in your adult life, it's a trampling blow, the realization.

Theseus looks just as handsome as he always has, the crinkle of his eyes when he smiles, the sharp curve of his jaw.

He laughs and it breaks the spell of silence.

"Hello, you," his tone is fond but he still hasn't walked over to you, which is confusing and makes you shuffle aimlessly in place.

"Hi," you say, stupidly.

"Hi is all I get?" he jokes. "You know you've become something like my best friend in the office this last month. Actually, you probably know me better than my entire department."

You laugh bleakly, and you hope it dissipates the electrified energy between the two of you. That live-wire tension.

"I could say the same about you, actually."

He makes a strange, indecipherable expression then. It's both wry and lamenting.

"I don't want anything to change that, Y/N."

You frown.

"Why would anything change that?"

He doesn't answer you, changing the subject and turning his attention to the cup of quills on his desk, fiddling with the feathers.

"I... I didn't expect to react the way I did to seeing you for the first time yesterday. I've never reacted that way to anyone, anyone. When you told me you wanted to come see me here today, I panicked. I almost said no."

That hurts your feelings. "Why?"

He looks up from his desk. Your face burns at the sincerity of his expression.

"Because I knew it'd be harder for me to control myself if we were alone together. Harder to be a good friend and... behave."

He says the last word carefully. If he is calculated, delicate, you are anything but.

"I don't want you to behave," you whisper.

You step up to him, boldly. The tension is unbearable now.

"Y/N," he says warningly, disapprovingly. But the look in his eyes is agony.

"Kiss me," you say. The words come to you from far away, a train at the end of the tunnel, you pull them from that night in Verdun, from nine years ago. You need him just the same as you did then.

Theseus smiles reluctantly. The sideways tilt to his mouth is so captivating, it makes you want it more. God, he's attractive. Even more so now that you know him, are his friend.

"I can't," he says, pitifully.

But the look on his face, the way he's standing steadfastly behind his desk like having it between you will protect him, the way his eyes are flitting from yours down to your lips and back up again and again, that isn't saying no.

"Okay, have it your way. But I won't ask you again," you warn.

You want to admit that this isn't the first time he's denied you. He promised you'd live to be kissed, you've come back to haunt him for it now.

You would not ask him a third time.

Theseus groans loudly and puts his head in his hands. When you laugh he looks up at you disparagingly.

"You think that's funny, do you?"

You do. You find it cute. Maybe you don't realize the extent of his distress.

You reach forward to pinch his cheek, jokingly. He bats your hand away with an unwilling smile.

Then you're falling into him, losing your balance. He grasps both your hands in his to keep you from toppling over, the both of you laughing.

"Get off!" you shout gleefully.

"You get off," he retorts jokingly.

Pushing and pulling and touching, it's something like play-fighting the way you're both falling into and catching each other.

At last, he wrangles you onto his desk, so you're sitting there at the edge.

Your head is spinning. He grabs both your wrists, holding them together in a single, large hand.

"Hands to yourself, Y/N," is his gentle reprimand.

But you know, know from the soft pant of his breathing, the undone look on his face, lips half parted, that you've already won.

He doesn't cave into your will so much as collapse altogether, soundlessly, undetectably.

You don't blink, big, innocuous look in your eyes, staring up at him. Even when you're raised up, sitting on his desk while he stands, he's so tall that you have to look up at him.

"Please," Theseus says, and it's so attractive, his broken whisper. "I'm begging you, Y/N."

He drops down to his knees, one leg at a time with the heavy, hypnotized motions of a man defeated.

You gasp softly when his warm palms grip your kneecaps, rubbing gingerly over the sheer material of your tights, reverently.

A man on his knees, his curly head between your thighs. Your stomach plummets, burning low in desire.

You want him bad. Mind-numbingly bad, your whole body tingling underneath and keening to his touch. But it's too addictively sweet, him begging for it like this. You want to draw it out.

"Hm," you sigh, not responding, but you let your legs fall open under the guidance of his hands.

He moans at the sight. When he speaks again his voice is weak and ruined. Rough and pleading.

"Please, I'll do anything. Let me touch you. You're killing me, please."

It's almost a whine.

You can see that the fabric of his pants is stretched taut across his crotch--he's already hard.

His chest is rising and falling softly. There's a needy, trancelike glint in his eyes. He wants it bad, it's plain on his face. It's different from impatience, it's anguish.

"Kiss me," you say again. It's a demand this time. He gives in without a fight, rising up and capturing your open mouth in his.

It's a deep, languishing kiss. He kisses you like he wants to taste you, like he can't get enough of it. He grips your head by the jaw to kiss you better, deeper. When his tongue presses into your mouth you moan into his.

His hand sweeps blindly across his desk, clearing it with a crash. You jump at the sound but he grabs your face again, turning it back to his roughly.

"No," he murmurs. "C'mere."

And he's kissing you again, humming in approval when you tentatively push back against his tongue with your own.

With effort, you pull back to look at him. His pupils are blown out with desire, the collar of his dress shirt pulled open, revealing a collarbone.

"Theseus," you say, your whole body tingling with warmth. You say his name just to say it.

You're too shy to tell him that this is your first kiss, that you'd waited all this time.

It's startling, how quickly the tables turned. How deftly he took control of the situation once he had your permission to.

His hands pull down your skirt, worshipfully, that blue skirt he loves so much. He sets it aside, you're just in your sheer black tights now.

You understand why he cleared his desk now. You fall back with a moan when he flattens his massive hand across your crotch, spreads his fingers. It covers the entire expanse between your legs easily. It feels so lewd for him to touch you there now, but then he drags his hand up, sliding it over your stomach, the middle of your chest, up your neck.

"You'll let me touch you like this?" he asks.

You nod, quickly.

"Only me?" he inquires, sounding pleased. Maybe amused.

"Yes," you say, nodding again with urgency. "Only you. Nobody else."

"Fuck," he curses. He pulls open your blouse then, and disposes of that as well. You half sit up to help him with your bra. Whereas his movements are devout, seeming to worship every part of you, yours are frantic, crazed.

It's not just that you're in his office, at work, but it's that you want him badly. So very badly. It feels like the only thing that can make it better.

Once you have your bra off he pushes you back on the desk again. Places open-mouth kisses your neck, drags his teeth over the skin there then moves down. You gasp when he puts his mouth on your breast, circling your nipple with his tongue. He pinches your other nipple with his hand, rolling it gently between his rough fingertips.

"Hngh," you can't help but moan, writhe, throw your head back against the wood.

You almost want to cry out in disbelief when his head leaves your chest, sinking lower. He's on his knees again, pulling down your tights. You don't understand.

"Theseus, what-" you start, but you are silenced, the breath stolen from your chest, at the sensation of his mouth on your clit.

The moan that leaves your mouth this time is recklessly loud, carelessly so.

Theseus doesn't seem to mind.

"You taste so fucking good," he pulls back to say, his voice is ragged.

You're shy. The idea of him tasting and licking you, putting his mouth there makes you shy. But the pleasure that rocks through your entire body is too strong to deny. You'd never ask him to stop. You weren't capable of it.

Your hands go to his head, fingers wind through his hair automatically.

"Fuck," you say, involuntarily.

He's sucking your clit so well, you hardly notice when he brings up a hand, finger tracing the line of your wet slit, prodding in and out of your tight hole just barely, just to the knuckle. Kitten-fucking you with it.

He stops sucking to lick you up and down with his tongue, again and again in quick, steady rhythm, flicking the firm tip of it against your clit until you have to bite the back of your hand to keep from crying out. When he sinks his two fingers into your pussy fully, stuffing them in forcefully despite the restrictive tightness, still licking, that's all it takes for your orgasm to overtake you in pulses of unbelievable, unknown pleasure.

He removes his fingers and rises. His plush lips are slick with your arousal. He has a dreamy, dazed look in his eyes. The ravaged, destroyed look on your face seems to do something awful to him.

"Let me fuck you," Theseus says. It makes your stomach flip.

He doesn't ask, didn't say 'do you want to,' or 'can we.' He wants to take it from you.

"Yes," you mutter, spreading your legs again without thinking, head still laid back on his desk. Your orgasm made your limbs feel loose, compliant. Anything he wants. Anything at all.

Even the clinking sound of him undoing his belt buckle makes you swoon with yearning, makes your mouth water. He doesn't bother to take off his pants, just pulls his dick out, still staring into your eyes.

'God. Mercy,' you think. Even in his hand it looks huge. It's pretty.

He smiles crookedly at the widening of your eyes.

"You like my cock, baby?"

"Yes," you whisper. "Please. I want it."

He leans over you to kiss your forehead. You don't have the chance to reminisce, for it to remind you of anything, because then he is pushing into your wet warmth. He slides in so snugly, so smoothly, fits like a glove despite the stretch. The feeling of being so overfull is lewd and perfect.

He presses a hand to your lower stomach. He can feel himself inside of you there.

You gasp at the applied pressure.

He keeps his hand pressed there as he angles his hips back and then begins to fuck you. He wants to feel it underhand, how he's moving inside of you.

"Fuuuuucckkkk," you're incoherent, you know. But you can't help but swear, your whole body is vibrating with ecstasy as he drives his dick in and out of you.

"You're beautiful," he groans, throwing his head back. His entire world narrows down to this, fucking you, pumping his dick into your tightness and feeling you flutter and flex around him.

"Wait, Theseus I-" your second orgasm takes you by surprise. Your back arches off the desk, it hits you like a train, it's like an out-of-body experience.

"Fuck," He grips the back of your thighs to the point of pain. But you hardly notice that, you only feel his dick grow achingly hard. He pulls out at the last moment, coming into his hand. It spills out and between his fingertips anyway.

He makes a face of sore regret at the mess. You knew how badly he wanted to come inside of you, you could feel it, but you are grateful he didn't.

You have the strangest urge to get up and lick his fingers, but realistically you're too wrecked to move.

It takes a solid two minutes before either of you return to breathing normally and regain your bearings.

'What did we just do?' you think as you put your clothes back on.

You glance over to Theseus, he's fixing his tie in the small mirror next to the closed door of his office.

It was like you were a woman possessed. You can hardly believe your actions. But, strangely, you don't feel guilty or regretful. And your feelings for Theseus are stronger than ever. Consummated. You feel safe with him. Overjoyed, really.

He catches you looking at him in the mirror and turns. The look on his face is one of total contentment.

He comes over to you, runs his fingers through your hair gently. There's nothing but adoration in his eyes as he beholds you.

"I don't know how I'm expected to just sit back down and continue to do work on my desk now, after that. I'm gonna go insane, just knowing you're only a few levels away."

You laugh. It's an airy, light-hearted sound.

"I like you so much," he admits, brazenly, before you can even respond to him.

Your head is still a muddled mess, but this here is easy to admit. He could probably see it on your face anyway. Read you like a book.

"I like you too," you say. "I miss you already. Keep writing to me."

"I promise."

-----

part two here

author's note: what will happen when the truth of their past comes to light?? part two incoming!!! please leave feedback :)

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taglist: @msauthor

#theseus scamander #fantastic beasts #theseus scamander x reader #theseus x reader #theseus smut #fbawtft #hp fanfic

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dolcezzatoru · 7 months

Note

Just seen your sfw & nsfw alphabet for gojo (my current obsession) and I think your grasp of his character is really good. I'm all for he's an all or nothing type. If you break through those walls he's all in. I was wondering if you could do headcanons for how he'd be if his f partner was a virgin and not very used or comfortable with being vulnerable or exposed.

hi angelcake, i wrote a lil bit of a fic instead (sorry) !! if this doesn't answer your question, shoot me another one and i'll write some delicious headcanons instead ♡ thank you for requesting, love ♡

𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞?

gojo satoru x virgin f!reader

“fuck, you’re so beautiful,”

satoru nips at your neck, the two of you grinding against one another on the couch. the apartment was cold, and the only light in the room was the low light of the television reflected against you and your boyfriend. it was playing some show you two stopped watching a while ago, the quiet dialogue between two characters on-screen humming behind satoru’s soft pants.

it felt good. satoru was a little needy; his hands running all over your body, pushing his own further into yours to try and be any closer than he was now.

it felt good, you thought. or it was supposed to.

anxiety started to pull you out of what was a moment of ecstasy. you became a little too aware of it all–how his body felt on yours, the way your hands rested effortlessly onto his back, how your hands were clammy, and your lips might be chapped, and your hair might be tangled, and-

“hey now,”

satoru catches his breath and runs the back of his hand on your cheek.

“you okay?”

his voice was soft, gentle, and concerned. it was safe. he was safe.

“i’m…um-”

your voice trailed off as your eyes darted to anywhere but his face. you settled on looking down into his lap.

“sorry. yeah, i’m fine. sorry about that,” you said.

satoru shuffled a bit more to get a better look at your face. something about the light coming off of the tv made your eyes look more watery than usual. but you had a soft blush on your face, and your lips were pouted and puffy. you looked perfect.

“we don’t have to go any further if you don’t wanna,”

“it’s okay, satoru, really,”

“have you ever…done this before, love?”

“um, sure–plenty of times,”

your lie must’ve been bad, because satoru saw right through you. he squeezed your hand in his and laughed when he answered.

“ah, i see, i didn’t realize i was with an expert in the field”

he was joking to make you feel better, but your face definitely got hot. you looked up to see him laughing, not daring to let go of your hand as he searched for what to say next.

“oh, shut up, satoru, i don’t know,” you make a weak attempt at defending yourself, “i’m nervous,”

your honesty makes his gaze soften into yours. he finally lets go of your hand to wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you closer.

“we can go however far you want, okay?”

you nod as you feel emotions well up in your eyes.

“good to keep going, baby?”

“yeah, s’okay, satoru,”

he hums in agreement as he kisses you again, slowly working up to the pace you were at before.

it feels good. for real this time. you mean it when you think it, and you think it when you feel it. he feels good.

you stop a bit when satoru’s hand settles on the edge of your shirt, slowly lifting it. you pause as the cool air just touches the exposed skin, and satoru stops.

“is this okay?”

he’s whispering now, slowly speaking in front of your mouth as to not startle you, hurt you, or break you. simply treating you like he loves you.

you think on it for a fraction of a second, suddenly self conscious of anything you’ve ever done or been in your life.

and then you snapped back into it. satoru’s hand on your side, waiting for direction, while the other one was just underneath your jaw, holding onto your neck like he’d be lost at sea without it tethering you to him.

he was close, patient, and accepting. you figured no matter what the direction was next, he’d be okay with it. he’d listen if you were uncomfortable, if you needed to stop, if you felt self conscious; it all mattered to him in ways unexplainable.

it’s because he did love you. he wasn’t doing these things like he loved you–it’s because already does. a lot, really. an unfathomable amount. it doesn’t matter if you wanted to fuck now or ten years down the line. it would be with you. you’d be together, and the details would just fall into place after that. he was sure of it, and you were just coming around to realizing that now.

“s’okay, satoru,”

he leaned in more to kiss you sweetly, nodding his approval for your consent as he carefully lifted your shirt off. he followed suit shortly after, taking his off with your help in solidarity.

“god, you’re so beautiful”

this was the second time tonight he’s said that, in addition to the heaps of times the words have fallen out before today. it felt different tonight though. satoru could not be looking at you more when he said it. he said it like he was reciting a prayer–if he didn’t say those words it would kill him.

it made you bashful. you found yourself instinctively covering your exposed torso up and looking away.

satoru took your wrists in his hand.

you lean in to kiss him as he stands up to take off his pants, his erection suddenly obvious as his boxers try to contain it. naturally, your eyes point towards it. satoru’s quick to lift your chin to meet his line of sight.

“hey, eyes on me, sweetheart,” he smirks, “you okay?”

you’re at eye-level to his belly button, a soft white line of hair dancing down into his boxers. you hold his waist in your hands, using it to steady yourself as you rise to your feet.

“‘m okay, love, really,”

satoru kneels down to remove your pants and panties, pressing his face to your tummy to be close to you. he peppers a small parade of kisses across your waist as he gently palms your ass in his calloused hand.

he rises up to meet you again, taking your jaw in one of his hands.

“are you still okay with this?”

his genuine care makes you melt a little, finding yourself clenching your thighs together at his sweet remarks for consent.

“mhm, please satoru, ‘m ready”

he leans in once more, kissing you a little feverishly than before, and holding your entire head in his hands as he pulls you closer to mold your body into his.

“sure, baby, just follow my lead,”