#the way the corners of his mouth naturally quirk up im in love

[ohdeerfully]

Requests? I got you 😌

Reader who made a deal with Alastor, be his informant, and he'll provide aid when needed. And reader was damn good at holding up their end of the deal, while Alastor hasn't really needed to uphold his since aid hasn't been asked for.

So what might happen when his dear little informant hasn't came back from gathering info on the Vee's?

EATING IT UP idk i love this kind of stuff thank you so much. im making this a two-parter! it was getting kinda long and i wanted to get something posted (:

Your Half of the Deal (i)

Alastor x Reader part i part ii part iiiTW: kidnapping, cursing, alastor is manipulative (per usual), alastor is in denial if you want to be tagged in the next part, let me know! join my discord! ═══ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ═══

Deals with Alastor were, for a lack of better words, a big deal. Not something to mess around with. His twisted nature allowed him to create so many loopholes for himself, forcing one to do more than what they bargained him for. It was unfair, but that’s what happens when you make a deal with the Radio Demon.

You weren’t as lucky as the other demons at the hotel, not receiving the typical advice Vaggie debriefed any newcomer. Alastor got to you first. He got you soon after you fell into Hell, before you even knew exactly what was going on or the whole ‘soul’ thing. 

“My,” A light voice cooed from the shadows, causing you to jerk your head up. Your ass still stung from the tumble you took after falling down into god knows where. You were curled up in a dark, moldy corner, a brief respite from all the freaks that you kept running into. Your fingers–no, claws?--still aches after defending yourself from a pair of spiked thugs.

“What a poor sight. How dreadful!” He continued. You could barely make out the form of the speaker. You just knew he was tall. With blazing red eyes. His voice had a radio-like filter over it, with a general low frequency humming around himself during the silence.

He had seen you, a new fallen demon, fight yourself away from those two earlier, a wild look in your eye. How it pleased him, seeing that look somebody gets when they are desperate for their life. But you, in particular, piqued his interest. To be able to acclimate to a new body, in a new place, and fight for your life at the drop of your hat.

You seemed capable, and he liked that. He knew you were naive, fresh meat always was. And he liked that.

You had yet to speak, only looking up at him from your fetal position. But he could tell you were tense and ready to spring, if need be. He played a grin on his face and leaned down closer to you.

“Oh, how rude of me! I’m Alastor,” He held his hand out to you from his bent over position. You shook his hand cautiously. “I saw that scuffle earlier, and dear if I may say, you fight like a wild tigress.” 

You quirked your brow at this comment. “Thanks,” You replied plainly. “(Y/N).” You didn’t want to talk right now. But, you were at least glad to see a face that didn’t immediately go through your throat. 

Alastor, of course, didn’t go after those of the ‘fairer means,’ as he would put it. At least, not in a violent way. He was all for the typical manipulation.

“Even still, a fair lady such as yourself needs someone to protect her! And,” He stood up straight again, a dangerous glint in your eye. “For a price, I could be at your beck and call.”

“A price..?” You responded weakly. You had to admit, seeing this tall, confident man in front of you did seem to put you at ease. He seemed kind. And it wouldn’t hurt to have some help, if there were more creatures wanting to attack you.

“Your soul!” He said, all too cheerfully. Your mouth dried up at this. With everything that has happened to you so far, you had a hunch that the term ‘soul’ actually carried meaning in this place. But, how much..? Was it worth the protection he promised?

“More like a mutual contract, really! Mutual benefactors!” Alastor lied, seeing that hesitance in your expression. “I get your soul, you do what I ask, and I protect you! Simple enough.” 

The expression he held, with that tall grin of his, didn’t do much to calm your nerves. As chipper as he seemed, there was something to it. Something more, but you couldn’t quite tell.

“Deal?”

His glowing eyes seemed to darken as he squinted them in anticipation, his smile somehow growing wider. The static in the air seemed to crackle with more energy, almost violently, as you considered his hand that he had held out. There was an ominous aura that made your skin crawl.

Ah, what the hell. Flashes of those thugs from earlier was enough to put you on your feet. You could only imagine the other shit that lived in this place, and had a feeling they were the bottom of the barrel. You had only just managed to get away from them.

You made eye contact for a couple of seconds, the prickling sensation on your skin becoming harsher and more aggravating the closer you stepped to him. You grabbed his hand.

You were thinking about your unlucky situation–which you often did in your free time–as you gave yourself a onceover in the mirror, black eyes examining your tight outfit. A little spy getup–a little stereotypical, something you would definitely see in the movies. But, hey, it never failed you.

Thinking back, you could tell now that his words and smile were filled with deceit and manipulation. You often got pissed at yourself for how naive you were. You hadn’t even called on him once since then, and you’ve been stuck as his little pet for nearly four months now. He runs you around like a doll in a big playhouse, sending you this way and that to get intellect from his various enemies.

“I’m much too popular to be roaming in those areas!” He had claimed when you questioned why he, the Radio Demon, couldn’t just do it himself. “Demons flee at the sight of me. The Vee’s would see me from a mile away.” You had a suspicion that he just didn’t want to be seen in public making such a petty fuss over his television rival.

There was no point in dwelling on it, but you couldn’t help the occasional feeling of regret that twinged your chest when you thought too long. You were stuck as his, whether you liked it or not. 

Slicking back your hair, you finalized your sleek outfit. Another day of being thrown into precarious situations by that red asshole. It was becoming a weekly thing, with Alastor requesting more and more information, especially from those Vee’s he hated so much. In fact, now that you thought about it, they were the only demons you snuck by. How obsessed they were with each other.

It was no easy task, getting through the security of that place. In fact, it was nearly impossible, seemingly getting harder every time. You had a cautious feeling that they knew what you were up to, and kept falling short of catching or stopping you. There were cameras pointed in every direction, every angle, in the highest quality imaginable. Every trip left your heart racing with adrenaline.

“On your way now, are you?” Alastor asked coyly. He waited for you at the entrance to the hotel, a glint in his eyes. Oh, how he loved playing with you like this. Watching you bend and break for him. He loved it. And you hated him for it.

“Yeah. Maybe I’ll get killed this time,” You said snidely, referencing the increasing danger of each trip. “Wouldn’t that be a treat for me.” You said this in a whisper, but Alastor still heard.

He bent at the waist to be eye level with you, that sinister grin of his lowering slightly. It seemed he had wanted to say something, his teeth parting for a moment before closing again. His grin perked back up and he straightened himself into a stand. He simply reached out and patted your head.

“Now, don’t go out with that kind of mindset! Why, you know our deal!” His lips curled in reference to the rather one-sided promise you made each other. To be honest, considering you never had to call for Alastor’s aid, you weren’t even comforted by the notion. Who’s to say he even shows up? How will he even know if you need help?

Alastor stepped towards you, his hands flapping as he shooed you out of the door. “The night is only so long! Go along!”

So, now you’re here. Tucked behind a corner near the Vee’s residence. There were cameras everywhere, obviously, and you swore you saw more than last time. What point does Alastor even have, making you come here so often? What more could he want? You knew him and Vox were rivals, but it wasn’t like Alastor didn’t know how to take care of the TV-head.

You had a sick feeling that Alastor just enjoyed making you do bullshit for him like this, and didn’t care much for the actual information. The thought drew a sneer on your face. If you weren’t literally soul bound to this guy, you would probably just let yourself get caught and likely killed on the spot. But, of course, your deal made that dream impossible. 

With a couple hops on your toes, you began your brisk walk towards the back of the manor. You were hyper aware of all the cameras, and hoped that your dark outfit helped blend with the shadows. 

However, the second you lifted a window and stepped foot into the building, lights flashed and an alarm rang. Fuck.

The television demon himself got to you surprisingly fast. As if he had been waiting. Which, honestly, wouldn’t have surprised you. You briefly wondered why it took them so long to have an alarm system in the first place, and began frantically looking for a way out. The window behind you had shut and locked. The hallway was incredibly narrow and Vox stood in the way.

Fuck it, you made a mad dash for the Overlord, hoping to catch him off guard. You raised a clawed hand and swiped at his television head. A pointless attack, you realize, as the screen nearly flickered for a moment; his wide, pixelated grin staring into you. Before you could move again, his arm tightly gripped at your throat. You felt an electrifying sensation, stinging through every nerve, and blacked out.

“Heyy, Al?” Charlie’s voice rang through the doorway of Alastor’s radio tower. “Have you seen (Y/N)..? She was supposed to help with some decorations.” She had opened the door without warning.

He paced back and forth in thought, gripping the top of his cane with one hand and tapping the end of it in his other. He didn’t respond to Charlie, but the question did ring in his head over and over. You hadn’t come back from the night before. You always came back before the day broke.

He didn’t know the feeling that stirred in his chest as he watched the minutes pass by. The hours pass by. All without a sight of you. He never thought to keep watch as you worked, refraining from sending his shadow to spy on the spy, as he always saw you as capable enough. 

Besides, he thought to himself. What a waste of my time that would be. Fretting over a single demon.

“Alastor,” Charlie said again. He craned his neck to her, stopping his train of thought. His grin had a strain to it and his nose wrinkled in aggravation. Why was she in his space? He hated intrusions.

“What?” He said bluntly.

“(Y/N)?” She spoke your name again, hoping to prompt some conversation out of the Radio demon with the implied question.

Alastor composed himself, acting unphased by the… worry? That he felt. “Why would I know where she is? I take care of this hotel, but not so much the residents.” It was a true enough statement, as he preferred just watching the demons Charlie try desperately to rehabilitate and fail miserably every day. 

“Now, if you don’t mind,” He interrupted Charlie before she could say anything, her mouth hanging open and words dying on her tongue. He briskly turned on his feet and walked towards her, standing at the doorway. “I would prefer you knock next time.” He shut the door on her.

He couldn’t handle the heavy feeling that threatened his lungs as he thought about what was happening at the Vee’s residence. 

Did he really care to go out, risk a scene, risk the intel, just to get you? To make sure you were okay?

Yeah. He had to. He hated that feeling in his chest, especially as it just grew heavier and more overwhelming. He just chalked it up to the deal he had made with you putting a pressure on his own soul to hurry up and deal with it. But he couldn’t help the tightness that consumed him when he thought about what you were doing in that place. Or what they were doing to you. He brushed the emotion aside, trying his best to ignore it.

He argued with himself that yeah, he was only going because of that deal he had made. No, no way did he have a soft spot for you. No way in Hell. He was just doing this to hold up his deal. Yeah.

With a heavy sigh and a twitch at the corners of his lips, he brushed his talon-like fingers through the fringe of his hair, pushing it back before letting it fall into place again. He tried to maintain a leisurely composure, but a wild glint in his eye was proof enough that he was stressed out.

Best to get this over with. He had a deal to uphold. He opted for the faster route, melting into his shadow.

part ii part iii

#alastor #alastor x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #tw: kidnapping #kidnapping #alastor doesnt realize he Feels stuff

[vxiphoid]

RAINY REVERIE

❨ summary ❩ obey me › things they would do to cheer you up. hearts and minds have a tendency to break when there are too many thoughts in your head at once, how would they help?

tags ✧ nb!reader, established relationship, reader is going through it😞, slightly suggestive in lucifer’s part?, IM SORRY IF YOU HAVE A CAT ALLERGY (mammon), idol slander, bathing together, itty bitty angst in belphie’s.

amanuensis’ message ⊹ i tried to make the reader a bit different for each brother because people deal with being upset differently… but hello?? theres like 130 of you now, tysm for all of the support, i love you all sm sm :(<33

⌜ 2.5+ ⌟

obey me masterlist

LUCIFER

♫ wishful thinking - benee

╰ he understands more than anyone how stressful school or work can be. doesn’t help that rad piles more shit on as you advance. he’s offered to give you a message, pressing small kisses in his wake before smearing oil onto your skin.

“you did so well today.” lucifer praises gently against your skin, thumbing the junction between your shoulder blades. you sigh contentedly as he massages into your muscles with ease, his fingers brushing your skin in gentle strokes to help ease out the knots and tension that have accumulated over the day. you inhale sharply at the contact, and a small smile quirks up the corners of your mouth when you hear him hum happily at your reaction. “your hands feel good, not that i don’t like the feeling of your gloves, your hands just feel better. i like your hands on me.” you murmur, leaning further back into his touch, basking in his affectionate caress. there was a stutter in lucifer’s movements as he stiffened momentarily before relaxing once more, but it didn’t deter his hand from its progress. “well, i know that… i figured i take my gloves off a lot in your company since you like the feeling of them so much.” he murmurs, sounding slightly embarrassed by his own statement as he continues to massage at your shoulders. he makes sure his thumbs are positioned correctly on either side of your spine, his touch feather light. “i thought this was pure?” you ask teasingly, peering over your shoulder. lucifer gives you an unamused look, pushing harder into the small of your back which elicits another soft sigh from you. “this is pure. you’re tainting it.”

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MAMMON

♫ (your cat) don’t stand a chance - mustard service

╰ last thing he wants is you going to bed angry or upset in any way. even if it isn’t his fault he still feels like he needs to spoil you to make it better? so, he gets you something. in a box, a big box. yk nothing bad, just something he prolly shouldn’t have bought…

“heeey, pretty… so i know you’re having a really bad day ‘n shit but how would you feel if i brought you a cat?” mammon asked, stiffly pushing open his bedroom door with his shoulder, a light looking box in his arms. you eye him, hard. “what’s in the box, mammon.” the mewls of protest from within spoke for itself. when you bursted into his room clearly pissed off, mammon was already on his way out, kissing you and promising he’d be right back he just needed to grab some stuff. by stuff you didn’t think he’d be at the pet store buying a kitten, especially this breed. maine cats are expensive, he even went out of his way to buy toys and the necessities. you thought you would have been mad about it, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be as the little baby ran around trying to catch a feather you swung around. the kitten finds rest in mammon’s mess of hair, likes to be carried around in hoodie pockets, and makes biscuits with it’s beans on your back. you couldn’t be mad at all, both the small fur ball and your boyfriend cleared all the stress you had. mammon lied down beside you in the floor, watching you jerk around the stick for the kitten to tail, he rests his head your shoulder. “you feelin’ better?” you nod with a natural smile and he kisses your shoulder. “good.” you say nothing, instead you pull him close and cuddle together on the floor, the kitten pawing mammon’s head before curling up for a nap. you smile, holding out your pinky. “don’t tell satan?” mammon takes your finger, pressing your thumb with his. “‘course not.”

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LEVIATHAN

♫ honey - red hearse

╰ levi was already dressed for a midnight walk when you came in, he figured you needed one too just to clear your mind. helps you put on your shoes and jacket while you rant about how horrible your day was, kisses your cheek while you two leave the house.

your boyfriend treats this like any other day, not in an ignoring way, no. he figures he’d rather listen to your rant then try to see the other person’s (asshole) side. in plus, if you get it all out of your system, you won’t be so pent up. he buys you your regular drink and holds it for you while you express your anger with your hands, bringing the straw to your mouth when you need a pause. “—and it wasn’t even my shift!” you huff, sipping your drink when levi brings it to you. “thank you, i love you. anyways, this bitch—“ you could go on and on for hours and he wouldn’t get tired of hearing your voice. eventually he’d tug you into one of those 24 hour cafes and request an outdoor seating area, preferably where there isn’t people. when your rant seemingly comes to a close, your forehead meets with levi’s shoulder with a heavy sigh. he kisses your crown, “d’you want anything off the menu? they still serve breakfast if you want any.” he smiles when you nod. “thank you for listening, i know that was a lot. ‘just been stressed.” his hand slips into yours, kissing the back of it. “i’m here for you whenever.” and he means it. you know that levi would give you literally anything in the world, he’d do anything for you and the little things only add to how precious he is.

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SATAN

♫ structure - odd sweetheart

╰ satan is a ticking time bomb when he’s mad, he may look okay but one minor inconvenience will send him over the edge. the plus side is that he knows most of the methods that could calm anyone down. those methods are watching really bad shows and their cringy acting.

the click of the spacebar signaled that you paused the show for the ninth time tonight, the silence loud between you and satan as you both stared at the blinding screen. his expression mirrored yours; slightly gaped mouth, squinted eyes, and meeting a glance before they returned to the frozen show. “she didn’t just kiss her husband to be’s brother after having a one night stand with their father…” he said quietly in disbelief. “on her wedding day.” you mumbled, forking around your takeout noodles in its cup. satan opened his mouth and you fed him some, treating yourself quickly afterwards. “y’all would watch anything at this point, kill your producer!” you and satan have been bingeing this horrible romance show for so long you completely forgot what time you even started watching it. its so ridiculous, not worse than idol, but still horrible. satan, on the other hand, was just glad you were enjoying yourself after a soiled day. you catch his eye and grin slightly, “what?” he shrugs with his mouth, turning back to the show. “nothing.” “mm, you want something, what is it?” you prodded again, leaning forward and giving him an inquisitive stare. you were sure you weren’t getting an answer by the way he was twirling his fork, so you leaned into him, brushing his hair away to press a kiss to his jaw, that caught his attention. “thank you, satan. for cheering me up.” you whispered to him sweetly. his lips curled up at the edges. “anything for you, love.” your eyes dart back to the screen after what you thought you saw actually happened. “she’s making out with their dad now?! go back, go back!!”

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ASMODEUS

♫ bad behavior - austin mills & remi wolf

╰ he knew that as soon as you walked into his room silent something was wrong. he just got out of the shower and you hugged him. you hugged him tighter than you usually do, and he noticed. he’s never seen you so deflated, tears filling your lash line. fortunately, asmo knows the perfect way to calm you down.

“okay baby, do you want hot pink or pink?” your eyes flick between the two headbands from your spot on the bathroom counter. you know they’re basically the same color, but it doesn't stop you from trying to guess which one is cuter. “hot pink.” you say finally, nodding in the direction of the headband in asmo’s right hand. “correct answer, you weren’t allowed to choose anything else.” asmo slips on your fuzzy headband and you snort as he carefully adjusted it on your head. “why’d you ask then?” you tease. asmo shrugs, leaning in closer to press a quick kiss under your eye. “so we can match!” after your emotional feeling day, your boyfriend suggested you join him in his skincare to take your mind off of everything for a bit. you agreed immediately, happy at the opportunity. you’ve been so stressed lately, working part time at a small coffee shop near campus while attending classes full time, and not having time to spend quality time with your boyfriend made you feel like you had let him down. you were grateful he was offering to help you out though. asmo’s finger hooked under your chin, using a silicone spatula to smear on a cool peel off mask onto your other cheek. you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist and he grins, pecking your lips before getting back to work on your mask. little whisps of champagne hair escaped from his headband, his tongue sticking from the side of his mouth while the mask between his brows crinkled in concentration. asmo always did this whenever he focused particularly hard, so you didn’t interrupt him even if he did start to ramble about something or another. you couldn’t get enough of watching him make himself so at peace with his surroundings. your lips meet his palm gently, and he quickly got the paragraph hidden behind such a small act. “you’re welcome, baby.”

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BEELZEBUB

♫ grey luh - berhana

╰ beel knows that even himself needs a bit of time alone before he’s ready for any interaction so he let’s you have you’re time. while he waits, beel prepares a bath of pure relaxation. scented candles, various different bath bombs, and even one of those bath tables.

you groan exasperatedly as beel lifts you from the warm embrace of your duvets, “i know, i know, i’m sorry. you can go back to bed in a minute…” he assures you, his voice soft and droopy. you’re about to protest but he shushes you by kissing you softly on the lips. “i know you need this.” with that you stop your whining and hum quietly, accepting a loving defeat. you were already starting to nod off against beel’s chest til your nose caught whiff of vanilla and the cold tiles of the bathroom under your feet as he set you down. the bath was filled with crystal clear water, a blue tint shimmering over the liquid due to the relaxing lighting. there were candles and various oils and body washes littering the shelves of the bathtub with a scent that was both sweet and refreshing at the same time. it was almost overwhelming in its complexity but it was also perfect because beel always made sure everything had an effect that would make you happy, calm, relax. “your week has been stressful so i wanted to make you something even it it isn’t a lot.” you smile brightly up at him, eyes shining with love for him despite still having bags underneath them, which he brushes away with another tender kiss. you already began to strip, your bones were aching for warm bubbling water on your skin. “just relax, okay? i’ll take care of you and we can go back to bed after dinner.” you pause just as you dip your leg into the water, “you’re not joining me?” beel blinks at you owlishly, mouth opening and closing a few times as if trying to find words, “you wanted me to join?” you blink back at him, confused until he finally says something intelligible again, “yes? why wouldn’t i want you to join me?” he smiles at you, a small and gentle curve of his lips that you couldn’t help smiling back at him. he wastes no time settling down behind you, your body immediately melting into his, the heat radiating out of him and warming you up like never before. “better?” he questions, hand rubbing your back soothingly, his other arm wrapped snugly around your waist. your head rested on his shoulder, arms loosely wrapping around his own torso. “absolutely. thank you.”

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BELPHEGOR

♫ valentina - dreamer isioma

╰ usually naps off his anger or sadness, basically letting it build up silently, naps do help him but he knows that naps won’t erase anybody’s pain in, like, two hours. belphie makes you a little care package; essential oils, sugar scrub, candles, sweets, blanket, plushies, melatonin gummies for the sleepless nights, headphones, etc… it was a rare sight seeing belphie out of bed and productive, instead your roles being swapped.

the attic’s stairs creaked as belphie ascended to where you were curled up on his bed. he approaches slowly, stretching his neck out a bit to check if you were sleeping. fortunately, you were not. “hey, babe? i got you something…” belphie muttered. you turned your head slightly, the glow from your d.d.d illuminating your face. belphie sat down next to you, laying out what was clearly a care package on a bedside table. the colors were subtle, a nice slightly desaturated blue with white accents for bows on the bag, few constellations littered the design. “you didn’t need to waste your money on me, belph.” you sigh, holding his face in your hand, belphie leans into your touch. “it wasn’t a waste. you’ve worked so hard.” he smiles as he kisses your palm. “plus, nothing’s a waste if its for you.” there was some static in the room, it made the atmosphere even more intimate. belphie rests his head against yours, taking a deep breath in. you smelled nice, and belphie felt immensely calm. “do you want anything else, hun? i could cook dinner…” belphie trails off, rubbing circles onto your arm. he feels you shake your head, “you’re more than enough. i’ll open the gift in a second, promise, just need you.” belphie kisses the top of your head, resting his cheek on top of it. there was static again, the feeling only growing more prominent as he pressed a kiss to your temple, “i love you.” you turn slightly to face belphie, placing your lips against his, they were soft, sweet, and tasted like honey and vanilla. you felt the tension plaguing your body ebb away, you relaxed into your lover. belphie pulls back, pressing another chaste kiss on your forehead, “i love you the most.”

#obey me #obey me imagines #obey me headcanons #obey me shenanigans #om! shall we date #om! nightbringer #obey me fluff #obey me x reader #om! x reader #om! lucifer #lucifer x reader #obey me lucifer #om! mammon #mammon x reader #obey me mammon #om! leviathan #leviathan x reader #obey me leviathan #om! satan #satan x reader #obey me satan #om! asmodeus #asmo x reader #obey me asmo #om! beelzebub #beel x reader #obey me beelzebub #om! belphegor #belphie x reader #obey me belphegor

[awriternamedart]

Of Two Wholes

A/B/O [Alpha! Gepard, Beta! Sampo] , SFW , Fluff

Theyve discussed the consquences of a bond mark, now its just time to commit.

(Crossposted from twt)

Ficlet below the break 👇

-

He could feel Gepards hesitation, teeth hovering over the scent gland on Sampo's neck. Potent, sharp, it seemed to invade and corrupt all of Gepards senses, and yet, he was still hesitating.

His head dropped to Sampo's shoulder, the conman's brow quirking up for a second before he chuckled.

"Don't tell me you're getting cold feet, Gep." He couldn't help but tease, hands weaving up to thread his fingers into blond hair. The instinct inside him reared its head as Gepards cool, gentle scent was tainted by his worry, his hesitation.

"I just- This is what you want, right?" Lifting his head slowly, Gepard put his hand on Sampo's thigh, bringing blue eyes to inspect jade. The couch they sat on shifted with their weight. "I'm not- you don't feel forced-"

"Did we or did we not discuss this extensively for nearly a month now?" Sampo snorted, cutting Gepard off. "Seriously, Geppie, at this point I might start thinkin you dont wanna mark me!"

"What-?! No, no, that is and never will be the case-!" Gepards mild panic was immediately soothed by Sampo bursting into a fit of laughter, the captain scowling. "..That wasn't funny."

"Im sorry, I'm sorry- You get too caught up, cmon, Gep! We both want this, why hesitate?" Peals of laughter died off, Sampo still snickering as he traced his hands under Gepards chin. Corners of jade eyes turned up in a gentle smile, fondness and love leaking into the scent that permeated between them. Tilting his head just enough, the collar of his shirt once again stopped covering the scent gland, its full scent leaking out. Enticing Gepard, presented fully for him.

Biting his lip for a brief second, Gepard closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Before he knew it, he had leaned forward, nosing at the gland. Taking in the unmaimed, unbarred scent. Potent, wild, chaotic, but deceivingly calm in its nature, a perfect representation of the man who carried it.

"Cmon, Gepard. Don't keep me waiting too long."

Those whispered words of encouragement were all he needed before opening his mouth, fangs grazing the sensitive skin. A shudder went spiraling down Sampos spine, and then the inexplicable feeling of them sinking into his skin followed.

Color burst behind both of their eyes, a primal sort of twist to fate reaching out to the other, forcibly intertwining them together. It was a flurry, a flood of emotion and power, strengthened and emboldened as the core, the very essence that made them up raveled and twisted together.

Nothing could compare as Gepard finally pulled back, watching as the bite wound healed itself before his eyes, glowing a light blue before it faded into a blue tattoo-like imprint, a forever mark.

A bond.

"...holy shit." The dazed look in both of their eyes slowly gave way to clarity, Sampo the first to come back to ground. He reached up, lightly dragging his touch over the two imprints, shivering involuntary. "..whoever made up the rumor that betas cant bond is full of shit, cause I felt every second of that."

Gepard remained silent for a few seconds more, before he dove forward, burying his face into Sampo's neck. The conman yelled in surprise as his back hit the couch cushions, the sound soon deteriorating into laughter as Gepard nosed the area, trailing kisses up his lover's neck and chin.

His new scent was still undoubtedly Sampo, but now there was something inherently Gepard in there. Not quite like he had stayed around and simply had Gepard's scent lingering on his body, no, it was twined in, deeply woven into the recesses of Sampo. They were now a part of the other, two separates who chose to become joined.

It was never quite like missing a half. No, Gepard had always felt whole, but Sampo added onto that whole, willingly merging it with his own.

Pulling away just enough to hover over Sampo, Gepard found himself smiling, feeling the joy they now shared in tenfold before Sampo reached up, hands resting on Gepard's cheeks.

"Kiss me already, will ya?"

He was quick to follow his mate's request.

#sampard #gepo #fanfic #gepard #sampo #honkai star rail #hsr #gepard x sampo #omegaverse #beta sampo #alpha gepard #alpha x beta

[ithseem]

this may be a bit long!

[matchup exchange for: OBEY ME]

✦ prominent personality traits: passionate (inwards, only express when some small thing im actually interested in comes up), levelheaded, contemplative (outwardly), opinionated, honest (heart on my sleeve). realistic but optimistic about it. individualistic. i am an ambivert. sometimes my mouth runs and i trip up over what i was going to say, and i’m blunt. sx/sp, not easily impressed. im a big person on wanting improvement and having ambition (mostly for myself, but i will encourage others). people think im funny so im happy about that :] i am amiable. im the type who’s better at finding solutions rather than comfort, but i certainly try the most i can for others. for bad traits, i have a hard time empathizing with people sometimes, and i’m somewhat pushy.

✦ looks fair skin, mid-length black hair, wispy middle part. i’m pretty lanky, with a beauty mark near the corner of my left eye. light academia type of dress, with hair clips. look more cute-sque.

✦ hobbies/talents: i like to read and write and listen to music and taking walks and drawing. i'm really good at explaining things in a very cohesive manner. my logic is really good, so my persuasion is extremely good too. im very efficient and creative, which i apply to many things in real life. i also have very good intuition.

thank you for this matchup exchange! dont worry, i’ll write lots for your oc too!

It seems tome you've captured the heart of...

The Prince of the Devildom

Diavolo!

On the surface level, he can respect your calm and level-headed nature. Once he gets to know you, he just falls in love with you harder. It's no secret that Diavolo is a good judge of character, and he grows to love and appreciate very facet of you.

One thing Diavolo especially likes about you is your honesty. The way your eyes light up when you speak is a sight he'll never tire of. He loves to listen about your thoughts on the subjects you're passionate about. He doesn't mind you running your tongue and stumbling over your words. In fact, this is a quirk of yours he's grown to find endearing about you. He still likes your articulacy regardless. Your logic is sound and your persuasive skills are a force to behold. You would make for a great ambassador for the Human Realm

He also likes your sense of humour so expect to joke around with him a lot.

As for your goal of self improvement, Diavolo cannot help but admire that. To quote something Leviathan (probably) said: "we stan character development." He may or may not find you to be an inspiration.

As for your bad traits, he'd be more than happy to help you manage those. He can be a bit pushy also, but he does work on that. He did learn to manage this part of himself so he can help you with this also. Empathizing with others might be something you need to work on as well. While Diavolo does appreciate solutions to his problems, he will oftentimes need a shoulder to cry on before he can tackle them.

Diavolo has a huge library full of books for you to read, as well as music records, many of which are cursed. But you are smart enough not to just touch these books or records all willy-nilly.

The Demon Lord's Castle has the best places to take walks, so he'd love to take strolls with you (of course, these walks are not limited to the castle), and Barbatos would prepare tea and snacks for you when you just want to relax

Diavolo also takes interest in your creative hobbies as well. If you ever gift him something you drew/wrote, he would be over the moon

Overall a very healthy and wholesome relationship with a lot of potential for emotional stimulation

#ithseem answers #obey me #obey me matchups #it's been a while since I played this so sorry if this is mid or ooc ;-; #i don't usually do this #not on this blog anyways #maybe i should do more fandoms for my side blog #i'm gonna make a poll for it #obey me diavolo #lord diavolo #diavolo swd #matchups

[jangofctts]

Thing for Trouble (boba fett x fem!reader x din djarin) (part one) (part two) (part three) (part four)

Rated: explicit 18+

word count: 7.6k

warnings: threesome, smut, thigh riding, oral female receiving, handjobs, unprotected sex (dont be a deadbeat, wrap that shCMEAT), light choking, throne fucking, vaginal fingering, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, creampies, pet names, sub? din? more likely than you think (also lmk if I missed any tags!)    

a/n: yall im sorry this is such garbage but kjkwejh here we be. I hOPE YOU ENJOY THE CIRCUS. thank you to everyone who’s encouraged this so COME GET YALLS MANDO MEAT  

There isn’t much when he it comes to Tatooine and fun things to do. There’s pod acing, drinking, Sabaac tourneys, more podracing, gambling and scavenging. Unless there’s a festival or some wild event, you’re stuck with boredom and whatever you can scrounge up for fun in the palace. 

Now, don’t get it wrong—if you had it your way, you’d spend every waking hour trialing behind Boba, but you don’t want to smother. Fennec too—while you enjoy her company, you know that half of the reason she sticks around is Boba’s order for your protection. Kinda ruins the fun when you know she probably only tolerates you because she’s being paid to. Eh whatever—doesn’t stop you from tagging along on as she runs errands in town—besides, today you actually have a reason to be here instead of loitering like a lost puppy. 

Fennec tells you to be safe and com her the second trouble rears its ugly head and disappears into the weapons shop—muttering about her prized rifle being jammed or something. You don’t know, all you hear is that you have the entire afternoon to yourself to hunt down your oh so elusive prize. Star cherries.    

The markets are always vibrant. Jam packed with people from each and every corner of the galaxy, hundreds of booths and stalls selling their wares that varies from foods to jewelry to even bounty services. Tempting as is it is to peruse the sparkly rows of dainty necklaces and rings or inspect the vast array of beige ponchos and manilla undershirts—you have a purpose. A once a year chance you refuse to let go to waste.   

The shabby booth is tucked near the end of the street, the mountain of the little red fruits looking comical compared to the withered old lady who sits beside them. She flashes you a gap-toothed smile, the crowfeet wrinkles surrounding her eyes scrunch with the movement. “Ah! I was wondering when you’d show, dear.” 

“Hello, Mrs. Feraan,” you greet, bending at the was it to kiss her wrinkly cheek. The old vender was one of the first kind souls you met here when you arrived on Tatooine. In return for a couple compliments or an offer to be the lab rat to test her new recipes for pie or tarts, she hooks you up with the best of the cherries—handpicked with love. “How’s business today?”

She waves her hand in dismissal, her silver rings glinting in the sun. “Same as always, child.”

Eventually you work your way through the pleasantries and a couple, long winded tangents. The sort that only old people can flawlessly spin and keep you engaged. Trials and tribulations to earn your prize—you don’t mind sacrificing a couple hours.

Finally you’re allowed to walk away—cherries in hand and exceedingly eager for your sweet snack. Unfortunately, suffering through Mrs. Feraan’s old childhood laments is not the only bump in the road you have to face.       

Granted, it is your fault—not looking where your feet are taking you—

Your temple crashes into something agonizingly hard. You swear you hear a quiet bonk when your skull collides with the mystery material and fucking hell—you probably have a concussion from the force of it. 

Unbothered by your probable brain injury, you’re far more concerned with the cherries spilling onto the ground and so, as you flail and dramatically topple over—the brunt of your fall is cushioned by your shoulder. Something pops and yeah, ok, maybe you just tore a ligament but—kriffing worth it for the cherries you miraculously saved from their dusty graves.     

Your temper flares as you spot the dirty brown boots pointed in your direction. Maneuvering yourself up so you don’t also get trampled by the crowd, you bare your teeth and put on your best impression of a terrifying force of nature despite the fact you’ve been knocked flat on your ass. “What the fuck—“

The words shrivel up and die upon your tongue as your eyes slide up the stranger’s legs, broad shoulders sporting the shiny armor that twinkles in the midday suns. They then settle on an all too familiar helmet. Well, sorta—you’re familiar with a certain red and green one, not the equivalent of a wearable disco ball.

You squint as the stranger’s head dips to look at you crumpled at his feet. You dust yourself off and point an accusing finger. “Fuck is your problem standing in the middle of the road?”

The stranger quirks their head. “You ran into me—maybe you should watch where you’re stepping.”

The raspy voice is a striking sound. Mellow and silky even as it passes through the vocoder and dresses it in static charm. Some of your anger melts away—maybe this is the friend Boba was talking about—it’d make sense. They’re wearing the same type of armor…  

You shake your head and shove down your pride. You don’t think Boba would appreciate you chewing his ear off. “Sorry—you’re right.”

As you readjust your clothes and precious cherries you introduce yourself with a tiny smile. Yet just as you're about to ask him his name he interjects with a step forward. You flinch away but all he does is sweep back a strand of hair from your forehead, revealing a little nick in the skin. You hiss as his fingertips scrape against it--great, an actual head wound. “Are you alright?”

Maker—here you are, after yelling at him and he finds it in him to be compassionate. You wave away his concerns. “Y-yeah--peachy.” 

He apologizes with a dip of his head and words soaked in regret and fuck--now you feel bad. You wrack through your brain and search for last ditch attempts to fix this little mishap and settle with a half baked idea. It’s dumb--but hey, if it works, it works.  

“Seriously, it’s fine. But I mean, if you’re so worried, how about you walk me home and we call it even?” You propose, sticking out your hand to seal the deal. If your assumptions are right, he’d just be tailing you the whole way home anyway. “I’m headed towards the palace, so if it’s not too much out of your way then—“

He hesitates and interrupts by taking your hand. “Alright. Deal.” 

You smile. “Lovely.” 

On the return trip, Din is quiet—tells you his name and responds to your conversation fillers with interested hums—but other than that he remains on the silent end. Intriguing with a rounded softness unlike the armor he wears--a man of mystery much like  a certain someone who awaits you back home. Well--Din is less grumpy--by a long shot...but still. It’s easy to spot some of their shared similarities.  

                                        -=-=-=-

Upon arriving at the castle you part ways with Din before he reaches the throne room--you’re not too excited about showing off your new battle scar yet and while it was an accident, making an entrance with Din will make it far too easy to link the injury with him. Besides, you don’t wanna risk scaring off your new friend if Boba decides to showcase that tightly sealed lid of anger and brutality. 

Instead you take the long way around the palace. Soon, muffled voices carry through the long corridors, growing louder as you work your way back from the kitchens. You round the corner, catching glimpses of Boba and your new friend through the pillars that prop up the low ceiling. You don’t meant to spy, but you do so anyway, hesitant on interrupting.     

That is...until Boba cocks his head to the side and settles his eyes onto the pillar you hide behind. “It seems we have a little shadow with us today.” 

You suck in a breath as your heart skips in a thrumming pace. Boba addresses you by name and crooks his fingers in a lazy motion for you to step out into the light—revealing yourself to the small party of two. “Come here, little one.”

The low light catches off of Din’s helmet with a glittering sparkle when he swivels his head. The tiny, warped figure of yourself reflects in mirror-like pieces of smelted beskar as his shoulders pull tight with recognition. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep the smile that threatens to crack across your face at bay. Boba is no fool—he excels in the subtleties of shifting eyes and clenched fists to hide anxiety or closely guarded information—sickeningly familiar with your own quirks and tells, but—  

There’s no reason to reveal Din’s little secret—not yet. Boba called him a friend but you truly have no clue what the depths of that word entailed. Friend could mean anything from a casual acquaintance, to an old childhood bond, and or anything in between. You sigh and brush past him, mentally congratulating yourself for keeping a cool mask of indifference etched into your features. If Din wants to open that can of worms then so be it—you weren’t the one offering to walk random people home. 

You step onto the dais and slide your free hand into Boba’s outstretched palm. The worn leather tickles up your forearm and locks over your elbow, silently demanding you to sit on his lap. There’s plenty of room to both sit on the throne but no—Boba prefers you tucked against the cool metal of his cuirass. You grunt as the bowl of star cherries you cradle dangerously dips when Boba adjusts your weight over his thighs.  

His fingers pull back a strand of your hair, tucking it behind your ear and then spider along your jawline. The ends of his mouth quirk as Boba pinches your chin between his forefinger and thumb, capturing your undivided attention. “I don’t like it when you lurk in the shadows, little one. You’re allowed to listen.

You huff. “I know—but lurking is fun.”

Boba releases your chin with a scoff. “Foolish, girl.” You dip your chin with a sheepish grin as heat rushes to your cheeks. You briefly forget about the tiny nick adorning your right temple, the only thing you were trying to keep hidden—but Boba is all too quick to notice. “What is this?”

He pushes your hair out of the way of the cut, inspects it, then curls his fingers around your jaw to demand an answer. You refuse to let your eyes wander over to Din—what a dead giveaway that would be—and instead muster up enough courage to hold the weight of his stare. 

“I tripped at the markets,” you say—not a complete lie. “It’s just a little scratch—no biggie.”

Boba squints in suspicion and grumbles a soft hm. You feel his chest rise and fall with a deep sigh—he won’t argue about it right now. Not a battle worth his while when you’re keen on keeping the full truth behind a wall of teeth and anxieties. Boba’s hand falls away, gestures to Din who still stands stiffer than a stature, then lays it over the golden armrest. “I’m sure you’ve noticed our guest—“

Din tips his head in acknowledgement. 

“The rightful ruler of Mandalore,” Boba continues. “Din Djarin.” 

Din Djarin…despite already knowing his name (or half of it, at least) you like the way it rolls off the tongue—like how it’s seemingly made to be repeated and carved into the walls of some ancient script. Your knowledge on all things Mandalorian is…limited to say the least but you know enough about the rumors. 

“Isn’t Mandalore supposed to be haunted?” You don’t mean for your words to be a pointy jab to the ribs but regardless, it strikes a tender chord within the Mandalorian. You wince as Din shifts his weight and clenches his palm—a long story. “Sorry—I—I’m sure your home is lovely, all I know about it are dumb ghost stories about evil wizards and laser swords.” 

The blood under your cheeks burn red hot. Great. Not only are you a complete bantha brain, you’ve also managed to sound like an impudent child. Boba soothes a thumb over your thigh as you curl into yourself—bastard. He thinks this is funny.        

“It’s not my home,” Din responds, albeit tentatively. “Never been.”

Your brows furrow. Alrighty then.  

Boba snorts and shakes his head. He mutters something in Mando’a and lazily waves his hand, dismissing the line of conversation entirely. It was turning into a dumpster fire anyway—   

With a slow exhale, you remove yourself from the discussion and instead tuck your head under Boba’s chin. The beskar is cold against your cheek but it feels nice against the sweltering midday heat.  

Their conversation fades in and out as you rest your head over Boba’s cuirass, listlessly picking through the bowl of fruit for the ripest ones. You sigh—the next cherry you bring up to your lips is intercepted as Boba’s hand clamps around your wrist and redirects it into his own mouth. You don’t find it in you to be grumpy about the stolen treat when Boba’s tongue slides over your sticky fingers. Still holding your wrist captive, he sucks the tip of your thumb into the warm heat of his mouth and curls his tongue around the digit. Your index finger is given the same treatment before your hand is returned. The beginnings of arousal spark to life below your belly, and fuck—that shouldn’t have been so…so…hot. 

Din’s smoky baritone fades into background noise as the entirety of your attention zero’s in on Boba’s mouth. You purse your lips and suck in a shaky breath, then return your hand to the bowl to fish out another fruit. You don’t need any guidance this time around as you bring the cherry to his mouth—the crimson juice spilling down your palm and part of your arm as his teeth pierce the fragile skin. You breath hitches as Boba dips his head, catching the bead of liquid running down your arm with the tip of his tongue, then swiping s a slow trail up, and over the lines of your palm. He plants a careful kiss there, then breaks away. 

Before you have the chance to reach for another one, Boba plucks a cherry from the bowl and rests it against the seam of your lisp, inviting you to partake in this little game he’s created. A wicked smirk curls over his mouth as you accept—the tart flavor of the fruit spilling over your tastebuds as you chew and swallow. A little wine escapes you as his leather-clad thumb rolls over your bottom lip, bushes past the barrier of your teeth and seats the digit into your mouth—all the way down to the third knuckle. 

You hardly notice the moment Din’s voice tapers off into silence—much too enraptured with the taste of leather and the smooth feel of it over your tongue. You gag slightly when Boba’s thumb reaches the back of your throat, then retreats just as slow. The string of saliva that still connects the digit to your wet mouth, drips over your chin and part of your lip, eliciting a jagged, echoey breath that crackles through Din’s vocoder. 

Boba grins—something that better belongs on a sneering jackal just about to pounce on unsuspecting prey with needle sharp talons, rather than his face. His eyes drift up to address his guest. “Do you see something you like, Mand’alor?”

Din’s head jerks, averting his gaze to anywhere but the throne. He murmurs a weak apology and shifts his weight to his other leg—acting as if he were to look at you a second time, it’d burn him to a crisp or force him to confront Boba Fett’s wrath. Obviously, neither thing would happen, but Din still remains unsure with his foothold in this situation.   

“I see how you look at her,” Boba drawls—not an accusation, just a statement brought to light. Boba’s hand drops to your thigh, the warm weight of it resting just past your knee as Din swallows his nerves and returns his gaze. “It’s alright—a pretty little thing like her is bound to turn heads.” 

A blush hotter than wildfire licks up your cheeks as Din nods in agreement. “She’s beautiful…you’re a lucky man.”

Boba’s grip on your thigh hoards you closer to his chest. He is and he’s fully aware of that fact, but there’s no need to admit such a thing when it’s so blatantly obvious. A lull in the conversation creates a palpable tension—nervous energy and a choice to let this is fade into nonexistence or…or breathe life into that flickering ember of unsaid desires.     

Your heart leaps into your throat when Boba shatters the silence and addresses you. “You’re awfully quiet, princess…what do you think?”

He’s placing whatever this is into your hand and leaving you to call the shots. You’ve always been a troublemaker and there’s no will or way as to why you’d stop now. You look between your lover and Din as a smile curls over your face. “I think…if he’s so interested—why not give him a show? After all, he did bring me home—he deserves some reimbursement for the trouble.”

Boba’s shoulders jolt with a chuckle. “How chivalrous.” You shiver as he strokes the back of his finger down your cheek. “Fine, as you wish, little one—go play.” 

Giddy excitement bubbles through your chest as Boba offers Din to take a seat on the edge of the dais. Din still has an option to escape, to slip through the cracks and pretend this never happened—but stars, you hope he stays. Din takes a step forward, then another—and another until he’s standing before the throne. He studies the raised edge and gingerly takes a seat. 

You abandon your bowl of cherries onto the forearm of the throne and slip off Boba’s lap. You drift over to Din, his gloved fingers clenching and unclenching as they rest over his thigh plating. He’s purposefully avoiding your eye as you kneel beside him—still locked onto that niggling fear that this could be some sort of trick or test in resolve.      

Smiling sweetly, you skate your hand over his knuckles—guiding his large palm to your waist and then under and up your loose shirt and bra. Din mutters a curse as you place his palm over your breast. “I’m glad you stayed.”

Pleased with his reaction, you peel off your shirt and bra, breath hitching as Din pinches your nipple between his forefinger and thumb. “Same—I think…”

With a bit more bravery backing his movements, Din pulls away briefly, shucks off his gloves and encompasses both your breasts. They’re warm and calloused, riddled with silvery scars that stand out against his brown skin, a storybook of past battles—won and lost—all equally important to the fibers of his being that stitch him together into a whole. His hand whispers down the length of your ribcage, no doubt feeling the thrum of your heart beating wildly against the cartilage and bone. It tickles over the swell of your hips then—        

“You said you wanted to give him a show,” Boba drawls behind you, a sharp twinge of hostility lacing his words. “So enjoy the show, Mand’alor, ’nd keep your hands to yourself."

Din recoils at the verbal reprimand and drops his hands speedier than a flash of lightning. You frown and throw a glare over your shoulder. Bastard. Boba quirks a brow and runs his thumb over his lip, the edged sparkle in his dark eyes taunting you into challenging him. You huff and turn a cold shoulder. 

“Sorry, Din,” you purr, scrounging up any and all back up plans to keep you both entertained. “Seems my king isn’t as generous I thought.”

Din withers a bit at the catty remark, keeping his lips sealed tight as Boba growls your name in warning. You don’t pay him any mind. 

You puff up your cheeks and release the air in a steady stream, as your eyes scrape over Din’s armored thigh. Ok—you can work with that. It wouldn’t be breaking any rules…not technically. You step away, paw at your waistband and let the breezy fabric pool over around your ankles, your underwear quickly joining the pile. 

Now bare, you return to Din’s side, his careful inhale distorted into choppy static as you straddle his thigh. He lifts both hands, intending to grab at your waist, but pauses midair. No touching. You lips tilt with a smirk as he clenches his fists and pins his hands to the cool stone instead, an attempt to curb that urge to reach for you. His shoulders knit together when you mold your hand in the gap between his shoulder pauldron and cuirass to give yourself some sort of balance—obviously not used to a soft touch.  

You lower yourself and hiss through clenched teeth. It’s fucking freezing. Goosebumps rush up each limb as the wet warmth of your cunt meets the frigid beskar—the chill much colder than you initially expected. It’s one thing to touch the beskar with an open palm and another thing entirely to feel against such an intimate part of yourself. Din’s visor drops to look between your legs as you give your hips an experimental roll. 

It’s different. You’re used to hardened muscle and fabric, or your own fingers while pleasuring yourself. Your breath hitches as Din’s thigh twitches, the smelted seam of the cuisse bumping against your throbbing clit. 

“Sorry,” Din mumbles, “Didn’t mean—“

“It’s ok,” you smile, rocking your hips to ease into the sensation. “Just surprised me.”

The pace you set is slow, careful not to overwork your nerves as your arousal blooms and metastasizes like simmering coals low in your groin. With each lecherous pull of your cunt against his thigh, the beskar begins to warm to the temperature of your skin—the wetness between your thighs abating the friction and making the surface slippery. A low gasp escapes you once you find the right ridge and angle that just grinds perfectly against your aching clit. Your fingers dig into the cowl of Din’s cloak. 

“Shit—feels good.” Like your voice and little moans jumpstart Din’s ability to move, his large hand drifts to the front of his trousers—an already sizable bulge tenting the dark brown fabric. You squeak as Din's leg jolts for a second time, a burst of dizzying ecstasy wracking up your spine with the choppy movement. 

You suck in another raspy breath as your attention drops to his hand that cups his cock and palms himself through his trousers. You chew your bottom lip and clench your fist gripping his cowl, still gyrating your hips over the beska as Din hooks his thumb into his waistband and pulls them down, slow as molasses. 

Fucking hell—he’s bigger than you initially imagined. Flushed a rosy brown, and half hard already, twitching as Din wraps his fingers around the thick length. Din lifts his head, gauging your interest or disapproval—but kriff—who the fuck would ever be unhappy with that sorta heat he’s packing? You bite your bottom lip, scouring your brain for ideas to convince Boba into letting you taste Din—but your plotting is abruptly cut short. 

Boba sits up and off the throne, his presence looming over your shoulder as he lowers to one knee. You shiver and arch your neck, exposing more of your vulnerable throat as Boba runs the fingertip of his pointer finger down the side of your cheek. “Are you enjoying yourself, princess?”  

You nod, eyes fluttering shut as Boba opens his palm and cradles your jaw. You groan and roll your head back onto your shoulders as Boba snakes one hand around your hip and jolts you forward and down—disrupting the slow rock with a catastrophic interference. Unrefined bolts of plasma shoot up your spine as desire licks up thighs—you need more. 

Boba dips his head and nuzzles into the crook of your neck. You grunt when his teeth sink into your flesh, worrying a bruise into your skin. Boba laves his tongue over the throbbing area, then licks a wet trail up to the shell of your ear, all the while you continue to grind on Din’s thigh. Boba nibbles your earlobe and whispers your name—the sound sweeter than any symphony could ever hope to make. Like smoke over deep water or the surging crackle of energy just before a thunderstorm high up in the mountains. 

“You’re allowed to touch…” he says with a rough chuckle. “Go on.”

Your noise of agreement is quickly muffled as Boba interrupts you with a feverish kiss—all open mouthed and breathless as his tongue curls around yours. Your chest heaves for precious air as Boba retreats just as abruptly as it began. With a satisfied smirk ghosting over his lips, he taps you below the chin and returns to his throne to continue observing.         

Dropping your eyes between Din’s legs, his cock, hardened to its full glory and held casually in his  calloused hand, is truly a sight. Your pulse thrums in your ears as Din rolls his wrist and pumps his length, the velvety skin shifting over what looks like fucking beskar underneath. It strains towards his navel as you watch with wide eyes, mesmerized with the way he touches himself. 

Rolling your bottom lip between your teeth, you touch your hand to his wrist.  Din shudders like your skin is made of sizzling embers that’s broken off the tail end of shooting star—like you’re something too luminous and dangerous to be handled by someone like him. You lift your gaze, smiling into that darkened void of the visor and gracing him with a toothy smile. “Will you let me touch you, Din?”

He nods and utters a breathy yes. 

Fuck yeah.    

Din sucks in a stuttered breath when your hand circles around his thick length. His hips jolt into your palm as you slide your fist to the base then all the way back up. Precum beads over the tip, dribbling down and coating your knuckles with sticky wetness. It eases some of that friction as you fall into an easy rhythm, matching your rocking hips with each pump of his cock. 

Din’s stuttered moans fill the small space between you, dragging you closer to your release that’s suddenly so close. He whines as you abandon his length to chase after your high, your arousal leaking from your center and dripping down the sides of the beskar. Din takes his cock into his hands, fisting himself to your little show of breathy wines and rough jerking of your hips over his thigh. 

Din says your name attached with a broken moan and it’s over—    

Everything seizes up tighter than a jaw clamp as your tumble off that jagged peak of searing, white hot pleasure. It’s raw, sparking off like a blade to metal, burning you from the inside out as you cum. Your cunt clenches around nothing, your thighs shaking as you curl inward as if he punched you in the fucking gut. It feels like he did. Maker—the cool beskar against your throbbing clit is like you’ve been thrown to the mercies of an electrical surge. 

It doesn’t help either that Din is still pumping his length, hips stuttering as he brings himself to his own euphoric high. The air in your lungs seizes when a fragile groan, light and airy passes through the vocoder. Din rocks his hips into his fist, once—twice and then he’s throbbing and cumming into his hand. Hot ropes of his release splatter up his chest plate and parts of your thighs, his helmet nearly knocking into you as he hunches foreword from the intensity of it.     

Too exhausted to keep yourself upright, you smash your cheek against his cuirass, involuntarily twitching as the last little waves of pleasure prickle through the rest of your nerves. You whine as you watch Din move his hand to collect some of your wetness coating his thigh. He brings two fingers stained with your slick to the lip of his helmet, pushes it up with his thumb just far enough to sink the two digits into his mouth. He groans out a quiet fuck, and repeats the action, swiping his fingers through the mess you’ve made and feeding it to himself. Your cunt clenches as you catch a sliver of his pink tongue that twists between his thick fingers.   

He groans and rolls his head back onto his shoulders. “Please—can I taste you? Fuck—I-I need my mouth on you.” 

Stars—the mere idea of it stokes the dwindling flames into a blaze of want. You look up at Boba and puff out your bottom lip. Pouting and begging hardly ever gets you what you want under normal circumstances—Boba Fett is more stubborn than a rancor—but you hope just this once he’ll be lenient.   

Boba holds out his gloved hand—summoning you to his lap without a lick of protest on your end. Din however makes a sound akin to a whimper when you leave him. Boba gathers you in his arms for the second time, the leather a strange sensation as it spiders down your ribcage and around your hips. You can feel his hardness poking into your backside once you settle against him—his chest plate a cold shock to your naked flesh. You shiver and bury your nose into the crook of his neck, poking your tongue out to taste him. Boba’s cock twitches under you as your teeth sink into him with a cheeky nip.   

“Is that what you want, little one?” Boba rumbles in question. His right hand glides lower, grabbing a handful of your thigh and squeezing. You groan and keen out a whine of affirmation. 

Boba cocks his head towards Din. “Well? You’ve got your wish—don’t keep her waiting.” 

Din shakily stands—hesitating with removing his helmet for enough time that you notice the silence that follows. The vocoder crackles as Din sighs. “Do you trust her?”

“With my life.” Boba states it without a second thought. Your heart twists, golden light spilling from  your lungs and staining your insides with devotion and fuzzy affection. You press a soft kiss over Boba’s jaw.   

“Is she…” Din speaks a word in Mando’a you have no hope to decipher—either no direct translation or he’s purposefully left you in the dark. 

Based on the way Boba almost imperceptibly tenses, you guess the latter. Boba responds with a grunt and an unsure dip of the chin. The answer is complicated—that much you can gather…you push it to the back of you brain for now. 

Din nods, inhales, and steels his nerves. Plastering his hands around the shiny helmet, he tugs it off with a slow reveal of dark, patchy facial, plush lips and wavy brown hair that falls around his olive skin. And oh, his eyes—soft chestnut brown eyes that hold such ache within them—lost things, broken bones, wearing his wounds like decoration upon his chest. Forged in the flames of war, risen from the ashes with murder and mercy rolled into one.      

You wish him a kinder future. One that doesn’t end with pain and a blaze of an unchecked wildfire—the same way how all heroes end up as martyrs.  

Though—right now—you can be the beginning of softer things for Din. You smile and invite him closer, a vortex of anxiety peppered with arousal as his eyes flit over your naked body. He sets his helmet to the side with care and drifts to the foot of the throne—fuck, he’s broad. Why hadn’t you noticed that before?   

Your mental berating is severed when cool air meets the wet heat of your cunt as Boba hooks your thighs over his knees, spreading you wide as far as your hips allow. Din’s unfiltered moan at the sigh of you, sends a volt of electricity through every vein. Din lowers himself to one knee, and then the other, shuffling between yours and Boba’s legs. 

“Can I touch?” He asks, soft brows raising in question. 

Boba lazily raises two fingers in a motion of permission. Your chest tightens at the sight of Din’s boyish grin—warm palms settling over the sharp bend of your knees. His thumbs trace soothing circles over the skin and right as Din decides to swoop down, Boba catches him by the hair atop his head and yanks. Din grunts—the long, arched line of his neck a tempting sight as he swallows. “No marks.” Din’s jaw clenches, but nonetheless, he agrees to Boba’s command. 

Boba hums in satisfaction and untangles his fingers from the mess of Din’s soft curls. Din’s brows pinch together for half a tick but smooth out in the next breath. No use being irritated—especially right now.   

As directed, Din leaves not a scratch. Instead he scrapes the blunt edges of his teeth along the insides of your thighs, threatening to catch soft flesh between them—but he knows better than to act on the urge. He laves his warm tongue over each freckle or blemish he finds, leaving no patch of skin undiscovered as licks a steady trail to his prize. Din mouths a warm kiss over the crease of your thigh, and smooths his calloused hands over your hips, settling for a moment to trace little circles with his thumbs onto the soft protrusion of bone there. Seemingly satisfied, he then shifts them closer to your aching cunt. His hot breath fans over your cunt as he uses his thumbs to glide through your folds, almost curious with his exploration. He makes a little hum of appreciation low in his throat when the pads of his thumbs part your soaking folds.    

You whimper and bury your face into the crook of Boba’s neck, his warm palms a much needed comfort as they tickle down your ribcage, then sweep back up to cup your tits. You cry and arch— Din’s tongue is scalding—like liquid velvet as he dips the tip of his tongue from the base of your cunt all the way up to your clit. Din sucks on the little bundle of nerves, rolling his tongue until you’re crying out, molten pleasure zipping through your abdomen. He grunts as your fingers tangle into his hair—kriff. 

Fuck, you need more.   

Arching into his mouth, all thoughts are transfigured and molded into a vicious loop—beginning with those adoring brown eyes, the color of freshly tilled earth and the warmth of sunlight over dappled aspen leaves in the balmy summer afternoons. It ends with soft lips—rose petal pink with devotion crystallizing in his mouth like sugar—madness and uncertainty and lovesick desire is all that he is and you’re not sure if you’ll come out of this unscathed.    

He sinks two deliciously thick fingers into your clenching hole and curls them, only to retract them a moment later to shovel more of your wetness onto his tongue—as if simply using his mouth wasn’t enough for him. Like he needs to savor every drop of your arousal like the golden ambrosia the gods feast upon in their palaces of cloud and endless twilight. 

That frenzied desperation lingers on the edges of his movements like he’s afraid you’ll fade away like a hand through fog—but you’re going nowhere. You’d stay here, suspended in time forever if the choice were up to you. 

You whine and arch off Boba’s chest plate as Din strokes and curls his fingertips, plucking little gasps and moans from you easier than breathing. He zeros in on that little spot that makes your leg go all jittery and forces out high pitched mewls that echo through the throne room. You’re careening towards another high, the sensitivity of your last orgasm amping up the influx of pleasure. 

“Stars—Din. Close—I’m so close,” you gasp, pulling his hair tight enough that you know it must sting—at least a little bit. He makes no sign that it does, just groans and buries his tongue into your dripping hole, licking alongside his fingers that shovel more of your wetness into his mouth. 

Your release zips through your body like a flash flood—quick and fatal that leaves you gasping for air and struggling not to let your head dip below the waves. Your high seeps into each limb until they feel heavier than lead. Fuck—it’s so hard to work through the muddled thought and remember where exactly you are. You groan and toss your head back as Din keeps going.    

“Another one—let me—“ He moans, opening his mouth as wide as it’ll go so he can devour more of you. You can feel the mixture of saliva and your own arousal dripping down your cunt and over your thighs, some of it pooling on the throne or onto the floor. Your thighs shake as Din pushes you towards another high.        

You squeak as Boba’s palm sweeps up your sternum, locking his fingers around your throat in a loose hold. The tip of his nose nuzzles into your cheek—silently demanding a well earned kiss as his hips rock into your ass, grinding his cock for the barest scrap of friction. You moan into his mouth as Din doubles his efforts, raw and bordering that serrated edge of overstimulation and ecstasy.  

Goosebumps rush over your arm as Boba places his lips right beside the shell of your ear. You feel the sticky heat of his breath fan over your throat and shoulder, and the way his lips skim your ear when they move to form the syllables of his words. “Such a filthy princess…”

You clench around Din’s fingers and moan a half garbled, “Boba—“ 

His weathered palm encompasses the entirety of your breast, rolling your pebbled nipple between his forefinger and thumb. “If only you could see yourself…dripping all over my throne and another man’s tongue.” Boba clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “Depraved creature—cum for your rightful king.” 

Wildfire chars your insides as it begins in your core and sweeps through your body. Tears prick the corner of your eyes as you buck and squirm in their arms—no mercy as the prickly waves of your orgasm make you hypersensitive to each touch. Even the hold on your hip, while innocent in nature, is blistering as if you suffered from a fever. You shudder as a salty tear rolls down your cheek. Boba catches it with his tongue as your ears pick up Din’s raspy praise—thanking you while spattering reverent kisses up your thighs. 

Struggling to keep your eyes open, you do spot the apparent wetness soaking through the front of Din’s trousers. Fuck—he—he came again while eating you out. You whimper and rest the back of your head over Boba’s shoulder.  

Your belly flinches under his scratchy facial hair as Din travels up, seizing and worshiping every inch he’s freely given before intercepted. He catches your nipple between your teeth, tugs a bit then moves to the other, lavishing equal attention with adoring lips and sweet whispers. When he reaches your collarbone, you’re boxed in against his chest plate and Boba’s. A blush blooms under your cheeks hotter than stare fire as Din gingerly sucks your earlobe into his mouth and breathes out a muted moan of your name—committing the very essence of you to his memory for the rest of his days. 

Your heart squeezes tight like a clenched fist when he mumbles another thank you. Plucking up a smidge of courage, he risks planting a kiss right on the corner of your mouth. You blink—despite the sweetness of the gesture you wince as Boba snarls a curt phrase in Mando’a. Din peels himself away with a minuscule frown and slinks away.          

Yet before you have the chance to remedy the situation of wounded pride and territorial jealousy—Boba tightens his hold on your hips and flips you both, so that now your back is smashed against the seat of the throne, a bit crumpled and sorta folded in half. Your hips hang off the edge as Boba holds the majority of your weight, grinding his clothed cock between the apex of your thighs. 

“Don’t forget, princess—” Boba barks, slithering a hand up the column of your throat. You breath hitches as he lightly presses his palm down. “—what belongs to me.”

Reaching between you, he slides his gloved fingers through your slick folds and sinks two of them inside of your clenching center. You jolt as his thumb scrubs over your clit, still sensitive and edging towards too much. 

“You want me to fuck you here?” He asks, shifting his hold to grip your jaw instead—the rounds of his fingertips digging firmly into the flesh and bone. “Say it.”      

You gasp and scrabble weakly at Boba’s shoulders as he grinds the heel of his palm into your clit. “Please, Boba! Please fuck me—I need it.” 

Boba folds over you, his breath fanning hot and hungry against your cheek. He devours your mouth with a discordant edge, like he’s trying to prove to the entire galaxy you are unmistakably his despite the fact you’re already wound so tightly around his fingers. Boba wrenches himself free and tears at his robe and trousers to free his thick length, leaking and flushed a rosy brown at the tip. He doesn’t keep either of you waiting as he removes his fingers and replaces them with something bigger.       

You both groan as he lines himself up with your entrance and sinks into you, a delicious stretch that leaves you shivering beneath him. “Fuck—so wet for me.”

The first roll of his hips makes an obscene noise that showers shame down your throat, but it’s quickly kicked to the back of your brain as he slams back into your cunt—obliterating all thoughts save for him. Boba’s lip curls over his teeth as he claws at your thighs and yanks them over his shoulder, crushing you even further between the throne and the weight of his body. Each stroke is a liquid fire, tearing you apart at the seems while at the same time stitching you back together and leaving your body begging for more. Like this, it’s as if he’s reaching the deepest part of you, pounding into your cunt and hitting every nerve with deadly precision. Your legs prickle with the stretch as you squirm beneath him, stuck with the brunt of rough thrusts and violent stamina with nowhere to go.   

“Bein’ such a good girl for me." He hums into the juncture of where your neck meets your shoulders. He sucks a mark there and tangles a hand in the hair at the nape of you neck, forcing you into a steeper arch. “Maker, you look so fuckin’ pretty stretched around my cock.”

Your walls clench tight around him as you dig your nails into the fabric of his cowl. You voice cracks with airy moans—attempting to work through the haze of lust and respond. All that tumbles from your lips is a pathetic whine of his name—so close to that precipice again.    

The friction of each thrust scraping against your clit, the way he fills you and the possessive hand curled over your throat. You wiggle an arm between your bodies and rub the little bundle of nerves in a frenzied half-circle. You wheeze as Boba increases the pressure over your throat. 

“Tell me who you belong to,” he demands as devastating ripples begin to spark through your core, a live wire an inch away from a puddle of water. “Tell me—“

“You! It’s you—“ You sob, desperate for another release only he can give. “I’m yours—“

Boba snickers and gives your throat another squeeze. “Cum on my cock.” 

There we go. 

You seize and cry out, violent shivers forcing your back to arch high off the throne and into his chest plate. It tears through your being, quick and deadly through your core, spreading to every nerve and shredding through it with molten pleasure. Boba’s voice is a gravelly scrape that vibrates next to your ear, sprinting towards his own deserved euphoria. Your climax still boiling through your blood, is dragged out as Boba continues thrusting—an endless echo that leaves you incredibly oversensitive sore. For the next few moments, his thrusts are too sharp, the grip he has on you too abrasive—but then he’s cumming too. A couple more rough jabs and then he’s seating himself deep inside your cunt, his warm release coating your insides with thick ropes. 

You’re panting breaths fill the air between you, settling like fresh snow over a silent wood. By the time Boba pulls out, leaving behind a sticky trail of his cum and your arousal over the throne, you’re toeing the line of hazy unconsciousness. 

“Such a good girl,” Boba praises, threading fingers through hair and tracing the lines of your face. The the soft drone of his voice mixed with Din’s gentle baritone, murmuring something you don’t catch, casts a dreamy haze over your reality. You’re not afraid that this could back fire and blow up in your face—to move inches from two serrated blades, each seeking for a taste of blood and flesh, is always a risk. But yet, the calloused hands and the sweetness of brown eyes reach through chaos and silence to offer you salvation. You take it with a smile. 

You should invite Din over more often…you think, as you slip into content sleep. 

taglist: @goldafterglow @djxrxn @velvetmel0n @steeeeeeeviebb   @stargazingcarol @ohiobluetip @anxiety-riddled-mando @absurdthirst @thesoftdumbass @huliabitch @max--phillips @silverfish-kingdom @krissology @teaofpeaches @pettyprocrastination @nelba @beskars @jango-fettish @corrupt-fvcker @maybege @auty-ren @legally-a-bastard @bigdickdindjarin @thesparkleslugs @cryptid-candy @mandowhorian @pascaliprincess @mitchi-c @vesperstalksclones @cmakars @cptnbvcks @whewchiles @leias-left-hair-bun @astrochellie @angryares @rise-my-angel @stardust-galaxies @phoenixhalliwell @samhollandssweaters @blue-writes-a03 @hdlynnslibrary @darthadeline @calamity-queen @luxurybeskar @justanotherblonde23 @book-hoardingdragon @fahrenheit-not @princessxkenobi @skdubbs @ben-is-a-hoe @3strogen @chasingdreamer @weebblossom @bobaandthefetts​

sorry if I missed you AH!!!!

#well yall im #bucket fucker supreme right here I guess #enJOY #boba fett x reader #boba fett x you #boba fett #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #boba fett x reader x din djarin #din djarin x reader x boba fett #star wars fanfiction #my writing

[prettyboykatsuki]

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forgive me | k. bakugou 

➳ tags ;; mentions of injury, hospital rooms, relationship troubles, very mild angst, fluff 

➳ wc ;; 968

➳ a/n ;; part of a warm-up series/practice series im doing. i’ll link the prompt list here. i use a little generator to pick fandom and character and surprsingly i got bakugou first lol. 

➳ prompt ;; “you don’t have to do this alone” 

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Hospital rooms have a remarkably sterile smell. Like chlorine and hopelessness - the air is clean but sharp. Each inhale presses against his ribs and makes him wince - doubling over the edge of the hospital bed with a deep sigh. The white-lights hurt his already bloodshot eyes. Everything in the room is white, or pale blue, or grey.. 

It’s not the kind of room you deserve. If you were awake, he likes to think you’d complain about the dreariness - scrunch your nose up because the kids play area has no brightness at all. You’d say something about how the world should be colorful even if your wardrobe isn’t. Something about how you hate hospitals so much because they bring you so many bad memories, but you’d endure it because it’s what you’re good at it.

He curls over the side of your hospital bed - balancing the weight of his sin on his shoulders. You’ll be fine  - they’ve told him this so many times over. The doctors who watch him sleep in the same huddled position, his friends and family, everyone has told him that you’ll be fine. Deep down - he knows it too. That probably in a few days, you’ll be good enough to go home. You’ll give him the same dorky smile - the one that shows your teeth and hold his hand so tight for the world to see. 

And you won’t say a word about unless he does - because you’re not the type of person to pay attention to his many mistakes. Bakugou Katsuki is no good at being tender. Seeing you asleep in a hospital bed only makes him feel like he isn’t even good at the one thing he should be good at - protecting. The tightness in his chest will not leave. Rationally, he knows it wasn’t his fault. Knows it couldn’t be helped.

But he thinks back on the way your bed must’ve been cold - he hadn’t been home in time for a full week. He thinks about the fact he’s missed 3 date nights in a row. He thinks about the fact he has left-overs for him that he didn’t have the time to eat. He thinks about how his laundry is always done when he stops by the house but he’s never the one to do it. 

And Bakugou feels the weight of your loneliness in his mouth, it feels like a sigh. You’re not angry with him because you rarely are. You’re the proprietor of all of his affection - the love he tries so desperately to give. Anger? When he asks you about it, your lips quirk into a smile and you pinch at his sides. Make a silly joke about how angry you are that he ate the last slice of cake in the fridge. 

And after that, because you are a lover by nature, you kiss the corners of his mouth and say “I’m really not mad by the way. You’re a hero and you’re busy - I knew that before we started dating. If you’re worried about me being lonely, let me have a cat” and lean into his side so he can feel the weight of his body. You always dismantle all of his worries - piece by piece - bit by bit. You never let him feel his own anger for too long - that’s what your hands are for. 

No matter how much he tries. Tries to tell himself that he’s good enough for you, moments just like this one chain him to his own misery. He couldn’t save you from the accident. Now you’re hurt. He couldn’t be there. He wasn’t enough - this time with evidence so concrete it leaves a scar on your skin. And you’ll live he’s certain, but a part of him will always be dead knowing he wasn’t there. 

Because he was busy being a hero in someone else's story. The anger makes bile rise in his throat, a hiccupping sob tearing through his ribs. 

He thinks it’s a ghost when cold fingers brush through his hairs.

“Why’re you cryin’ like that, Kat? See something funny?” 

His eyes snap open to you. It’s the first time you’ve been awake in days and the first things out of your mouth are jokes. He sniffles at you, scowling. Your smile is tired but still bright enough to make these white lights look gold. 

Your hand reaches over to cradle his cheek, brushing tears off with your thumb. 

“Such a crybaby, Dynamight,” 

“Fuck off,” 

You giggle. His lips are upturned in the ghost of a smile. You are lovely. So, so lovely. 

“I’m okay, Katsuki,” ― and it’s a reminder, as you lean forward enough to kiss him. What does it say about love that your lips touch his before they touch a glass of water, he wonders. Still, he leans into the warmness of your mouth, chapped lips and all―  “It wasn’t your fault - and I’m okay now. Don’t cry, okay?” 

‘Aren’t you the one who always says I’m pretty when I cry?” 

You fluster. 

“Th-that doesn’t apply here,” 

He chuckles. In all these days, it’s the first time he’s laughed at all. He leans into your touch, swallowing his anger and emotion. Trying his best to calm down.

“You don’t have to do this alone, okay? Your feelings and how to make this work - we figure it out together, like usual. Stop stressin’ so much, yeah” 

“Stop fucking worrying about me when you just woke up, dumbass” 

And that’s how he says thank you, and im sorry, and i love you - and everything else he can’t fit between the lines of subtext. You smile at him, kiss him one more time before you grin wickedly. 

“Never,”

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#bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #writing tag #bakugo x you #bnha imagines #bnha x you #bnha x y/n #bakugou x y/n #bakugo x reader #bakugo x y/n #blerlkj #warmups

[isolemnlyswear]

ooo could i request a remus x fem! reader where both of them are very shy so it takes lily, james and sirius to push them together. and whenever they talk to each other they stutter a lot?

always have, always will.

a/n : guess what! i made this way too intense again. i can't help it; its so much easier for me to write a really fucking intense love rather than a crush IM SORRY !! the end is the only cute part the rest is shite

HAPPY (very belated bc i don't have any motivation) BIRTHDAY REMUS MY BEAUTIFUL BOY

taglist : @oldschoolkiddo @amourtentiaa @anchoeritic @faeinorbit @tomriddleswifey @inks-and-jinx @jxsperhxle @punkrific @the-gazette-of-tea @krasivayadarling @orifortheweeknd @fallin-4-ya @incxndio @daisyyy2516 @hoe4cedricdiggory

young!remus lupin x fem!reader

---

"Oh." you sigh, blinking when you see Remus inside. Your huff isn't one of discontent; rather, as you enter the common room, you're simply nervous, timid to deal with the boy. As soon as you want to speak in front of him, to tell him that you really, really like him, you start blushing, turning into a stammering mess.

Alas, you swallow your fear, sitting down on the plush maroon chair opposite him and Sirius; Lily is on the floor, flipping through a potions book, and James is sprawled across your coordinating chair. Remus is lying against the side of the couch, knees up with arms wrapped around his legs. He's smiling, laughing at a joke Sirius told prior to your arrival.

Your heart is aching in your chest, and you try to will it to stop yearning for this boy, but there's a voice inside your head. One that tells you that he's all you could ever need.

Such thoughts reduce you to mush when Lily notices your arrival.

"There she is! How are 'ya?" the redhead greets you happily, and such a simple question is blocked out by your tunnel vision; you can only focus on one thing at the moment, and it's Remus.

You don't speak for a moment, zoning out, but when your eyes meet those of Remus, you quickly snap out of your trance, shaking your head.

"'M fine. J-just tired, I think 'm gonna go upstairs-" you manage to say, but you're cut off by an incredulous Sirius.

"S'five in the afternoon!" he says with a laugh, and you nod.

"And?" you quip, focus now returned when you tear your eyes away from Remus.

"Y'gotta stay down here, dinner's soon!" Lily replies, and you glare at her. She knows exactly why you want to leave at the moment, rather, she knows about how in love you are with one of your best friends. She raises her hands in mock surrender, and you sigh.

It's almost painful, the next hour. You're trying so hard to not make it alarmingly obvious concerning your... issue, but it's proving to be quite difficult.

And then, finally, it's dinner. You're able to get away with not talking, as you pretend to be eating anytime you're asked a question, and Remus is silent as well.

You eventually can sneak away to your dorm, wanting to sleep to rid yourself of the thoughts that give you no reprieve during the day.

But, of course, your dreams are of Remus.

---

Unbeknownst to you, and Remus, the entire rest of the marauders (and about half your year) are painfully aware of your affection for the boy.

And his for you.

So they hatch a plan; it’s simple, but effective.

You're all lounging in the common room -a typical Saturday afternoon - when James poses an odd request.

“Hey, Y/N? D’you wanna go look at something for me?” he asks, fighting back the smile that threatens at his lips. You nod, eager to get away from the tension that you and Remus are swamped by.

“What is it?” you ask as he gets up, leading you up the stairs and to his dorm room. You're confused, eyebrows furrowing and hands wringing nervously.

“You'll see.” James grins at you as you enter the dorm room - which has four beds, three of which are littered with laundry and other teenage boy things, but one is impeccably neat, and you assume it to be Remus’s.

“James, what-” you begin, but he shushes you with a laugh.

“Lily’s cat won't get out of this closet, y’see, and I know you're good with animals and the like, so could you...get it? For Lily, f’course, ” he asks, pointing to a rather large closet in the corner of their dorm.

You raise your eyebrows, but nod, opening the doors and getting in, eyes searching for Lily’s feline friend.

But as soon as you drop to your knees, a soft thud reverberates through the closet. James had shut the doors, and the closet was big enough to where you weren't claustrophobic, thankfully. But there is no cat in sight. None.

Downstairs, however, James had strolled in nonchalantly, and Lily’s grinning.

“What did you do this time, Prongs?” Remus sighs, unaware that the others around him are all aware of their little plot.

“Maybe you should go upstairs and find out,” James says ominously, raising a dark eyebrow. Remus glares at him, sighing.

“Where’s Y/N?” he asks, still holding his gaze on the brunette. Lily giggles, and Remus shoots her an impatient glare. “What did you do to her?” The question is directed at no one in particular, but the irascible tone in the lycanthrope’s voice demands an answer.

“Once again, go upstairs and find out, mate.” James’s tone, however, is one of amusement.

Remus takes in a querulous breath, turning to stomp up the stairs.

Undivulged to him, James is sneakily creeping up the stairs behind the boy.

You're pounding at the mahogany of the closet door, and you've forgotten your wand downstairs, leaving you helpless in the space. You ponder why James would do such a thing, but you brush it off, figuring it was another prank, one of all too many.

“Y/N?” Remus questions hesitantly into the empty dorm, and your ears prick up at his voice.

“I'm in here!!” you shout, pounding at the closet door, and Remus rushes to open it for you.

But as soon as he's inside, helping you up, James, with a flick of his wand, shuts the door.

You're locked in.

With Remus.

And it's absurd, really, how quickly your heart is beating in your ribcage.

“Prongs I swear to Merlin-” Remus starts irritably, but stops himself with a tremulous inhale.

“Fuck,” you whisper, cowering to the back of the closet. Remus’s scent is surrounding you, the honey and chocolate and dark cologne enveloping you in a blanket of bliss. You’re thankful for the dim nature of the closet, for your cheeks are rouging with embarrassment.

Little known to you, Remus’s heart is pounding in his ears, and he’s even more entranced by your scent, what with his dog-like sense of smell. It's his favorite scent in the world, truly, one he could get lost in forever.

“Sorry,” the boy whispers, slumping down across the space from you, and you quirk a brow.

“W-what are you sorry for, Remus?” you ask quietly, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“I got us locked in here, didn't I?” You can hear the soft smile in his voice, a bittersweet one.

“But that isn't too bad, is it?” you say, courage surging through your bones as the darkness shields your nerves.

“Oh yeah?” he asks under his breath, laughing softly.

“What, am I that unbearable?” you tease, tucking a strand of fallen hair behind your ear.

“No,” Remus says remarkably quickly, and then he hesitates for a second. “Quite the opposite.” His voice is barely above a whisper, but his words ring in your ears like a mantra.

“That's quite cryptic,” you say, taking in a deep breath.

“Y’gonna make me spell it out for you?”

“If you mean what I think you do, fuck, either I'm being terribly idiotic right now or...” you trail off, noticing that Remus is closer to you, now.

“Or what?” he breathes, and you close your eyes slowly.

“Or...if you're, um, insinuating what I think you to be, and I get words out correctly enough to respond...” you leave the rest of the sentence unsaid, words trapped in your throat.

“What then?” Remus says ever-so-quietly, and you take in another breath, eyes still pressed closed.

“I'd be making the best decision of my life.”

You can hear the boy’s breath hitch in his throat. You open your eyes to see that he's next to you, now, and the soft light from under the door that illuminates you as the sun lowers is glimmering on his skin, bouncing off the scars in his skin and the gold flecks in his eyes.

“Perhaps... Perhaps it’d be right of you to make that assumption. That I'm saying what you think I am, that is.” He breathes slowly, and your eyes flick to him again.

“This conversation is the most cryptic thing I've ever heard,” you say quietly with a laugh, and Remus nods in agreement.

“We’re getting the point across, though, aren't we?” he jests, and you giggle. Your expression then turns serious, and you turn so that you're facing the boy.

“Could I... Could I take you up on that offer of spelling it out?” you say breathlessly, and Remus smiles gently.

“We could say it on three,” he suggests, and you laugh.

“Merlin, we're like toddlers. Fine, on your count, then,” you reply with a nod, heart a jackhammer in your chest.

“One... Two...” he pauses for a second, and you let out a breath.

He's fully facing you, as well, and you see a glint in his eyes that's so familiar yet so new.

“Fuck this,” he says before the last count, and your eyes widen. “I love you, Y/N. I'm- I'm in love with you.” he admits, shutting his eyes like he's ripping off a particularly menacing bandaid.

You don't respond for a moment, mouth open in shock. But as soon as you snap out of your trance, you notice the boy’s posture; he's nervous, recoiled as if he's worried you wouldn't say it back.

You place a delicate hand on the side of his face, thumbing over his cheek, and he relaxes at your touch, still not opening his eyes.

You softly press your lips to his, and he responds instantaneously, one hand reaching to pull you in by your waist, the other resting on your cheek.

There's a fire exploding inside you, and it’s glorious, golden sparks erupting after being kept inside for so long. Your lips are dancing in a delicate rhythm with his, like they were meant to. He tastes like chocolate and bliss, and his hand wraps in your hair, tongue swiping over your lips gently.

After what feels simultaneously like an eternity and no time at all, you break away for air, resting your forehead against his.

“Now it's my turn to infer from that,” he breathes after a moment, and you smile.

“Not quite as cryptic, you'll find.” You smile, kissing him again. “I love you, Remus Lupin. Always have, always will.”

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin blurb #remus lupin fic

[sgtjbbhasmyheart]

Drunk Texting Is(n’t) Bad for Your Health- Chapter One

Series Summary: Talk about your unconventional meet-cute! Bucky receives a text by mistake requesting he prove he's not Reader's sister. The easy dialogue between Reader and Bucky sparks a natural friendship, but could it lead to more? Bucky still deems himself unworthy of any form of affection or love. Reader is hellbent to prove him wrong. With the help of some (meddling) friends along the way, Bucky may get his happily-ever-after after all.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2101

Chapter Warning: Bad Language Words, tiny bit of angst

A/N: I started this on AO3 awhile ago. Now that I have a blog dedicated primarily to just Marvel/Bucky, I thought I’d add it here, too. Enjoy!

DO NOT copy or replicate without my permission.  

Bucky heard his phone buzz as he was tugging a butter-soft tee over his head. He glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand next to his bed as he worked his arms into their respective holes.

9:36

Steve was long in bed already, so the text most likely wasn’t from him. Sam was on a me me kick-- No, what did he call them? Memes!-- of a disgruntled cat which he swore reminded him of the super soldier. He wouldn’t be surprised if it were him. Or possibly Nat. She picked up the new issue of Guns & Ammo the other day and was sending him pictures of a Mossberg MC1sc 9mm she was drooling over.

Smoothing the body of the shirt over his torso, Bucky ambled over to his bed. He snatched up the phone from the navy blue comforter and flipped it over. To his amazement, the text wasn’t from Sam or Nat. Or even Steve.

[phone] work thing boring af. kinda tied one on. might be late meeting you tomorrow

He blinked several times at the message, uncertain how to respond. It was a wrong number, right? Bucky hadn’t made plans with anyone for tomorrow that he could remember. Plus, everyone he knew had the same work thing. And it was rarely boring.

Definitely a wrong number.

He set the phone down near the clock, choosing to ignore the text. Hopefully, whoever this person was, figured out quickly they were texting the wrong number and moved on.

Bucky pulled back the covers before climbing into bed. His body melted into the mattress, muscles relaxing for the first time since breakfast. Training had been non-stop all day today. It felt good to just be, for once.

He grabbed the book he was reading off the nightstand and opened it to the spot he left off. He cleared his mind, as best he could, and concentrated on the words on the page.

A few pages in, his phone vibrated alive again. Another text message.

[phone] sis dont be mad youd be drinking too if you had to sit thru one of these business dinners

Bucky sighed. He had hoped his radio silence would have clued this person into their mistake. Wishful thinking. Before he could punch out a reply, another text came through.

[phone] timmons is droning on about this new client. kill me now

He quickly typed out a reply:

[phone] I think you sent this to me by mistake.

Bucky watched the text indicator pulse as this unknown person worked out their response.

[phone] haha very funny sis

Bucky huffed at this person’s disbelief, thumbs working on typing out his next message.

[phone] I’m not trying to be funny. I can’t be someone’s sister when I’m a man.

He set the phone down on the nightstand again, hoping this person finally took a hint. He opened his book back up to the current page, taking a deep breath.

The room’s silence was broken again by the loud thrumming of his phone skittering across the surface of the black wood veneer.

[phone] how does kevin feel about this so close to the wedding???

[phone] will you still need a wedding dress or will you just get a tux???

[phone] am i still your maid of honor???

Bucky chuckled at this girl (no, young woman) asking the essential questions.

[phone] Your sister did not get a sex change. Yes, she will still need a wedding dress. Yes, you are still her maid of honor. Like I said before, wrong number.

An almost immediate reply came through.

[phone] prove it

Bucky grew slightly irritated at the insinuation. Why couldn’t she take his word for it? He exhaled loudly through his nose.

[phone] How?

A few moments passed before the device juddered in the palm of his large hand.

[phone] selfie

Bucky blanched at the request. He could feel the color drain from his face, only to immediately heat with a blush. A selfie? That is the last thing he wanted to do.

Although he’d been exonerated for his crimes as The Winter Soldier, he still knew about the dislike people felt about him as a person, in general. They couldn’t get past the brainwashing or other persona. God knows he still struggled with it.

He couldn’t go broadcasting his face through texts to a stranger. What if she was one of those who didn’t understand he had no say in what he did or what happened to him under Hydra’s control?

What if he ignored the solicitation? He could do that. Maybe even turn off his phone.

She did seem the type to be very persistent until she got what she wanted.

True to form, another text rang through.

[phone] i will keep texting until i see your manly face

One corner of his lips quirked higher. Yup, persistent.

He navigated to the camera app on his phone and switched it to selfie mode. He stared at the damp locks falling to his shoulders. His beard would require a trim soon, but it wasn’t scraggly. Luckily, he’d had the hindsight to shave his neckbeard in the shower earlier.

Was he considering this? Some girl says jump, and he asks how high?

He combed metal fingers through his hair, blowing out a breath.

[phone] im waiting

Bucky growled at the text, running a hand over his face. “Okay, okay. Give me a second,” he said to his phone. He held it up to head height, half an arm’s length away.

Click!

He previewed the picture, assuring himself it didn’t reveal too much. It was, somehow, off-center, containing a bearded chin and half a smirked mouth, one nostril, and a half-lidded eye.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Bucky pulled the messaging app back up and then sent off the picture. He tossed the phone aside, not wanting to watch the taunting blinking dots as he waited for a reply.

The picture was barely recognizable, but someone like Steve or Nat could tell it was him. It would be okay. No one would know.

His phone vibrated violently near him on the bed. Bucky cautiously plucked the device up, debating whether he wanted to read her reply. What if it said, “Holy shit! You’re The Winter Soldier!”? The hope of this woman thinking he was just some regular guy knotted up his stomach. He didn’t know why he cared so much about whether this stranger thought he was The Soldier or not. He had no control over who believed the lies perpetrated as truth through the media. He could only wish for the best.

He blew out the breath he was holding in and eyed the phone’s screen.

[phone] is it fair to say men shouldnt be allowed to have long eyelashes??

Bucky laughed and immediately thought of poor Steve.

[phone] You should see my buddy’s. The girls swoon and complain at the same time.

He quickly added to the message thread:

[phone] Am I correct to assume you believe I’m a man and not your sister?

The response was swift.

[phone] oh shit ur not my sister

[phone] this isnt 9173083447?

Bucky laughed again, the tension in his chest slowly unfurling.

[phone] Unfortunately for you-- no.

[phone] ugh im such an idiot sorry for the shit i said

[phone] Don’t worry about it. I had a good laugh at your expense.

[phone] oh god now i feel like a bigger ass

Bucky suddenly felt like backpedaling. He hadn’t meant for her to feel bad about her mistake. It was cute in a roundabout way.

[phone] Please don’t be embarrassed. It was the highlight of my night.

[phone] me forcing u to prove ur a man was the best part of ur night??

Bucky thought for a moment. Was it the best part? The training sessions had become monotonous lately, even with the new agents. The team hadn’t been on any missions in a few weeks, so it was pretty accurate to say he was bored around the compound.

[phone] I suppose it was. Work’s been a little slow, and there’s only so much training you can do before it becomes tedious.

[phone] training? r u in the military? ooh, r u an athlete??

A laugh bubbled up from his chest. It was comical to see her try to guess his profession. His selfie hadn’t announced who he was to her after all.

[phone] Something like that.

[phone] so mysterious! r u some assassin who needs to keep his identity secret? is that y ur selfie only showed a quarter of ur face??

He paled at the implication. Maybe she did know and was yanking his chain. How did he block numbers again?

Another text came through from the mystery woman:

[phone] not that i mind u have a luscious mouth

Bucky guffawed at the comment as flames rose beneath the skin of his cheeks. He hadn’t remembered blushing this much in such a short amount of time in decades.

[phone] How much have you had to drink tonight, doll?

[phone] doll?? what r u my grandpa??

He chuckled again. God, he was old enough and then some.

[phone] enough to not want to shoot my brains out but not enough to know this dinner isnt a party

[phone] Maybe you should get back to your dinner? I don’t want to get you into trouble.

He regretted the text the second he pressed send. Was he trying to get rid of her? No. Or was he looking out for her? This person he knew nothing about. She was more entertaining than the recurring nightmare he’d been having for the last week, that's for sure. He'd cling to this unknown to avoid slipping into that black abyss.

[phone] aww does the military-trained assassin athlete mchottie not want to talk with me anymore?? 🙁

[phone] No!! I’m honestly concerned you’ll be reprimanded if you pay more attention to your phone than Timmons.

The last thing Bucky needed was to feel more guilt, especially if it was at the expense of someone’s livelihood. His shoulders were already heavy enough.

[phone] thats sweet but dont worry ur pretty little head over me timmons wouldnt last a day w/o me

[phone] timmons may be the boss but i run that office

He simpered at her swagger. He could only imagine what kind of office she worked in because, again, a total stranger. Did he want to get to know her more, or was this a one and done thing? Would she wake up tomorrow and want to continue the conversation or blow him off for the drunken mistake her first text had been?

Bucky stared at his phone for several more minutes, pondering precisely what he was doing and what his expectations of the night were. It’s not like he was going to meet her in person, right? Was he that delusional? He was an Avenger now. He didn’t get a social life. Not that he had one before but still.

He was startled from his reverie as the phone shook in his hand.

[phone] did i scare you away??

[phone] No. Just thinking about tomorrow.

[phone] shit a military-trained assassin athlete mchottie must have a lot to prepare for mentally ill let u get ur rest

He smiled at the gesture. If only she knew.

[phone] Send me a text when you get home. I want to make sure you arrived okay.

[phone] such a gentleman! i don’t want to wake u if ur asleep tho

[phone] I doubt I’ll be sleeping, but it’ll help ease my mind.

[phone] alright ill shoot a text ttfn

[phone] ttfn?

[phone] ta ta for now god u r a grandpa

[phone] Yeah, yeah

Bucky’s mouth split into yet, another grin as he set his phone down once again on the nightstand. He picked up his discarded book and found his place on the page. After a few minutes of re-reading the same paragraph over and over, he slipped the bookmark into the gutter of the book. His mind was too preoccupied with the thought of some random girl in the city at a boring work dinner. He realized he hadn’t stopped smiling since they temporarily said goodbye.

Maybe there was a good chance this conversation would carry into tomorrow.

CHAPTER TWO

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky fanfiction #bucky fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic

[daddyfordaeddy]

Pairing: Jinyoung x gn!Reader Warnings: its smut. its badly written smut. its a handjob. the lightest dom/sub undertones ever because idk how to write that. the reader is the more dominatn one in this situation. theres cursing. light blood but not sexual.

Summary: Jinyoung cuts his hand at work. You lend him yours. I will never not make puns. Genre: Smut Word Count: 2031 This is a request for @crzy-devil​ 

im sorry that the ending isn’t quite what you wanted but i was struggling and didn’t wanst to make you wait any longer. i hope you enjoy it.

You know Jinyoung’s job can be dangerous. All the stunts he has to perform, you worry a little. But he can handle himself most of the time, you try not to worry too much. You trust him enough to tell you if it’s hurting or if he’s stressed. No matter how late he stays filming, you’re always sitting up to wait for him to return to your shared home so you can kiss away all the tiredness in his eyes before the two of you head to bed.

This time, his drama is more action-based than his other ones, and as a result, you start to worry more. Even if he isn’t the lead, he has plenty of screentime, most usually shots of fights. You see behind-the-scenes videos of Jinyoung in action and every day you worry a little more each time. When Jinyoung comes home he tries not to make you worry but he’s naturally vocal about how he feels and so you get a little more insight into his job and how much stress it gives him and you just feel even worse.

When Jinyoung comes home one evening, with a tight smile on his face warning bells ring in your head. “Jinyoungie, hi,” you start carefully, “how was the set today? You get a break this week, right?”

Jinyoung sighs, “Kind of. They cut short the break so I’ll only be here for a four-day weekend.” Your lips purse but you say nothing else. Jinyoung heads straight into the bathroom, knocking into the doorframe once before entering with a short curse and your eyebrows fly into your hairline.

“Love, you good?” you ask, slowly standing and making your way over to the doorframe to peek in. Jinyoung’s head snaps up and he looks at you with a wide-eyed stare, but that’s not where your eyes are trained on. You’re currently looking at his hand, which has a long, deep gash on it, and it’s bleeding rather worryingly. “Jinyoungie, what happened?”

Jinyoung is just looking at you sullenly. “I cut myself on one of the falling lights. The director bumped into it. It’s fine, really.” You level him with a glare as you bend down to get the gauze.

“Honestly, Jinyoung, I worry, you know. Go sit down at the counter and I’l be out soon.” As Jinyoung opens his mouth to complain you tut. “No, don’t argue with me. Go sit.”

Jinyoung sulks, but he understands and lets you fiddle around with the cabinets as he does as you tell him. When you exit the bathroom a few minutes later, you see him idly tracing patterns into the countertop as he has his cut hand wrapped in his shirt to stop the blood from dripping all over the counter. “You didn’t get a damp paper towel?” you admonish him gently as you approach him and take his hand in yours. “Now your shirt will get all bloody. I’ll have to handwash it.”

Jinyoung pouts and you laugh a little at his expression as you dab lightly around the wound with a washcloth. He doesn’t say much, opting to watch you clean up his hand and put some ointment before dressing and wrapping it in gauze. When you finish, you bring his hand up to your mouth and press a quick kiss to the wide palm. “Take care of yourself, you know.”

Jinyoung softly laughs, puckering his lips with a playful whine. You sigh but lean in to kiss him as he wishes. You’re soft for this boy and you know it. When his hands find their way to your waist, you tut and pull away. “I don’t want you reopening the wound or something, Jinyoungie.”

Jinyoug just whines and loops his arms around your waist, letting his head rest on your shoulder. “But babe,” he draws out the vowel, “I’m dying and I’m lonely.” You laugh at his desperation, letting your hands travel up to his chin to tilt it and allow deeper kisses.

“I really don’t think it’s a good idea? It’s not like I think you’ll be unhinged or something, but if your hand is out of commission…”

Jinyoung just presses his face even more into your neck. “Like it when you take care of me, though. I want to be pampered. I’ll even let you call me baby.” Your ears burn bright red at that and your palms get a bit sweaty. Jinyoung giggles at your obvious reaction, pressing a light kiss to your warm skin.

Though your face is red, your grip on his jaw tightens slightly. Jinyoung lets his jaw fall lax at the pressure and the anticipation of what’s to come. You lean in again, pressing a hungrier kiss to his mouth, enjoying his willingness to let you do what you want. Jinyoung’s hands find your hips, digging in his fingers but you pull away at the feeling.

“Baby, you sure?” you ask, trying out the nickname as well, and Jinyoung flushes all the way to his neck. It’s a pretty sight, and you have to refrain from leaning down and marking up the skin. Jinyoung nods, and you raise a single eyebrow. “Words, Jinyoungie.”

“Yes, please, god, please,” Jinyoung finally pleads, teeth finding purchase in your collarbone. “Touch me, please.” You trail your fingers down from his jaw to his shoulders, setting onto his lap. It’s not too comfortable of a seat, you don’t want to make him fall off the barstool, but Jinyoung just laves his tongue across your now bruising marks.

You pull his hands away from your waist, letting his hands curl around the edges of the stool he is on. “Don’t move your hands, all right, Jinyoungie?” The words are a bit heavy coming out of your mouth, but Jinyoung enjoys it, nodding vigorously and gripping the stool until his knuckles are white. “Er...maybe loosen your grip. I don’t want you to stress your wound.”

Jinyoung lets out a short laugh at your words, and your face burns but you power through. When Jinyoung opens his mouth, you press a finger against his lips. “Don’t make a sound unless I ask you, yeah? I want to make this all about you.”

When Jinyoung nods silently, you smile and give him short praise, pressing a kiss to the corner of his jaw. He squirms a little, but with a little warning nip to his neck, he stills as you trail your hands down the broad expanse of his chest to his hips. When your fingers dip into the waistband of his pants, his breath hitches, but you pull your fingers out just as fast. Jinyoung’s lips tighten a bit, willing himself to not make a sound and you giggle brightly. Jinyoung shoots you a glare but when he does, your hand presses into his crotch and instead he lets out a hiss. You settle onto his thighs as your hand creeps back into the waistband of his sweatpants. This time, even if his breath catches, you continue on your descent and slide into his boxers as well.

Jinyoung’s hips kick and you laugh at that, pulling your hands away. “You need to stay still, Jinyoungie. I can’t make you feel good if you don’t let me.” Jinyoung hisses through his teeth, letting his head fall forward onto your shoulder. You can tell he’s not above begging, so you slide off his lap and haul him to his feet.

“(Y/N), please,” Jinyoung begs, “I’m so close.” You laugh again and let his words slide.

“I know, baby, come on, we have lube in the bedroom. I don’t want to chafe your cock, yeah? I want you to feel good.” Jinyoung pouts again but lets you hold his hand and pull him toward the bedroom.

As you rifle through the bedside table for some lube, Jinyoung settles completely on the bed, back against the headboard. When you turn around, he opens his arms up and you sigh a little but settle into his lap again. However, instead of resting your weight fully onto his thighs, you stay on your knees, pulling at the hem of his pants until his hips lift up and he lets you remove his sweats and boxers.

You grab the lube and twist the cap open. It’s just about half empty but it’s all you need anyway. As you drizzle it onto your palm, Jinyoung obediently fists his hands in the sheets after you shoot him a look and a quirk of your lips. His cock is hard, drooling precum out of the tip, and you’ve hardly touched him. You feel a little pride run through your body but try not to get ahead of yourself.

When you finally have a sufficient enough amount of lube on your hand that it drips onto Jinyoung’s thighs, you finally wrap your hand around his length. Jinyoung bites his lip, drawing blood as he tries not to let a sound escape from his lips. You laugh again, leaning forward and pressing your lips against his as you twist your hand slowly, thumbing over the head of his dick. Jinyoung licks against the seam of your lips eagerly, as if trying to distract himself from the cries in his throat.

When you squeeze just right, in that way you know Jinyoung would die for, Jinyoung can’t help but moan into your mouth, and you laugh right back. You don’t cease your stroking of his cock nor do you speed up, letting Jinyoung whine and wriggle just a tad before you nip at his lips and whisper a warning, “stay still, baby.”

Jinyoung looks like he might cry if you drag this out any further, and so you take pity and sit back on his thighs again, working his dick with more fervour and watching Jinyoung throw his head back and shudder. His dick twitches violently when you rub your lube covers thumb along the veins and you smile at the sight. “Are you close?” It’s a rhetorical question, you’ve known Jinyoung long enough to know when he wants to come, but he lets a moan rip out of his throat and whines a yes anyway.

You laugh, letting your hands come down to fondle his balls. “You can come, baby.” Jinyoung’s back arches as he whines. When he lands back down on the bed with a thump, his cock finally shoots ropes of cum onto his chest and it dribbles down to your hands as well. You continue to stroke him through it, up until he whines from the overstimulation.

You wait until he finally relaxes and looks at you with tired eyes when your hand drags up his stomach, gathering the cum pooling. His eyes widen when you bring your hand up to your mouth and lick the excess off. He can only let out another breathy groan, finally letting his hands come up from the bedsheets and he makes grabby hands at you.

You laugh open-mouthed again, falling into his arms and peering up at him as he smiles back and brushes some hair out of your face. “Love you,” he whispers as he leans down to pepper kisses all over your face.

“I love you too, baby,” you giggle, capturing his face with your hands and pressing a long kiss to his lips. He doesn’t mind the taste of himself on you, just licking into your mouth and pulling you impossibly closer with an arm around your waist. “Hey, quick question.”

Jinyoung raises an eyebrow. “You just jacked me off and you want to ask me a question? What is it?”

“What’s the director’s number? I might have to have a few words with him on the matter.” Jinyoung snorts, his hands cupping your ace and stroking your cheeks with his thumbs. You pout. “He messed up my boyfriend’s hand because of his fucking incompetence. I wanna sue him, Jinyoungie.”

Jinyoung just leans down to give you another kiss and you willingly return it. “I love that you’re caring baby, but don’t worry about it. I’ll deal with it, yeah?” You just pout again and Jinyoung spends the rest of the day kissing it away.

#got7 #igot7 #got7 request #got7 smut #got7 fanfiction #got7 fanfic #jinyoung #park jinyoung #jinyoung got7 #jinyoung smut #jinyoung fanfiction #jinyoung fanfic #jinyoung request #smut

[semisgroupie]

DEE !! HAPPY 200 MY LOVE !! 🥳💕✨ i’m so proud of you!! you deserve this and so much more!!

for your event maybe i request option 1? 🥺 & could i do the two self ships ?

1) bokuto (obvi LMFAO)

headcanons:

i am NOT a morning person, but bo is, so i’m very grumpy but bokuto is the only person who knows how to put me in a good mood~

bokuto’s a brat tamer (no one can change my mind) & i am, in fact, a brat ... mhm mhm yes 😳

me n bo both have praise kinks... that’s all i gotta say on that

scenario: bokuto wakes up really early to go for a morning jog or something, he comes home & i’m still in bed, so he goes to wake me up (*cough* with sex *cough*)

kinks: daddy!kink, (consensual) somnophilia, creampies

2) dabi !!

headcanons:

our relationship dynamic is he’s a dick to everyone else except me~

we both are kinda possessive ?? we both get jealous super easily & it makes us even more protective of each other

him & i are into marking... but like not just hickies ya kno ... mf uses his quirk... (is tht too much?! pls i just— ✨him✨)

scenario: angry/jealous sex, he saw some guy flirting with me at a party but i also saw some girl flirting with him

kinks (u kno i’m not sure if we were supposed to send kinks for each self ship or just once? so i’m so sorry if i did this wrong!): daddy!kink, dacryphilia, spitting~

AGAIN CONGRATS ON 200 HONEYBEE IM SO PROUD OF YOU 🥺💓✨💐

Thank you so much love bug these are so good! I hope you like these and I also included songs to describe both relationships :) NSFW UNDER THE CUT MINORS DNI

Selfships: Tiny + Bokuto, Tiny + Dabi 

Warnings: consensual somnophilia (Bokuto), unprotected sex, rough sex, dacryphilia, spit play, daddy kink, creampies

Selfship #1:

Bokuto’s alarm went off at 7 in the morning, you groaned and turned in his hold as he stretched his arm off to shut off the alarm. 

“Tiny, do you wanna come with me on my run?”

“No. Wanna sleep, go run.”

Bokuto rolled his eyes at your little attitude, he knew that in the mornings you are always a little cranky so he just ignored it. He got out of bed and put on his exercise clothes for a morning run. He walked over and looked at your sleeping form, still naked under the cover from last night’s fuckfest. He leaned down and gave you a kiss on your forehead which you swatted away with a whine for him to let you sleep. 

“Watch yourself little one or you won’t like the outcome of your actions. I want you up when I come back, we have a long day today.”

Bokuto left and went on his morning run, he was out for about 30 minutes. He grabbed a bottle of water from the kitchen and made his way back up to your shared bedroom. He peeked his head inside and saw you still sleeping. 

“Of course, you’re still asleep.”

When you both first started having sex you gave Bokuto consent to wake you up in his own special way. Many mornings he would wake you up balls deep inside you and this morning was going to be one of those mornings. Bokuto made his way over to your sleeping form, light breaths leaving your slightly parted lips. He lifted the blanket that covered you and moved his hand down your body.

“Fuck baby, your body is just perfect.”

At the feeling of his hands on you, you spread your legs slightly still very much asleep it was just second nature to you. Bokuto took his exercise clothes off quickly, his thick cock slapping against his abdomen as he took his running shorts off. He climbed on top of you, pumping himself a few times getting ready to enter you. 

He looked down at your pussy, your entrance leaking cum. His cock twitched in his hand at the sight. He spit on his hand and stroked his cock getting it wet for you. He aligned himself and slowly entered you, a small moan of ‘daddy’ leaving your lips but you were still asleep. He slid himself in until his balls were firm against your ass.

He started with slow, shallow thrusts but your pussy clenching around his cock made him feral. He grabbed your hips tightly and started pounding your pussy. The head of his cock hitting your g-spot over and over. After about the third time his cock brushed against it you woke up from your slumber.

“D-daddy! Fuck, feels good!”

“Sorry baby, I wanted to be more gentle but you feel so fucking good. You got me addicted to this pussy baby.”

He kept his pace watching your tits bounce in time with each thrust, he leaned down taking one of your nipples in his mouth swirling his tongue around it. 

“Daddy! Daddy feels good! You-your cock fills me s-so good daddy!”

He bit on your nipple a bit harder, a tinge of pain coursing through your body. Bokuto lifted his head up with a grin on his face.

“That’s for your attitude earlier, swat me away again and I’ll keep you handcuffed the entire day.”

“Daddy! That hurt.”

“Good.”

He took his thumb rubbing it on your clit and his thrusts became sloppier by the second. Your clenching pussy feeling too good around his cock. 

“Fuck daddy! I’m go-gonna-ngh-gonna cum daddy!”

“Good baby cum for me. Cum for me now.”

Extra pressure added to your clit made you cum around his cock, your quivering pussy sending him into his own orgasm. He filled you with his cum adding to whatever was left from last night’s rendezvous. He pulled out of you and laid down next to you.

“Hmm we could postpone our plans for tomorrow. I wanna spend the day in bed with you.”

“Thank you daddy, I love you.”

“I love you more.”

Selfship #2:

Dabi looked at you from where he was standing. His blood boiling. That guy standing too close to you, leaning too close to you, every time he saw you laugh at the idiots jokes Dabi got even more infuriated. Did this prick not see the hickeys littered across your neck? If your dress lifted a bit higher the idiot would see Dabi’s fingerprints burned into your skin. You’re his and his alone and every single mark on your body proves it. 

He makes his way over to you, he’s fuming. How could you let that guys hand hold your arm for that long? Once you’re close he pulls your arm and slots his mouth against your in a sloppy kiss, both your tongues battling for dominance, saliva leaving the corners of your mouths. You pulled away looking at him, your lips slick with his saliva.

You pulled him into the closest empty room and slammed the door getting away from the blaring music. 

“What the fuck was that for?”

“That guy you were flirting with, you forget you’re with me?”

“Explain that to the girl who was ready to suck your dick once you said the word.”

He laughed at what you said and it made you angrier. He grabbed your chin between his index finger and thumb bringing your face close to his.

“Listen here, you’re mine and I’m yours. Let me reteach that, open.”

You opened your mouth and he collected his saliva to spit in your mouth. You swallowed it once it hit your tongue.

“Thank you daddy.”

He lifted the hem of your dress to your hips and he undid his pants lowering it to reveal his cock. He quickly looked around and saw a cabinet to put you on top of. He lifted you and put you on top of the cabinet. He dropped down face to face with your pussy, spreading your legs and he spit on your pussy, a small moan leaving you. He got back up and rubbed his cock against your folds a hiss leaving his lips as his sensitive cock head brushed against you. 

“Fuck stop teasing daddy and just-fuck!”

He thrusted his cock inside you going balls deep in one thrust he grabbed your hips thrusting at an animalistic speed. 

“You’re mine, no one else’s. All. Fucking. Mine.”

He punctuated each word with a hard thrust making your mouth fall open. He grabbed the back of your neck pulling you close to him so he could spit in your mouth again. His rough thrusts pulling orgasm after orgasm from you, your saliva mixed with his dripping down your chin. It just feels too good, he’s hitting all the right spots making tears brim in your eyes. 

One harsh thrust made you shut your eyes all the tears coming down. No words leaving your mouth just moans of ‘daddy please’ and “all yours’. His thrusts started becoming sloppy as he was reaching his high. 

“Fuck I’m gonna cum. Gonna fill this tight little cunt with my cum.”

His used his quirk to mark your hips with his handprints, the pain of the burn mixed with his thrusts sent you into another orgasm. Dabi leaned forward sinking his teeth into your shoulders as he finished inside you. 

“Fuck, you bring the worst out of me baby but I love it and I love you.”

“And you do the same to me, I love you too.”

Songs to describe your relationship: 

For Bokuto- Leave The Door Open by Bruno Mars & Anderson.Paak/ Lost in You by khai dreams

For Dabi- Him & I by G-Eazy & Halsey 

#dee hits 200 followers! #tiny + bokuto #tiny + dabi #bokuto smut #dabi smut #tw marking #tw unprotected sex #tw somnophilia

[nadisabug]

Anything You Want

Pairing: Tsukishima Kei x reader

Warnings: reader is kinda depressed, idk she convinces herself that no one (Kei) could like her, so warning for that, no spoilers though, ooc Tsukki, I am so sorry this was a one am fever dream im sor-

Summary: As old childhood friends of Yamaguchi and Tsukishima, it doesn’t make sense why Tsukishima and you fight so much.

A/N: Ahh I’m so sorry I woke up out of a cold sweat to write this whole thing in one sitting at one am im just 💛love💙 him!! Also!!! I hit 150 followers!! So excited!!! I love you all so much!! Thank you!!!!! (ps requests are open pls send some in)

Haikyuu!! Masterlist

"Kiss me Kei!"

"What? Tch, no that's gross."

"But I'm the mommy!"

"So?"

"You're the daddy! You gotta!"

"I don't even wanna play this dumb game."

"It's not dumb! Pleeaaasseee Kei-chan! For me?"

"Fine, come here."

The slap of the ball hitting the gym floor startled me out of my daydream. My eyes snapped up quickly to the game before me. Did we score? It took me a minute to even register what was going on and who I was looking at. I looked to the referee on his stepladder, waiting for him to call the point.

The whistle blew. He raised his arm. Boys in black and orange jerseys shouted. I clapped and cheered.

It all felt so robotic. But then I looked at him. Then the world shifted into slow motion and began to flow more naturally.

He raised his arm to wipe the sweat off of his brow, the movement mesmerizing. Even the jerk of his body when a teammate patted him on the back seemed graceful. Elegant. He pushed his glasses up a bit and glared at the offender. He turned to say-

"Y/n?" Once again I was startled from my thoughts. My head snapped to the right side where Yachi was standing next to me. She had a concerned look on her face. I swallowed, my dry mouth only producing a lump in my throat. "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," I responded quickly and looked back to the game. "Just focusing is all." This time I fought not to look at the boy. I didn't want to look at him anyway. I didn't. I didn't.

Finding my eyes drifting back to him, I launched into conversation to pull my mind from him.

"How's the girls team going?"

I was on the girls volleyball team as a first year. I only made the team because I was the only libero and, being honest, I was the best at receiving. I was abnormally short, so I knew I couldn't pull off many other positions.

Well, maybe I could.

I watched as the short, orange haired boy flew across the court and landed an impossible to receive spike. I still wasn't used to that combo no matter how many games I watched. Then again, I only had reflexes, not the raw power that that boy had.

I sighed and tore my eyes from the game to look at Yachi. I slumped onto the railing a plopped my head in my hands. "We need more practice games, honestly. The way we're going we're not going to win our match."

"Don't say that Y/n!" Yachi cried.

I shrugged and looked back at the game. My eyes found blonde hair naturally. "Its true. The girls don't practice enough. I think getting our asses completely handed to us will turn the team around. I just feel bad for the third years who will suffer from it."

Yachi didn't have a response to that. She changed the subject quickly and we chatted until the game ended, the whole time I focused on the freakish number ten instead of the boy I knew deep down in my heart I really wanted to watch.

"Nice net drop, broccoli brain," I smirked and clapped my best friend on the shoulder.

His shoulders slumped and he sighed. "I didn't even mean to do it," he bereaved.

"Fucking who cares?" I snorted. "Got us a fat point and they never saw it coming. Just remember how it felt and do it again."

"Y/n," Yama whined and tried to shake me off.

"Y/n giving you crap again?" A rich voice came from behind me, sending shivers down my spine. "That's rich coming from Pipsqueak."

"Says Mr-cant-block-for-shit," I shot back, turning around so that I could stick my tongue out at him.

"I'd like to see you try to pick up a real serve, not that-"

"Hey, hey, cut it out!" Yama stepped in between us, putting a warning hand on us both. "We're all friends."

I glared at Tsukishima but backed down. I didn't want to upset Yamaguchi. I knew how much he hated it when we fought, seeing as it was his two best friends.

I had known Yama since elementary school, when I saved him from some bullies. One day when we were clearly out matched, Tsukishima saved us in his aloof, roundabout way. From then on we were inseparable.

That is until the second year of middle school when Tsukishima and I started fighting all the time. Despite that, we still hung out together. Who knows why he put up with my constant antagonism, but he always reciprocated and never complained.

We got on the bus soon after the game, headed to the school. I was on the girls bus, them on the boys. When we got back to the school we met up again.

When we came to the usual splitting point, Yama spoke up.

"So I'll walk Y/n home," Yama offered like always. I was about to accept when Tsukishima spoke up.

"Nah, I'll do it." Yama cocked an eyebrow. "It's out of your way, Yamaguchi. She lives closer to me."

We all knew this, but the point had never come up before.

"Okay," Yama said warily. "Are you sure you don't want me to come anyways?"

"Tch, we're fine, I don't need a babysitter." Tsukishima rolled his eyes.

"Okay," Yama shrugged. He took a few steps backwards before he said goodbye and started off in the opposite direction.

Tsukishima wordlessly took off in the direction of our houses, so I followed. I was wondering why he suddenly offered to walk me home, but he offered no clues as to why. He used to walk me home before we always fought, but after that he stopped. This was the first time he walked me home in years.

So we walked in complete silence.

When we reached my house, we stood there awkwardly for a moment, looking at it. I wasn't sure what to say, but before I could figure it out, he spoke.

"Why do you hate me?"

I was startled by both the question and the sudden shattering of silence. I turned to look at Tsukishima. He wasn't looking at me, just straight ahead. I tried to read his facial expression, but like always, it was stone cold.

"I don't?" I answered uneasily.

Tsukishima sighed. "Yes you do, you always act so pissy towards me. You even tense up when I'm near."

"I do not," I frowned. I tried to think if I have ever done anything like that, but I drew blank.

"Yes you do," Tsukishima sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes. "We..." He paused. He brought he other hand up and rubbed his eyes, pressing his two fingers into his eye sockets. After a moment he threw his hand down, clearly having made up his mind, and turned to look at me. I felt hot under his intent gaze, his eyes searching mine for an answer I was afraid I didn't have. "We used to be close when we were little. What changed."

It wasn't a question. It was more of a statement. It was like he meant to say something different.

So I said it for him.

"We changed."

He scoffed, his face twisting into his signature cynical look. "Bullshit."

"No, that's the answer. Maybe you're not asking the right question," I shot back, confidence fueled by his venom.

He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it soon after. His brows furrowed and his lips pressed together. It was more emotion than he was exhibiting earlier, and for some weird reason, it made something in me happy.

"Why are you so mad at me?" He finally asked, face relaxing a bit. He seemed genuinely curious as to the answer.

His sincerity almost made me explode with anger. How could he not know? He was the most insufferable person in the entire world, what wouldn't I be mad about.

But then again, that was wrong. He never mad me mad with his snide comments and dirty looks. It was all in play and it never really bothered me, ever since we were kids, and he knew that too. So I couldn't lie and say it was his personality because I loved his personality. It was something else. Something I was afraid of admitting.

I grit my teeth. What did it matter if I said it or not? It's not like he'd understand anyway.

Once I made up my mind I met his eyes.

"Because you will never give me what I want."

"And what is that?" His voice was soft, wispy, breathless. Afraid.

Your love.

I couldn't say it. Bile rose in my throat and tears prickled at my eyes. I opened my mouth but quickly shut it. I wouldn't say it. I was too afraid.  My eyes fell to the ground, and with them, all my confidence.

All at once my mind began to barrage me. He will never love you, he could never love someone like you. He-

He laughed.

He fucking laughed.

My mind was thrown to a complete and total standstill by the absurdity of it. I looked back up at him with watery eyes in confusion.

"I thought you were smarter than that," he grinned, one corner of his mouth charmingly quirked upwards. "Than to decide what I think."

"What?" I mumbled nearly incoherently.

"We both know if you ask I'll do anything for you, so quit your crying, Pipsqueak."

I opened my mouth, completely surprised by his confession. He'd do anything for me? That couldn't be right...

But the more I thought about it the more I realized it was true. He had always done everything for me. Whenever I needed him he was there. It was me that started the fighting, all because I let my mind tell me that he could never love me, that he never would.

I met his eyes once again, this time brimming with happiness.

"Kiss me, Kei."

"Fine," he dramatically sighed, hiding a small grin. "Come here."

And he did.

Taglist:

Taglists are open! Shoot me an ask or a dm with what fandom you want to be tagged in and I’ll do it right away! :)

#sorry this is a crack fic #also this is my first haikyu fic pls be gentle #this is not really edited sorry #tsukkishima x reader #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima imagine #haikyu x reader #haikyu!! x reader #tsukki fluff #tsukki x reader #haikyuu tsukki

[h2bakugou]

Can you do a oneshot with tamaki amajiki? Maybe where he is really stressed out over a test or a big social event and he isn't eating. Anyways his s/o notices that he is starving and tries to calm him down and makes im a nice meal? And you can add cuddling if you want, it's your choice!

a/n: of course hun! i love tamaki with my entire being kdgkjds this request is really wholesome thank you anon <3

summary: stressing over an upcoming event for his class, tamaki hasn’t been eating right. you’re quick to notice the change in his behavior so you decide to try and make him feel better.

key: (y/n) - your name / (f/n) - first name / (l/n) - last name / (e/c) - eye color / (h/c) - hair color / (y/q) - your quirk

warnings: swearing, fluff

wordcount: 1.2k

»»————-　★　————-««

»»————-　★　————-««

Being third years at U.A. was a pretty big deal. Even more so when your boyfriend was one of the Big Three. His responsibility to the school was huge, he held a bit of a reputation and he was pretty important overall.

So naturally, when an event had been planned for all of the third years to participate, the Big Three were meant to sort of lead the entire class.

The entire third-year class had been split into three groups, each member leading a group along with two teachers and or staff members.

The event wasn’t for a few more days but you could tell Tamaki was stressing. Social gatherings weren’t really his thing. You were lucky to have been split into his group, but the notion didn’t ease his anxiety at all.

You weren’t mad, however. You understood that he was anxious, and he probably wasn’t going to take the situation very well, he was experiencing a lot of stress and the responsibility of being a group leader for such a vast amount of other third years was pretty nerve-racking.

At first, you’d just realized how focused he’d been on his school work. Seemingly taking his mind off of other things entirely, he would bury himself in a textbook and finish work for all of his classes in a matter of hours. It was odd.

But when you invited him over to your dorm for some dinner and a movie and he declined, you were a bit worried. He’d opted for sitting in his dorm rather than the library where you usually studied so you had no idea when the last time he ate was. 

You usually snuck in some snacks to the library, sharing little pudding cups or wafers while you looked over test-prep questions.

With the event less than a week away, you were way too worried about Tamaki than anything else. He didn’t show up for lunch after classes, and you were lucky enough to find him in the hallway going over some sort of mathematical formula.

“Hey, Tamaki!” You smiled, giving him a soft hug from behind.

“H-hey.” Tamaki replied, startled by your sudden hug.

“I didn’t see you at lunch, are you studying again?” You questioned, curious as to what exactly he was doing with his textbook out in the hall.

“Yeah. J-just trying to get this one problem down.” Tamaki muttered, burying his head in the textbook again. You wondered if he could even see, his hair hung in his face, it had to be way too dark to read anything with his head blocking the lights.

“I wanted to ask if you were doing okay Tamaki, you’ve been really distant, do you want to go sit outside, maybe get some fresh air?” You reached for his hand but it recoiled away from you.

“I-I’m just worried.” Tamaki replied, closing the large textbook before sliding it down into his bag.

“T-the trip and me being a group leader, it’s really not right for me, I want to give it to someone who actually deserves the role. Mirio and Nejire are perfect for the role but I’m not.” Tamaki explained, finally joining his hand in yours. The two of you walked outside and took a seat on one of the benches.

“It’s been h-hard for me. I can’t do it. But I don’t know how to say that to one of the teachers. You could take my place-”

“Tamaki, you’ll do a fantastic job. They chose you because you’re talented and skilled, and you’re more than perfect for it. I promise they didn’t make a mistake choosing you.” You kissed the tip of his nose, a smile on your lips as you stared into his indigo eyes.

“I haven’t eaten in days, I-I just haven’t had an appetite.” Tamaki admitted, leaning his head into your shoulder. You hugged him gently, allowing him to nestle into your arms. 

“If you eat a little something you’ll feel better, you got to have the right nutrients to be strong. I’ll be right by your side the entire time okay? And if you get nervous you can squeeze my hand to make you feel better.” You kissed his cheek, your fingers playing with the ends of his violet locks. You knew he was feeling bad but you didn’t realize it was this bad.

You could only provide your unwavering support to him. He had to do the rest on his own but you had no doubt that when the day came he’d be alright. He just had to throw himself into the role and he’d get settled pretty fast. It wouldn’t be easy at first but he could do it.

It’s just for a day, and when it’s all over it’ll be a nice relief. We could go get ice cream after, a little date? Would that be alright?”

“I’d like that.” Tamaki smiled, inhaling your soothing scent as he laid still in your arms.

“Come on big boy.” You tug him up. Tamaki gives you a small kiss on your neck before sitting up, a faint blush on his cheeks.

Thankful for the early release of today’s classes, you took advantage and had Tamaki stay in your dorm for a bit. He watched tv and read through one of his current books while you cooked downstairs in your dormitory's common room.

After making a nice meal for you and Tamaki, you brought it up to your room and surprised Tamaki.

“You made this f-for me?” Tamaki blushed, feeling flustered at the act.

“Of course. You deserve a good meal after a long week.” You smile, sitting down across from your boyfriend.

The two of you eat in the quiet, the low sound of your tv playing some cartoons filled the background with white noise.

Tamaki finished his plate fairly quickly. You smiled when he licked his lips clean.

“That was amazing, bunny.” Tamaki complimented you, placing his utensils on top of his clean plate.

“Thank you.” You giggle. Tamaki extends his arm out, using a finger to wipe a bit of food off of the corner of your mouth. You feel your face heat up as he brushes his thumb across your bottom lip. 

Pulling his arm back, Tamaki just smiles at you, a warm feeling erupting in his heart. He was so thankful for you.

After eating, you ran the dirty dishes back downstairs and raced back up to your room where Tamaki had picked out a movie for the two of you to watch.

Cuddling up next to him, you made sure to hug him tightly. He rested in between your legs, his head laying on your chest. You played with his hair as you watched the movies, his fingers drawing little shapes on your thighs.

When the day of the trip came, you sat beside Tamaki on the bus, holding his hand the entire way there. Giving him a little kiss on his lips to reassure him, you stood by his side and after the first couple of minutes, Tamaki had been able to speak without stuttering. 

You were proud of him as he lead the group along, even getting to talk with Mirio and Nejire when the class took a lunch break.

The ice cream date after was much needed and despite it being a bit late outside, you enjoyed the time spent with Tamaki nonetheless.

»»————-　★　————-««

masterlist

#tamaki #suneater #amajiki #tamaki amajiki #amajiki tamaki #tamaki x reader #suneater x reader #amajiki x reader #tamaki amajiki x reader #amajiki tamaki x reader #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #mha #bnha #my hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader

[haztory]

𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐤 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝. (2)

-chapter two: the story of us; warnings for this chapter include a brief discussion and mentioning of sexual assault. it is not described in detail nor does it happen to anyone in this fic. i will not ever be using sexual assault as a plot device as i think that’s unnecessary. however, because it is prevalent in female culture, or at least the discussion of it is, it is briefly mentioned.

if this makes anyone uncomfortable, please skip over! i will not be offended at all! 

-summary:  His eyes are a sea of green that you can't seem to stop drowning in.

a/n: this chapter is a doozy yall, im so sorry. this is mainly to serve as complete exposition of reader and iwa, so it’s hella long. i had an original idea of how i wanted this to go and then i started writing and this happened. lmfao. thank you all for being patient and loving and your comments are so wonderful! i had midterms all last week and all i could think about was writing this! so thank you all and i hope you all enjoy! next chapter will be pure chaos and fun!

i was listening to “cloud 9″ by beach bunny for this chapter! so that might help you understand how i see reader and iwa <33

(w.c.: 8,662 words)

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

You’re ten years old when you meet Iwaizumi Hajime for the first time. 

He’s an inch shorter than you, skinny, hair set in an unorganized mess of spikes, and he smells of sweat. It’s the least enticing first impression you’ve ever encountered, wondering briefly if this is what all of Miyagi Prefecture has to offer.

Because if so, you’re not looking forward to it.

He’s blocking the entrance to the neighborhood park with his bike, back facing towards you and an arm stretched outward-pointing at something across the park. The same park that your mother has forced you to attend, kicking you out of your new home filled with moving boxes, a warm smile on her face and a simple request to “go have fun”.  

A request that was starting to seem like more of a problem than you anticipated. 

You’re halted in front of the gates to the area for a solid minute, the boy in front of you being less than aware of your presence as he continues to shout from across the park.

“Grab all of them, Oikawa!” 

There’s another boy roughly the same age holding several items that look to be action figures close to his chest. His face is scrunched up and his shoulders slouched as he takes exaggerated sluggish steps while crossing the courtyard. He’s sweaty too, just like the boy in front of you.

“But there’s so many, Iwaaa. Can’t you help me?” 

“You’re such a baby, Oikawa.” 

The one named Oikawa is about to respond when he stops his movements altogether. He merely points his finger, eyes fixated on something behind his black-haired friend.

You realize a bit too late that he’s pointing at you.

The friend, Iwa as he was called, turns his head with a questioning hum, green eyes meeting yours. A sea of emerald. 

“Oh,” he breathes out, voice high in timber and flooded in awkwardness, raising his hand in a shy greeting, “Uh, hi.”

“Hi,” you respond in equal awkwardness, the kind that only a new kid can embody. Uneasiness has been settled into your bones ever since the move was announced, and now, as you stand before two physical embodiments of your displacement in this area, the feeling seems to sink even deeper into your stomach. “You’re blocking the entrance.”

“Huh? Oh! Sorry ‘bout that.” He begins a cumbersome shuffle of pushing the bike he was sitting on backward, small grunts escaping his mouth as he tries to make space for you to enter. It’s a slow process, considering he teeters from side to side and struggles to smoothly retreat from the space. Oikawa snickers in the background, some teasing words being aired that you are too far to hear, but they must be irking enough considering Iwa mutters a “shut up, idiot” in response.

The friendship is formidable, you don’t need to know them for long to see that. Envy and all its bitter acid coat your tongue.

“Are you the one that just moved in?” Oikawa speaks up.

You nod.

“How old are you? Are you going to Kitagawa Elementary? Have you already—”

Iwa interrupts the ferociously excited boy with a gentle scoff, “Calm down, Oikawa. Give her some air. Geez.”

“I just want to know more about the new girl, Iwa-chan!”

“Yeah, well you’re doing it wrong.”

Oikawa rolls his eyes and clutches the toys in his arms tighter, “You do it then!”

“Do what?”

“Introduce us! Make friends!”

“I think you blew it already.”

“Ugh, you’re no fun. If she’s going to the same place as us, she might as well join us! What do you say, new girl?”

You’re shaken from the brief exclusion of the conversation— realizing they’re including you this time—  when Iwa tears his eyes away from his friend and meets yours once again. Upon connection with the emeralds, your throat constricts your throat and the relief of ease washes over. The hesitancy that was bubbling in your stomach starts to dissipate when he looks at you— almost comforted by his dark yet steady stare— but the sense is quickly replaced by something else that shakes you. Your skin prickles, like fire ants marching up the pattern of your skin, and your palms start to sweat despite the cooling temperatures and the light breeze blowing against your skin. 

You’d have to tell your mom about this, just to make sure you weren’t getting sick.

“Would you like to join us?” Iwa asks. There’s no trace of a smile on his face but the invitation isn’t lacking in warmth. It’s a subtle kind, almost imperceptible if it weren’t for the look of curiosity residing upon his features. He speaks gently, like there wasn’t a distance between you two and another person listening in on the conversation, pointing his question and attention solely at you. There was a center of his gravitational pull and it was in your direction.

He’s waiting for your answer, and not the kind that results after courteously asking someone a question; You can tell he is really waiting, wanting to know what you say because his eyes hold onto yours in a way that is much more mature than a boy at the tender age of ten should be looking at someone.  

He’s sincere. He doesn’t even know you and yet he waits upon you as though your response were one he was to weigh considerably with his agenda. He’s a stranger, only said two things directly to you, and yet you feel weightless in the most minute of his attention. 

The rocks of anxiety that were sitting heavily in your stomach for the past month have disappeared and the answer that he waits so intensely for comes rather naturally. It’s the surest you’ve felt in a while. You don't know them at all, aren't even sure if you'll like them, but what would you be other than a fool to not follow the path of certain safety laid out in front of you, disguised as a black-haired boy with the spiky hair? How can you be sure unless you don't see for yourself?

“Yeah,” you sigh out, burdensome weight lifting off your shoulders at the answer, “Can I?”

“Yeah. You can.” He affirms with a nod, the corner of his lips quirking upward. Oikawa, rather befittingly, shouts a cheer, resuming his incessant chatter in throwing an onslaught of questions your way but you’re not listening. Pulled elsewhere you find your gaze being drawn back to the calm and steady boy, with the sea of emerald in his eyes.

“I’m Iwaizumi Hajime, by the way. And that’s Oikawa Tooru.”

“I’m (Y/N).” 

“Cool.”

You spend the whole day with them, quickly finding a natural place in their relationship, serving as the happy in-between of the flamboyant nature of Oikawa and the pillar of stone that is Iwaizumi. It’s fun, the most fun you’ve had in the entirety of your move that you find yourself trying to make some kind of excuse to extend the day when the sun starts to set. 

But Oikawa has to go home, and so does Iwa, and the disappointment is more than apparent on your face. There’s the unmistakable promise of seeing one another again, that of which was affirmed when Oikawa held out his pinky for you to take and solidify the statement on.

“I can walk you home if you want.” Iwaizumi tells you after you both wave your goodbyes to the other brunet. It’s a godsend, a miracle from the heavens who heard your building plight and decided to spare your jilted mind with some form of comfort. 

“Oh, you don’t have to,” you tell him, purely as a formality. Your mother’s lessons of never burdening others kicking into gear at his offer, but you plead, secretly in the deep recesses of your brain that he disagrees. Hope desperately that he’ll take the initiative and stay with you just a moment longer. 

He shakes his head, bearing a toothy smile that is missing one of his canines. “I don’t mind. My mom always tells me to make sure girls get home safe.”

Calm, steady, comforting. You selfishly agree before you have half a mind to say otherwise, “Okay. I live this way.”

And as he trails beside you, holding his bike in his hands as he walks at the pace you set, telling you the details about his favorite monster movie, you find yourself incredibly enamored with the short, sweaty boy that hates green tea and loves summertime.

And not for the first time.

You’re thirteen when you realize that you have a terribly, horribly, deeply incessant crush on Iwaizumi Hajime. 

It’s lunchtime and while you’re usually quick to eat with the resident bickering duo of Sendai, they’ve ditched you for volleyball practice— and not for the first time. So you sit with your other group of close friends, the ones you made through the conventional school setting, and not because they impulsively adopted you into their routine. They’re the necessary and equal balance to the growing testosterone you religiously spend your weekends with, so ultimately you’re not too upset at being left behind for a sport. 

Besides, it’s nice to be surrounded by girls who talk about normal things instead of sweaty violent boys that only talk about volleyball and occasionally the things you like.

Mai, a girl with a short bob that frames her round face, shakes the table with her loud laughter, the curtain of her hair swaying in tune to her joyful movement. She was the first friend you made in this group, and easily the one you’re closest to. The complete opposite of Hajime if her unabashed, frantic excitement is anything to go by. But much like the spaces in this Miyagi heart of yours that’s dedicated to Tooru and Hajime, there’s one for her too. She grabs onto one of your arms and holds it tightly, seeking stability as her melodic laughter rings through your table. 

It’s hard not to laugh alongside her. 

“Please!” She begs Yua, a blonde girl in the year above you, and wipes her eyes free from the laughter-induced tears, “No more! I’m gonna pee!”

Yua huffs, shrugging her shoulders to say that Mai’s inability to hold her urine was beyond her control, “I’m serious! That’s how I found out Kaito had a crush on me!”

“And what did you do?” You ask, laughter lacing your own words at the tale Yua expertly weaved, describing in excruciating detail how Kaito from your third period wrote a love letter comparing Yua’s lips to that of a whale as if that was somehow a compliment.

“I ran away! What else was I supposed to do?!”

Mai howls with laughter, her body being thrown against yours and her arms flailing with the movements, unable to contain herself. You’re almost identical, finding that you follow Mai’s gesticulation in perfect countering. Where she pushes you left, you move in sync, allowing her to lean her weight on you as you both lose yourself in the story.

For as much seriousness as she tries to implement in her words, the quirking of her lips betray Yua, “Laugh all you want, but wait ‘til this happens to you! Then you’ll get it!”

“I don’t think Mai and I have to worry about that,” you tell her, the remainder of your laughter dying out of your words. Mai snaps upward, her body no longer slumped against yours, and instead of facing you with furrowed brows and an offended expression.

The two friends speak simultaneously, one with indignation and the other with confusion “Why not?”

The pointedness of the question makes it seem as though your words were wrong, a misstep in a direction that you have to apologize for. Regardless of whether or not you know why. “Uh, ‘cause no one likes us like that?”

Mai scoffs, crossing her arms and tilting her nose upwards, “Speak for yourself.”

“Sorry, no one likes me like that. So I don’t have to worry.” You say with a smile punctuating the statement with a scoop of rice into your mouth. It wasn’t a statement meant to be considered deeply, it was a simple fact. There were hardly any thirteen-year-olds looking your way, and even if there were, it wasn’t like your attention was focused on them either. All the boys in school were either too annoying or too stupid.

Except for Hajime. He was the only tolerable one. Oikawa fell into the “too annoying” category. But you still loved him—sometimes.

Yua and Mai share a glance, a fleeting look before they look back at you, “You’re joking, right?”

You look up from your food to meet their furrowed stares, “What?”

They share another glance, Mai answering Yua’s silent question with a shrug of her shoulders. You’re completely left in the dark. “Wait, what’s going on?”

“Okay, so what if,” Yua begins, the familiar teasing lilt that you’ve widely associated with the blonde returning, stressing on the ‘if’, “someone did like you. What would you do?”

They both look at you with waggling eyebrows, like they’ve cornered you into the exact hypothetical they want you to be in. While this isn’t necessarily an unfamiliar place to be in, it is a weird one, considering you and boys have never really been the topic of conversation unless Iwa and Oikawa were somehow brought up. But your friendship with them was well known and not exactly hidden at all. It wasn’t sensational, nor was it the topic of gossip. Neither was the fact that you aren’t exactly the kind of girl the boys of Kitagawa First were looking at if they were even looking at girls.

“But no one likes me like that.”

“Answer the question.”

You gesture in exasperation, “I don’t know! I’m not really into anyone like that, so I guess I’d say no?”

The two girls pause again, sharing another look. 

“Okay, can you two stop that?”

Mai speaks up this time, almost disbelieving, “You really don’t like anyone?”

“Am I supposed to?”

Yua sings, “Not even Iwaizumiii?”

The chopsticks that you held deftly in your hands go limp and a straight shot of shock runs down your spine. Time stands still in this cramped cafeteria and it feels like your head has been dunked into a bucket of cold water, halting the train of thought and highlighting every possible exit in this building.

The red lights of panic have turned on in your brain and they’re screaming at you to run.

“I— I don’t— what are you guys talking about?” 

Your two best friends, who now resemble Satan’s assistants more than anything remotely positive to you, share their third unspoken glance, and you’re about to lose it. 

“So,” Yua starts again, tearing her sly eyes from Mai’s excited ones, “You do like him?”

Code red. Abandon ship. Abort. R-U-N.

“No! He— I— We’re just friends!” 

“Oh my god!” Mai slams her hands on the surface of the table, her brown eyes boring into your widened ones as she leans over to invade your personal space and poke your chest.

“You like him!”

The brain that is usually so quick with an excuse, trained to be sharp-witted and smart from years of intense teasing from Tooru and Hajime, suddenly feels like mush in your head. Ooey, gooey mush that can’t come up with anything but stuttering, “N-No” at the idea of having some romantic inclination towards Hajime. The best friend you hang out with every weekend; The boy that always walks you home and always makes sure your comments are heard; The spiky-haired idiot with a sea of emerald in his eyes that you always seem to drown in.

But, that’s not— that doesn’t mean— No. 

You don’t like Hajime like that. He’s just a really really good friend. That you enjoy spending time with. That makes you feel comfortable with just a single look. The friend that you always want around, regardless of the kind of day. Yeah. That’s it. 

Hajime is just that kind of person.

Yua gives an unconvinced hum and taps her bright pink nails on the table surface, “When you think about another girl liking him, do you get jealous?” 

Mai backs up from your face to give a wide smile at the blonde, pointing at her wickedly and almost shouting, “Ooh! Good question!”

“Thanks, I read it in my sister’s magazine.”

Mai turns back, almost touching your nose with hers, “Well? Do you?”

The “no” is on the tip of your tongue as an instinctual defense against this personal interrogation, but it doesn’t come out. Partly because of the mush of your brain but also because you know any denial of that question just simply isn’t true; Because when Saran followed Hajime around all day in grade six, you distinctly remember being in a foul mood for a while.

A mood that could only be fixed when Hajime indirectly affirmed that he did not like her.

Oh god.

You like Hajime.

You like his stupid face and his stupid laugh and the stupid way he teases you and the stupid way he makes you feel.

Your friends laugh in your face for a solid minute while you hang your head in your hands, certain that your life was completely over with the new revelation. Yua is the instigator, teasing you relentlessly over the silent confession while Mai asserts that this is the beginning of a fairytale. 

She says it with such conviction that you’re almost inclined to believe her until reason kicks in, and the shamefulness of the situation kicks in. You push it down, fine with keeping the acknowledgment exactly where it is, right under your thumb. That is until Oikawa finds out about it and then suddenly, it’s no longer in your control.

You’re fourteen when he corners you after school. He’s walking you home, taking Hajime’s usual role when said boy and subject of your plight had to stay home with the sick. 

You don’t think he’s going to bring it up, hardly aware he even knows about it, but he does making you choke on your spit and trip over a crack in the sidewalk. He clutches his stomach in a guffaw. 

“Did you really think you could hide it from me?” Tooru teases, his finger poking at your heated cheek that you quickly swat away. 

“I’m not hiding anything, Tooru,” you mutter, keeping your head turned downwards. If Oikawa even sees a smidgen of embarrassment he would never let you live it down.

“Oh, please. You’re so easy to read, especially when Iwa-chan is around. You’re all, ‘oh Iwa, you’re so smart and funny. I want to be with you forever. Mwah, mwah, mwah!’” His hands are interwoven beside his head and he attempts a poor, high-pitched imitation of your voice. Again, Oikawa Tooru belongs in the “too annoying” category that most eighth-grade boys find themselves in. 

You lift your left leg, thrusting your shin outward to kick the taller boy in his behind, a move all too familiar. Really, Oikawa should have seen it coming, having had it done to him so often by Iwaizumi. He’s too swept up in the antics of teasing, though, that it surprises him and the pain in his bottom is sharp. His hands cover the stinging area. 

“Ow, (Y/N)!”

“That’s what you get for being stupid.”

“See! You even act him like him!”

You raise your fist upward and he raises his hands in defense, cowering at the threat of more pain, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

He lowers his hands, one eye closed and the other peeking from behind his lowering fingers, “Gosh, so violent. I’m only trying to help!”

“I don’t need help.” You grumble.

You continue your trek onward, desperate to put as much distance between yourself and this nightmare of a conversation. But it’s not that simple. There are now three people that have realized the truth of your crush in less than a year— all of which are your closest friends. It’s only a matter of time before the friend above them all realizes it too. 

Worst off, only a matter of time before someone tells him. 

You turn towards Tooru with a speed that has him flinching and thrusting his hands upward for protection again. A yelp echoes around the empty street and was it not for the intensity behind your desperation, you probably would have laughed.

“Tooru.” There’s a rasp in your voice, one that you aren’t exaggerating. It makes Oikawa uncomfortable hearing such a serious depth to your previously annoyed cadence. In his continuously growing height, he stares down at you, fear crumpling his face.

“Don’t say my name like that—”

“You cannot tell Hajime.”

He straightens his posture out, hand rubbing the back of his neck. A brow is raised quizzically, “Isn’t that the whole point of having a crush? So that you can eventually tell that person about it?”

It’s not like you expect him to understand, hell, you don’t even understand it yourself. All you know is that Hajime cannot know about it; There are too many factors, too many problems that can happen. Besides, you’re sure it’s just a tiny crush, one that will go away after a couple of months. 

And even if it didn’t, you still wouldn’t be able to tell him. Because you’ve been best friends for four years now, and if there was anything remotely remarkable about you, you’re sure something would’ve happened already. Because Hajime is strong, decisive, and steady. If he wants something, he goes for it; And if he wanted you, in any capacity like the way you want him, he would’ve said something. 

But he doesn’t because you’re his best friend. Nothing is outstanding about you, nothing that would make you more than just the girl he’s friends with. Nothing that would make you any different from “just one of the guys”.

He would never see you as anything but. 

So, it’s just easier to have Hajime as a friend than to risk it all for a likely rejection. You could swallow the feelings, bury them deep inside of you for the rest of time. It would be significantly easier than never talking to him again because you couldn’t be a big girl and not make things awkward. 

You try to tell Oikawa as much, “It’s— I just— It would be easier if he didn’t know. It’ll go away soon.”

The brunet tilts his head to the side, kind of like a pouty puppy. When he’s not being a teasing butthead, he’s rather gentle with you, considerate of your emotions, and above all, eager to understand.

“Do you want it to go away?”

“Like I said, it would just be easier.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

A quiet settles between the two of you and it feels like it’s oceans wide. You, stranded out at sea in the terrorizing waves of emotions, and he, the lighthouse built on the rocks. Tall and fixed, beckoning you towards his stable ground of reason. It’s a brief reminder that when Oikawa tries, he’s not that annoying. He’s rather kind and empathetic.

“Do you want Hajime to like you?”

The deep cocoa eyes dig into you and the waves crash even more ferociously around you.

Cotton dries up your mouth, and the ache that always pains your heart whenever you think about Hajime returns in full force, “He never will.”

Oikawa huffs out a breath, back becoming imperceptibly straighter while he crosses his arms. It’s hard to imagine him as anything but that sweaty boy you met on the playground, but he stands before you a giant, body filling out from all the volleyball practice and the baby features of his face evening out to become the handsome boy girls were starting to see him as. He radiates his kind of steadiness, one different from Hajime, but equally as comforting.

It’s admirable— he’s admirable— when it's not pinned against you.

“And how do you know?”

“Tooru,” you sigh, exhaustion suddenly creeping up your shoulders along with the overwhelming urge to cry, “Please.”

You don’t feel like explaining all the intricacies of your perceived inadequacy and thank the gods above he’s a good enough friend to know when to stop prying, “Fine, fine. I’ll leave it alone. For now.”

You stare up at him, searching his face for any notion of deceit or subterfuge, “You promise you won’t say anything?”

“Yeah, yeah,” He waves his hand in dismissal, rolling his eyes in that way that portrays annoyance but the love is there. He understands you, at least. 

You hold out your pinky for him, “Pinky promise?”

“What are we, ten?” 

You hold your finger out further, almost waving it in his face. It’s the staple of trust in your friendship, instituted early on between you and him, and only you and him. He can’t back out now.

He takes it with a sigh of his own, huffing out his breath, and twisting his long, slender finger with yours. You shake his hand in affirmation, letting go only when you feel comfortable in the validity of his promise and resuming your walk home. 

He throws an arm over your shoulder, squeezing you tightly to his body, “Eventually you’re going to have to say something.”

“I know.” 

“I hope you know I’m never letting you live this down.”

“It’s like you want me to hit you again.”

Maybe he’s right. Maybe in the future, when you’re more comfortable with the fact that it’s your best friend of all people that gives you butterflies in your stomach, you’ll do something about it. But not right now, not when he spends all his time in volleyball and especially not when you were barely confident in yourself. Or maybe, it’ll go away, and you can look back on this as a funny memory rather than anything serious.

You’re fifteen when you finally accept the circumstances and become resigned to it. Finally understanding that your crush is more than just a crush, but knowing full well that that’s all you can let it be.

Hajime sits on the floor, surrounded by your regular friends plus a couple of others at Oikawa’s birthday party when he says it. You’re not supposed to hear it from your place in the kitchen, but you do and it’s a dagger to both heart and confidence. He’s confirmed everything you knew and quelled any potential rebuttal of thoughts Mai or Tooru have planted in your head. 

You were stupid to think Hajime could ever see you as anything more than the girl he’s just friends with.

Your appetite quickly dissipates and you have to work extra hard to make sure pure despair doesn’t show on your face. Especially when Oikawa hears it too and he makes that face that looks like he wants to give you a hug, which makes everything ten times harder.

A kid named Matsukawa is the one that asks. You don’t blame him. He’s only fifteen, after all, asking what normal fifteen-year-olds normally talk about.

“What about (Y/N)? Would you date her?”

Hajime scoffs, a laugh on his lips as though it were the weirdest question he’s ever heard.

“She’s my best friend. That would be like dating my sister. I don’t like her like that.”

You’re fifteen and you’ve become resigned to it all, because it’s better to have Hajime as a friend, than to never have him at all. Because you would never have him; At least not in the way you want. 

You don’t blame him for that either.

You cry about it later on, after the party is over and after you deny Hajime’s insistence to walk you home. He has a weird look on his face when you tell him you’ll be fine, your house is only a few blocks away. He wants to fight you on it, can see the argument forming it in that storm of green. It’s a shitty feeling to deny him so blatantly, but you really can’t stomach being around him at the moment. Not when your heart pangs longingly for him and your insecurities increase tenfold at the confirmation of your inadequacy.

Not when all of this is happening at once, showing as clear as day on your face, and he sees it. Worst of all, not when he wants to solve it, hardly understanding that he’s the cause of it.

His eyes narrow, staring intently as he studies your features. The scrutiny is uncomfortable and if he does stares a second longer the tears will fall.

“Did… something happen during the party?” Hajime asks hesitantly. There’s a whirlwind of possibilities crossing his mind, all indicating rather unsavory and horrifying ideas that have his worry bubbling beneath his skin. You’re barely meeting his gaze, hands clasped tightly before you and body way too stiff. The complete opposite of your normal demeanor, especially around him.

Usually so open, so vibrant. And here you stand before him, the dark of night surrounding you and the fluorescent glow of the streetlamps casting a ghoulish light on your face, exaggerating your dejected features more prominently. 

He’s heard of worst-case scenarios when girls and boys get together, something mentioned in passing when his mother was on the phone with his aunt. He never really thought much about it, considering he would never do something like that and he doesn’t hang around many girls, to begin with for something like that to be an immediate concern.. 

In this stark contrast of a moment, however, he’s briefly reminded of the fact that he so often tends to forget. You’re a girl; A living, breathing, pretty girl. Everyone likes you, would be fools not to. And while he would never allow himself or anyone else to force themselves upon you, you weren’t with him for the whole party. Disappearing for a brief moment after he saw you enter the kitchen. The idea of something like that— something that horrible— happening to you under his nose has all of his instincts on fight mode, forget the flight. A shattering of the innocence he was so previously impervious to. 

The implication is clear in his voice accompanied with the fear-stricken features, so you can hardly miss what he means. 

“Did— Did anyone…?” His voice cracks and he hurriedly tries to clear it up with the clearing of his throat, but you heard it. It happens often when he’s wrestling with an onslaught of emotions, trying his hardest to remain calm and clear-headed and focused that sometimes his voice just gives out. Also, puberty.

The act doesn’t matter though, not when he’s silently amping himself up to fight someone if you were touched inappropriately. He would win; He’s been in a couple of fights before, usually off school property, he doesn’t mind getting into another one. Not if it was for you. And he would win; Would make sure of that.

The tussle for calm is transparent on his face. Lips struggling to stay in a closed, neutral line rather than the frown he has to hold back. His fists clench, blunt nails digging into the skin of his palms to alleviate the growing anger, only to prove futile. He so badly wants to grab you by the shoulders, shake you furiously, ask what the hell is going on because you’re never like this—

He doesn’t. He knows better. Even if the suspense is driving him up the wall and the tension that encapsulates the empty street is thick and choking him. 

Finally, you say something.

“No, Haji,” you say softly, “No one did anything to me.”

It’s what Iwaizumi wants to hear; Should be ecstatic to know that you are physically unharmed, free from the taint that comes with a foreign touch, the one he’s intent to protect you from. Your voice is too quiet though, and the smile you give him is too small for him to feel any modicum of ease. You're lying. Someone did something.

“I’m fine, really!” You try again, amping up the energy to convince him. It falls flat. 

“(Y/N).” That spiky head of hair tips forward, pushing himself in your averting line of sight, refusing to let you hide from him. He’s taller now, finally taller than you. While his hair is still that fluff of mess on his head, his eyes are still that piercing green that can always read you like a book and his favorite season is still summer, only this time he no longer enjoys going to the park, but instead the beach. 

He’s the same Hajime you fell in love with and the remainder is enough to cause a lump swell in your throat.

“What are you hidi—”

“Iwa-chan!”

The familiar melodious voice rings out in the empty street, its owner sauntering his way over to your departing figures. There’s that recognizable air of flowering confidence rolling off of him like a humid heat and the sly shining of his pearly whites that serves as a buffer from the thick air of tension between you and Haj— Iwaizumi.

Just, Iwaizumi. No added affection.

There's magic in Oikawa’s stroll, you’re sure of it. It looks perfectly coincidental, like he just so happened to stumble upon a tense scene, instead of the very much needed and purposeful intervention for his emotionally crushed best friend and worry-fueled other best friend.

And they call him the idiot.

He sighs that flowery breath of his, throwing his arm around Iwa’s shoulders and watching the desperation that filled your gaze wash away with relief at his intrusion. Iwa’s confusion only seems to increase, but truthfully, Oikawa isn’t too concerned with his hard-headed friend. He’s really only keen on getting you out of there— out to safety and away from the source of your heartbreak.

“Iwa-chan, you have to go set up the movie player. I have no idea how to work it.”

“I’ve shown you how to do it four times, Tooru.”

“But it’s so much easier when you do it. Don’t worry, I’ll walk our precious flower home while you set up for our sleepover.”

Iwaizumi hesitates, his eyes bouncing from the self-assured smile of Oikawa to your downturned gaze. There’s something wrong, he knows it. But it’s obviously a secret he isn’t allowed into. 

He won’t pry, he’s never been one to beg for secrets— never been one to want secrets told to him at all. However, there’s a particular sting at knowing that it’s you who’s hiding something and refusing to tell him. That there’s something Oikawa is aware about, that he isn’t allowed to know.

It’s not his business, he surmises. You’re not his business. He swallows that bitter pill, accepting Oikawa’s offer with a brief nod. He’s not happy, that’s plain to see, but he knows better than to insert himself where he’s not wanted.

Calm, steady, comfortable. Iwaizumi will fight for what he wants, but not when it hurts you in the process.

He bids you a brief goodbye, voice tight and rigid, clearly displaying his dissatisfaction but accepting it nonetheless. He doesn’t even look back at you. It’s what you want, you suppose. Some distance from him for your benefit, so you can at least try and forget about how you feel; Save yourself from the devastation of falling even deeper in love with him. 

He enters Oikawa’s house. It’s a place you’ve been many times, slept over on many occasions yet, when Iwaizumi crosses the threshold with a strain on his shoulders and a grimace on his face, you can’t help but wonder if he’s finally going someplace that you can’t follow. If you’ve spent all these years pining over him, wondering if you would ever be enough for him, only to push him away into an area of no return. 

Oikawa doesn’t give you a moment to think long about it before he’s ushering you away from the crime scene where your uncontrollable and childish feelings have brutally injured a fraying friendship and guiding you home. He talks the entire time, about everything and nothing, and you’re rather grateful for the background noise. To finally think about something other than your broken heart and Iwaizumi’s betrayed face. 

He leaves you at your door with the promise that things will get better, that it won’t hurt so much, and that he’s always there for you. He places a sweet kiss on the crown of your head, turning his back with a final wave and leaving you alone with your thoughts. The promise of meeting one another again is unspoken, instinctive. You know deep down, though, it’ll be different from here on out. You’ll have to be more careful, more guarded with the things you say and do.

You wonder if Iwaizumi has as much trouble sleeping that night as you do. 

(He does. He doesn’t sleep at all.)

Things do get better, which is a blessed curse. The tension eventually resolves after a couple of weeks of tiptoeing around each other. Normality returns in full-swing and you’re able to talk to Hajime without the overwhelming feeling of guilt and need to explain everything; If he holds any issues about what happened that night, he doesn’t mention it, following your lead and letting the friendship return to normal.

The problem lies in the fact that Oikawa was ultimately right, and he makes a point to show that he’s right. That things did get better, and the fragmentation of your splintering relationship with the boy you love eventually gets patched up.

Life moves on.

The feelings don’t go away, but you get better at managing them. It’s significantly easier to push the pining down and not think too much about any passing romantic comments in school that pair you and Iwaizumi together; Nor do you think twice about the harmless flirting that occasionally comes your way. You dish it back, continuing the joking nature of the friendship and after a while, it doesn’t hurt so bad. You exit the stages of puberty and things don’t feel as hectic as they once were. 

The turbulent waves of emotions finally die down to a steady roll, and for a while, you’re able to float. It’s safe, peaceful, exactly how you want it to stay. 

That is until you’re seventeen, almost eighteen, and Iwaizumi asks you to be his fake girlfriend. The waves pick up steam and you’re drowning again. You have the girls of Aoba Johsai to thank for that. 

This time though, you’re determined to protect yourself. The anxiety of it all starts to settle in between your shoulders and instead of falling victim to the whims of an unsuspecting Iwaizumi once again, the urge to protect yourself and your pathetic emotions takes precedence. You will not be reduced down to the unconfident, love-sick girl you once were; You’ve worked too hard to do that. You matter more than Iwaizumi’s stupid girl problem.

It’s why you don’t think twice when you blurt it out after agreeing to help.

“We need a contract.”

“A contract?” Hajime parrots back, broad arms crossed over his equally broad chest and the intense training you’ve instilled in yourself to not stare at him meets its limitations, lest you stoop down to the level of the girls he’s so desperate to evade. He’s grown so much, physically and personally, that it's hard to not look at him. You force yourself to glance around the crowded cafe, look anywhere but his veiny arms, and instead replace your view with the small restaurant you two frequent every Monday— the only day he has off from volleyball practice. 

It’s a small establishment that sells teas and noodles, a pleasant find to make one day when the both of you were hungry pre-teens and full of time on your hands. It’s usually rather empty during this time as it’s just out of the line of sight to avoid the after-school rush of students, but today the line extends outside of the door, all attendees eager to have a taste of miso ramen and pushing against bodies to do so. The people behind you are respectful enough to give you as much space as one can afford in the cramped venue, but you end up still having to press yourself into the stiff body of the boy— no, man— beside you. 

You have the decency to look at least a little uncomfortable in the tightness of the situation, but Hajime shows nothing. Whether it’s because he doesn’t even care that your chest is bracing against his arm or he’s too distracted with the complicatedness of his “girl” problem, his face betrays no embarrassment at the closeness. No frustration, no discomfort, not even annoyance. He merely exists, dealing with your body pressed against his as if this were a regular occurrence and not an awkward preemption to the farce that you’ve stupidly agreed to. This would surely haunt you for the rest of your years. 

This man of steel, this monolith of lean, corded muscle, was going to be your “boyfriend” for the next couple of weeks. You would be lucky if this arrangement even lasted for that long considering the confession of pure unadulterated adoration is crawling up the canal of your throat and tearing the fabric of your skin, sticking a middle finger at the rational parts of your brain trying desperately to hold it back. 

Your fate is signed, knowing full and well that in your inability to deny Hajime— especially when he’s so desperate, which is a rarity in and of itself— you’ve willingly agreed to have your dignity and confidence stripped from your person and your feelings thrown in a loop for the sake of his sanity. 

It’s annoying. Every potential hypothetical plays itself in high definition across the theatre of your mind and each one ends with you being brutally rejected once again. There’s no way you could handle something like that again, no matter how much you’ve matured. 

This is a bad idea, and you need to tell him that.

But then the sight of pleading jades enters your vision and you distinctly remember the permanent frown that etched itself on Hajime’s face these past three months. Remember how the feelings of deep discomfort forced him to confide in you on a late-night phone call when sleep evaded him and he detailed the dread he felt at the prospect of going to school the next school day.

If your mouth even opened a fraction to breathe, you’re sure the “I’m in love with you and have been since sixth grade” will come tumbling out, but even the fear of that happening doesn’t overpower the overwhelming desire to help the man you’re madly in love with.

There’s a limit to what would be forsaken in the name of Iwaizumi Hajime’s happiness, but your sanity isn’t it.

The situation worsens when the subtle shifting of the patrons behind you throws you off balance and forces you impossibly closer to him. The shuffling of feet knocks into your own, tilting you off balance despite your leaning against Hajime. A rebuttal is on the tip of your tongue ready to be released in rapid-fire when Hajime beats you to it. 

He quickly wraps his arm around your waist, allowing your unsteady feet to find balance against his lean body of stone, clutching you tightly to his side as if the accidental push against you were a personal offense. 

The protective nature that so often lies dormant in his personality rears its head forward and you swear your heart stops beating altogether. 

“Easy,” he mutters, a layer of strict dismay interweaving in his words as he casts a pointed side glare at the two boys standing behind you. You hardly hear it, much too occupied with trying not to drown in the sudden flooding of his cologne in your nostrils. 

Musk and spice. His usual scent, but even more addicting when it’s this close. 

This is a bad idea. This is a horrible, bad, awful idea. Bad, bad, bad idea.

You have to end this. You won’t survive this. 

“C-contract.” You, somehow, manage to spit out, shaking your head free from the waft of his scent and the strength of his arm across your back. 

Okay, not necessarily ending this but protecting yourself. Yeah, that’s it. Because there is no way you want him to keep acting like this, no. You’re just doing this to help and totally not to selfishly indulge in the delight of being his, even if it is fake. 

He tears his narrowed eyes away from the boys behind you to glance at you, the remnants of disapproval flickering in the sea of green that you swear only evens out when he looks at you, “Right. What’s in this contract?”

“The, uh, basics,” you begin, voice slowly finding its footing after the intense whiplash you just experienced. You're surprised you can even form words that aren’t resembling proclamations of desire, “What we can and can’t do, how long this is for, and so on.”

“That’s a good idea,” He breathes out. The line shifts forward, and the cashier finally enters the field of view. With a quick recoil, as though his skin were burned by the action, he removes his hand from around your waist. The warmth of his arm rescinds with it, and that thirteen-year-old girl that has fantasized for years about this, whines in desperation. You quickly tell her to shut up.

He clears his throat, awkwardness filling the cramped and stale air, “Uh, sorry. About that.”

He avoids your eyes and you quickly look around too, “It’s fine.”

A silence ensues. It’s not uncomfortable, per se, but it’s a far cry from the brief pauses in conversation that usually occur between the two of you. The comfortable silences that occur naturally between friends of five years. You wonder if you should address it, address the fact that if you two were to pull this off— and pull it off well— there were going to be more moments when he was going to have to touch you like that. 

He was going to have to hold your hand and give you frequent hugs and actually act like he was in love with you. Act. 

You swallow at the prospect. Not like that would be hard for you to do, you think rather pitifully.

There are two more couples in front of you when you say, “I’d like to institute the first provision.”

Hajime quirks an eyebrow, his lips lifting upward, an obvious sign of gratefulness at being able to brush over that weird moment of physicality. He doesn’t know why it was instinctual, or why he even thought that placing his hand that low around your waist would be a good idea. But, he did it; And it’s quite the revelation when he realizes he didn’t mind it. 

At all.

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?” He glances at you to his right, the teasing smile gracing your features and the recognizable glint of mischief in your eyes. 

“You have to buy all of the food we eat together.”

He scoffs out a laugh, shaking his head, “I already buy all of our food.”

“I always pay you back!”

“You owe me at least three-thousand yen.”

“Okay, an addendum to provision one.”

“Shoot.”

“You buy all of our food and forgive my debts.”

He laughs louder tilting his head back as his teeth peek from his pink lips. It’s the bark of laughter that swells your beating heart with confidence. You may not have him romantically, but there’s no denial of the fact that he likes you in his life, especially when you can make him laugh like that, “I’m starting to think this contract is only beneficial to you.”

It’s your turn to raise an eyebrow at him, the body still tucked tightly beside his as feet shuffle forward in the line, “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m doing you a huge favor.”

“Trust me, I haven’t forgotten.” A silence befalls again, this one not as tense as before. A small smile plays on his lips and there’s a sincerity behind his gaze that reminds you of how appreciative he really is for this. Hajime isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to repay you for stepping in and helping him in the most intimate of ways that you most likely would rather not do. There wasn’t ever an expressed interest in the dating scene from you, always denying the occasional confession that came your way and never thinking twice about the romantic holidays that come and go.

He wonders why because if you tried, you’d have every guy within a ten-foot radius begging for your attention. Surely one of them would be worthy of your love. (He doesn’t agree though. There’s no one in this world who could ever be worthy of you. Not when you smile so brightly and tease so enticingly. No one would ever deserve that part of you. No one that he would ever approve of, anyway..) He’s not dumb in realizing that your willingness to engage in a romantic relationship with him— even if it is a fake one— is a large deviation from the norm. It’s not something to be taken lightly.

So, he owes you. Big time. Whatever you want, whatever you put in this contract, he’ll do. He’ll be the best boyfriend you’ve ever had. 

(Fake boyfriend, he has to remind himself. He swallows down the disappointment.)

“Thank you.” he breaks the silence, rubbing the back of his heating neck, “Again. For doing this for me. I don’t—”

“Ah, ah!” You interrupt, holding your hand upwards and wagging a finger at him, “I haven’t done anything yet, so don’t start thanking me so soon. Who knows? I might sabotage this whole thing, be the worst girlfriend you could ever imagine.” 

 The couple in front of you finishes their order, stepping to the side to allow the both of you forward. You step up, dragging him with you but you don’t miss the low throaty chuckle he emits when he says, “You like me too much to do that.”

He pats the top of your head, smoothing the fly-away hairs with a wink and a sly smile, and then, like nothing even happened, he steps up to the counter, taking the initiative and placing your usual orders. There’s both too much nuance and not enough to his statement to determine if you should be scared at his words. Does he know? Did Oikawa tell him?

You don’t even notice when he puts both food items on one bill. 

It’s then that you remember, with little humor like someone who’s forgotten a necessary step to an important project, that while you’ve done a lot of growing and building these past four years to fortify the walls of your heart, so has he. He’s stronger, more confident, more sturdy. 

Fourteen-year-old you built the walls for a fourteen-year-old Iwaizume Hajime. She didn’t even think to consider the damage eighteen-year-old Ace and Vice-Captain of the Seijoh Volleyball Team could do. Not with a spike those strong arms could make and a sea of green that you still drown in.

The first large crack in the barriers has been made. 

He turns to face you upon finishing the order, stepping to the side and bracing his body against the far wall of the restaurant to allow the next customers to the counter. That damn sly smile is still on his face, and it’s then you realize that he has to know. He has to know what he’s doing, or at least know that it’s doing something to you.

“So,” he tucks his hands into the pockets of his uniform pants, biceps bulging at the action “tell me about this contract, sweet girlfriend of mine.”

end notes: god damn glad that’s over. what did yall think?? too much? not enough? lemme know! i love reading all of your tags and comments, it fills me with such happiness :))))

tag list: @bruh-kill-me @owlnymph @airybnb @yukiilu-personal @cathwritestragediesnotsins @berna-dette​

#haikyuu iwazumi #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi x you #iwaizumi hajime x you #my writing #haikyuu!! #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you

[mitsukijuni]

dangggg,,, im scared of inazuma so this is what im doin now,, enjoy!!!

_____________________

So maybe it was part of his fault why the laboratory is burning. It's not like he was supposed to know that the bright neon green liquid could cause such an explosion unlike the slightly less brighter neon green liquid that he actually needed.

Nope, it's not his fault whatsoever even though those two vials had been helpfully labelled by the chief of alchemy, Albedo.

Okay maybe it was his fault but just by a tiny bit. A lot. He's fucked.

Timaeus looked on, eyes blank and empty, accepting his fate as it is. Perhaps he'll be let off, "It's alright,"  Albedo would smile and just cleaned up after the mess he made, which he of course, would help with. And, maybe it'll be worse than that, "You're no longer my student," he'd say, the disappointment obvious in his voice.

Either way, Timaeus knew he's fucked. Albedo don't just smile for no reason.

Now, he did try to extinguish it as best as he could but the fire only seem to grew and with that, the dread in his gut only worsened. He had to call Albedo. Rushing out, he was about to turn the corner when he ran, quite literally, into one Captain Kaeya. An 'umph' came from him, hands bracing Timaeus's shoulders.

"What's the rush," he had asked, light laughter accompanying. Timaeus was about to open his mouth when tufts of blond hair appeared from behind the one eyed captain. Albedo.

'Fuck,' Timaeus lamented. "Is everything alright, Timaeus?" The shorter man is looking straight at him now, bright turquoise eyes staring deep. Timaeus opened his mouth again, intent on telling the both of them what had happened and is happening.

"Well-" and as if on cue, the door to the lab was shattered into pieces, the explosion turning it into splinters and a resounding 'boom' broke the —previously— calm air. "That."

Albedo had dragged Timaeus by the arm then, shielding him away from the fire as Kaeya doused the fire using his vision. After minutes of "Freeze it," the fire had, thankfully, settled down.

Albedo looked at him then, "What happened Timaeus," he asked, ordered really, and by the looks of it, he already knew the answer and was only looking forward to Timaeus' response to it.

Finding that there's no way he can get out of this situation, Timaeus sighed, defeated. "Well, I mixed the wrong liquid in the potion you helped me with earlier and the rest is history," trailing off, he didn't dare to look at Albedo in the eyes, afterall it was just a simple concoction and he had fucked it up.

There was a beat of silence before a hand clamped down on Timaeus's left shoulder making him look up. "It's okay," Albedo smiled and that's when Timaeus knew he was going to die.

The blond soon left, leaving Timaeus alone with the cavalry captain, wondering what his punishment would be exactly. "If I were you, I'd prepare myself mentally," the captain chirped in, an eye —maybe both— squinted in amusement.

Night came and with that, an increasing feeling of dread in Timaeus's gut. He knew that this mistake of his wouldn't be left unpunished, and with the day ending, he couldn't help the sweats running down his back as he stay seated on the chair.

Albedo had left him a note on the door of his home, written on it was, "Be home by dusk, I'll be there soon." And here he was, fresh out of the shower, dreading the appearance of the alchemist. A sudden knock broke him out of his reverie, scrambling to his feet to get to the door.

Before he could even get a word out, Albedo pushed in, brushing past him and sitting himself on the edge of his bed. "Oh, um, hello Albedo," the other nodded in response, looking around the small room that Timaeus called home.

"Look, I'm really sorry about what happened, can you please just let this go," he rubbed his arm anxiously, hoping that it would appeal to Albedo's sympathetic nature, if he had any.

Albedo hummed, as if he was considering it, before saying, "No. Now strip."

"Pardon me?" Timaeus breathed out, stumbling backwards by an inch, stunned by what Albedo had said and meant, judging by the quirked brow and the slight smirk on his face. "Well, no, not yet. You still need to be punished afterall," he stated, as if he was talking about the weather.

Timaeus gulped, sweats forming like bullets. "Are you kidding right now," to which the other man let out a sigh for. "Do I seem like the kind of a person to kid around, Timaeus," he uttered his name almost, seductively? No, he must be imagining that but with the way the situation is escalating, he can't help but think of it that way.

"You heard me, strip."

Turquoise eyes gazed deep into him and he couldn't help but shudder under that look. Seeing that he can't really do anything in this case, he hesitantly stripped down every layers that he had on. And a deep part inside of him screamed in joy, almost as if it had been waiting for this day. Timaeus shook his head, willing the thought away.

Now, naked as the day he was born, he stood in front of the man, trying in vain to hide his genital. His body flushed red and his cheeks burning bright. Albedo spread his lap open, tapping on his thighs lightly with gloved hands. "Bend over," he ordered simply.

Timaeus spluttered, eyes wide in disbelief over what his mentor had said. Albedo merely nodded towards his lap, confirming the words that had came out of his mouth. He inched forward, with each steps making his legs shake. Fists formed as he bit his lips, and even with the different height statures, he couldn't help but feel inferior as he stood over Albedo.

Slowly, he crawled into the other's lap, awkwardly shifting himself to position himself on those strong thighs. "Uhm, are you sure that-" a hand came down his bottom. Timaeus yelped in shock, almost giving himself a whiplash as he swiftly turned to look at Albedo.

"What are, what are you doing!" The blond in question merely quirked a brow and before Timaeus could open his mouth, Albedo brought his hand down again, a quick snap that echoed in the room.

He moaned.

And just as quick, the room fell silent. Timaeus dropped his head down, groaning internally at what he just did. A palm settled on his bottom, startling him. The hand rubbed his bottom in a circular motion, almost soothingly, before Albedo leaned down right next to his ear, whispering, "You seem to enjoy that."

Another hit and Timaeus arched his back in a futile attempt to ease away the incoming pain. Strike after strike and he could feel that his cheeks was as red as his cheeks. Eyes shut, tears welling at the corner of his eyes, Timaeus could do nothing other then to just let it be.

Well, he could push the other man away, seeing as he wasn't really holding him down -not that he couldn't of course, hah- but alas Timaeus dare not to entertain the idea for he was enjoying it even though, his brain was screaming at him.

It was when a gloved finger brushed against his hole that Timaeus jolted back. "Ah! What are you-" Albedo simply cut him off by brushing against it once more making Timaeus shudder. Tearful eyes looked back into the other, gleaming, mischief filled ones. "Do you not like that Timaeus," the man said, a tint of laughter in that sentence.

Timaeus don't have an answer for that. On one hand, he did like it but on the other, this wasn't how he had imagined it in those countless imaginations of his where they both, well, fuck essentially.

At that, his blush deepened, scowling at Albedo who had a hint of a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Fuck it," Timaeus sat up the best he could, feeling the hardness grinding against the crack of his bottom, sliding in-between. "Oh," Albedo uttered, looking up at the other, eyes wide.

Hands twitching, Timaeus brought his arms up, hovering an inch shy away from Albedo's cheek, dusted with red. A gulp and he finally brought his head down to catch Albedo's lips in his, palms lightly settled on fair skin. Timaeus deepened the kiss further, slipping a tongue in, to which Albedo hummed in surprise.

A hitch of breath and Albedo was stunned momentarily at the feeling of Timaeus rubbing down on his cock, breaking away from the kiss to catch his breath. Timaeus smiled down at him, loving the effect that he had on the other; his façade crumbling, red covering his face, flushed. "Did you liked that?" This time, Timaeus was the one who whispered it into Albedo's ears.

It sent a shiver down his spine seeing that Albedo had no response to that, breathing in short, heavy huffs. "Fuck," was all that he said before he stood up, making Timaeus stumble back in the process.

Timaeus felt as if his own façade had shattered, gone was the confident filled persona of his as he stood in front of the other, not knowing what to do. Without warning, Albedo stripped down, all lean muscles and tiny scars covered his body. With a force so unexpected from the small figure, Timaeus was shoved down onto the bed, a small 'oomph' escaped his lips.

There was a moment of silence, a beat as the two looked at each other, both breathing heavily before Albedo slowly kneeled on the bed, encaging Timaeus in-between the space of his legs.

Timaeus gulped.

Not long after, Albedo's hand slowly trailed down his figure, over his chest, his navel, before settling on his cock. He circled his length with a palm, jerking it languidly, Timaeus could feel his breath quickened. The man hummed appreciatively, "Like what you see, Timaeus," he whispered his name out like a secret, a dirty little secret that only exist in this moment.

He nodded, mouth opened as his eyes seems to have a mind of its own, following the slow jerking motions of Albedo's hand, the head of his cock disappearing from his view.

"I want to hear you say it. Say how much you love looking at me jerk off, how much you've been fantasizing about this, how many times those fantasies have made you cum," with each words, Timaeus could feel himself growing hard, not only by the sight, but also by the authoritative tone that Albedo had said it with.

Dare he say, it was eliciting quite the reaction from him. Albedo stopped moving his wrists, "Say it." Timaeus hesitated before saying, "I, I love seeing you jerk your cock off, I love how the pre-cum spills all over your finger,"—Albedo continued to stroke his cock—"I've always fantasized about this happening, how I would fuck you, how you, how you would fuck me and make me scream. The amount of times I've came just by imagining you were jerking my cock."

A beat. "And I love you."

Albedo swiftly stopped.

Timaeus was, simply put, doomed. Of course he just had to ruin this whole, thing and now Albedo was going to walk away and dismiss this as if it never had happened.

But to his surprise, the other man simply let out a small laugh, "That took you long enough," before inching himself closer that his still hard cock grazed against Timaeus's chin. Beet red was the colour of his cheeks as he stared at the cock in front of him, dark red was the head and dripping with pre-cum.

He licked his lips, eyes shifting upwards to look at Albedo; a silent look of obedience and wanting to be given a permission. With lidded eyes, Timaeus lolled his tongue out, an invitation for the blond to push his cock deep down his throat. And push he did, tears welling up as he could feel the tip poking at the back of his throat.

Albedo didn't move for a while, giving Timaeus a minute of comfort and with a hum of approval, he pistoned his hips, catching the man off guard. Drool spilled and trailed down his chin and he could do nothing but to just take it in deep.

With both palms on Albedo's thighs, he braced himself upon the incoming onslaught, the other man's weight slightly settling down on his chest leaving him even more breathless as it is.

Albedo leaned over him, arms propped up on the frame of the bed, his hips wildly bucking into the wet mouth, fucking it like there's no tomorrow. Timaeus let his hands fall down to the side, gripping the bedsheets till his fists were white, his face crimson. He lets his mouth slacks open, now a mere hole for Albedo to fill with his girth.

A stutter and Albedo pulled out just as sudden, drawing out a whine from Timaeus over the lost feeling of being full. Hand fisted in tufts of brown hair, forcing Timaeus to look up to the other, "Aren't you a good little slut," he said before letting his grip loosen.

Albedo leaned down, peppering kisses all over Timaeus's skin, down his chest, navel, before settling on his crotch. A lick along the length of his cock nearly sent Timaeus over, his back arched.

He braced himself, anticipating the warm, wet cavern that was Albedo's mouth when he felt himself folded, back rested on the thighs of the man. Timaeus craned his neck, wanting to have a better look at what was happening only to see the red tongue peeking out of those lips.

That's when he felt that tongue of his lapping at his hole, his head thrown back once more. He could feel the hairs on his neck stand as Albedo flattened his tongue against his hole, the tiny hairs surrounding it brushing against his nose. He stretched a hand out to try and hold the other's head, intent in trying to stop him but an arm reached out, pinning his own on the bed.

Tiny flickers of the tongue swept lightly over the sensitive skin, his hole twitching. Albedo pursed his mouth, nipping and sucking on it, the man under him writhing; struggling under the vice grip that he had on his thigh. It was only when Albedo had prodded on his taint, that Timaeus jolted up, balancing himself upon his elbows, "Ah!" He cried out, eyes shut tight whilst Albedo continues to lick wet stripes upon it, blowing cold air over it when he finished.

The brunet slumped back down, his chest heaving; glistening underneath the light, sweat covered. With a wavering voice, Timaeus dared to speak, "Won't you, um, fuck me already?" he averted his eyes, feeling sheepish by his own unabashed question.

"Who said I was going to fuck you," Albedo chuckled, his eyes set into a fixed gaze on him, head leaned upon a palm. Timaeus felt his heart sunk at that, a look of disappoinment on his face. Hands wrapped around his legs, interrupting his thoughts as the abrupt motion pushed him back down. "We have days ahead of us, surely you can wait," the blond muttered against his shin, his cock nudging on Timaeus's thighs.

"Oh," was the only thing that crossed Timaeus's mind before he felt the cock sliding in-between the slit of his thighs; created by tightly squeezing his thighs together. Timaeus gasped at the sensation, his cock rubbing up and down against Albedo's own. Brows furrowed in concentration, Albedo rammed in, each time harder then before.

Toes curled, Timaeus could feel his climax inching closer, suppressing moans from escaping his lips. With a shuddered breath, Timaeus came, his cum landing on his stomach; mingling with the layer of sweat covering his skin. And with a hitched gasp, Albedo followed soon with his own climax, staining the insides of his thighs. Exhausted, Albedo collapsed next to Timaeus, one hand circling the brunet's waist.

Thump.

"So, about what you said, could we," Timaeus trailed off, eyes fluttering; heavy with drowsiness. A kiss on his cheek was the only answer given to him, a pair of lips hovering next to his ear, "Go to sleep, Timaeus."

And sleep he did, a comforting warmth staying by his side all night long.

#genshin impact #genshin smut #genshin fanfic #genshin albedo #genshin timaeus #genshin impact npc #smut fic for npc pls they need more love #genuinely cant read my own fics #questioning my life decision #god cant see this cause im on tumblr!!!

[livesincerely]

im not feeling the best right now emotionally so i am here presenting you with a free space to ramble about whatever you want because your writing genuinely cheers me up so much

Hello darling!! I’m sorry you’re in a rough mindset, sending all the good feelings and well wishes your way 😘💕✨💗⭐️💕😊✨💗

So, I’ve been thinking a lot about that most recent, how would a proposal/wedding happen in the domestic au? prompt.

It’s so funny, I’d never really thought about a domestic au wedding until I got the ask, but now that the question was put forward, I’m finding that I have a lot of thoughts about it (because of course I do lol.)

I’m not sure yet if this will end up being a whole thing like the holiday fic did, but I definitely have a solid idea for a single moment/one shot that I’m excited about—hoping to get that finished in the next few days!

Here’s a sneak peek at what I have so far! Most of it is stuff you’ve seen before in that original ask but more polished, but there’s some new stuff in there too.... ☺️😉

00000

“So, when are you gonna get married?” Tony asks apropos of nothing, looking between him and Davey with keen interest.

Jack barely manages to keep from choking on his cereal. Davey, who’d been in the middle of spreading a bit of lox on a bagel, slowly sets down his knife.

Charlie aims a kick at Tony under the table.

“You’re asking them now?” he hisses. “I thought we were gonna ease them into the idea!”

“There is no easing them into the idea when it comes to Jack and Davey,” Tony says, his expression tight with the exasperation of the long suffering. “You gotta give it to ‘em straight, right from the get go, ‘cause they’ll never figure it out on their own.”

“Hey,” Jack says weakly, but he doesn’t have a leg to stand on and they all know it.

“So, I’m asking,” Tony determinedly continues as if Jack hadn’t said anything. “When are you gettin’ married?”

There’s a long pause where he and Davey just stare at each other, neither of them quite sure how to respond.

He gets this from you, Davey’s expression says, clear as day.

I know he does, Jack says with a commiserating look, holding back a sigh.

“Well?” Tony demands when the silence stretches on for too long.

“It’s probably a little soon to be thinking about marriage,” Davey eventually says, far more delicately than Jack would’ve managed. “We haven’t talked about it at all yet⁠—”

“Because we only just got together yesterday, Tony,” Jack dryly interjects. “In case you forgot about that little detail.”

“—And we should probably start with the question of if we want to get married before we jump to the when,” Davey concludes.

Tony’s nose scrunches up, obviously dissatisfied with this answer.

“Of course you’re gonna get married,” he says, as if this is plainly obvious. “You’re basically married already, I just wanna know when the wedding’s gonna be.”

“Um.” Davey’s gone faintly pink. “Well, like I said, Jack and I haven’t talked about anything like that yet. We’re comfortable the way we are now, no need to rush into anything⁠—”

“And since we literally only just got together yesterday,” Jack says again, a little more emphatically, just to make sure the point lands, “getting married right off the bat would be all kinds of crazy.”

Tony levels him with the flattest look in all of existence. “You’re crazy if you think you haven’t already been married to Davey for years.”

Jack’s voice catches in his throat, a little blindsided by the truth of that statement. Davey’s mouth opens and closes, the rosy flush of his cheeks shading a touch deeper.

“We’re not thinking about gettin’ married just yet,” Jack says once he’s steadied himself, in a tone that brooks no further arguments. “Dave and I will talk about it when the time comes, if⁠,” he stresses clearly, “we decide that’s what we want.”

“But what, exactly, is holding you back?” Tony asks, stubbornly brooking further arguments anyway. “Like, do you have any actual reasons?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s none of your business,” Jack snipes back. “Given that that’ll be a conversation between me and Davey.”

“I just don’t understand what the big deal is,” Tony says, crossing his arms across his chest. “Pretty much nothing would change, except that the next time someone assumes that you two are married, they’d actually be right instead of simply noticing what was so obvious that even complete strangers clue in to it⁠—”

“Tony,” Jack groans.

“—coming to the perfectly understandable conclusion that you’re together⁠—”

“Tony, that’s enough, we get it,” Jack says.

“—instead of the inexplicable reality of the situation which was that you were, in fact, not together, despite being in love with each other for eight entire years because you’re idiots⁠—”

Jack covers his face with his hands.

“—and given that, like, every aspect of your lives are already tangled together, it’s not really that big of a step for you to just go ahead and make it official.”

Jack sighs so hard he feels it in his bones. “If we promise to talk about this, will you please stop talking about it?”

“Eight years, Jack!” Tony cries, impassioned. “That’s half of my life! That’s more than half of Charlie’s life!”

“Do not bring me into this,” Charlie quickly interjects, “I am a passive witness and nothing more.”

“You’re such a fucking turncoat, Choo-choo,” Tony mutters with no real heat. “You’re supposed to have my back on this.”

“Maybe if you could ever actually stick to a plan,” Charlie grumbles back.

“We’ll talk about it,” Jack says loudly, interrupting their bickering before it can gain any ground. “Okay?”

There’s a moment of blessed silence.

Then Tony says, “So, like, right now? Or…?”

“Sure!” Jack says, throwing his hands up in defeat. “Why not? Clearly, I’m not gonna get any fucking peace until this is sorted—

“Finally!” Tony exclaims. “God, was that so hard?”

“—so go away,” Jack finishes.

Tony’s mouth falls open.

“What do you mean, go away?” he protests, looking genuinely shocked. “Why?”

“What do you mean, why? I’m not gonna let you sit here and fucking… moderate our conversation, dumbass,” Jack sputters. “Get out!”

“But I really feel like this is the kinda conversation that needs moderating,” Tony disagrees. “It’s not like either of you have a great track record for effective communication⁠—”

“Anthony Ethan Higgins,” Jack warns, nearly at the end of his rope.

Tony rolls his eyes so hard his whole body moves with the motion. “I am literally just trying to help, you don’t gotta get all defensive about it⁠—”

“Jesus Christ, Tony,” Jack says, completely and utterly done. “Will you please just⁠— Just go somewhere that isn’t here.”

“But are you gonna talk about it?” Tony insists, really digging in his heels. “Because if you’re just gonna not talk about it the second I leave then I think I should⁠—”

“Tonio, juro por Dios—”

“Tony, honey,” Davey finally steps back into the fray, far calmer than he has any right to be, and somehow, miraculously, Tony’s mullish expression softens into something a little chagrined. Jack gapes, wrong-footed by the sudden change. “I think you’ve made your point and given Jack more than enough heart attacks for one morning, yeah? So why don’t you go ahead and give us a few minutes, and I promise we’ll talk about it.”

Tony deflates. “Yeah, okay.”

“Thank you, baby.”

Tony shuffles away, mollified for now. Davey pauses, then says, “Charlie, that means you too.”

“But I didn’t do anything!” Charlie protests. “I’m just sittin’ here, tryin’ to eat.”

He takes an exaggerated bite of his bagel as if to prove his point, eyes extra wide and innocent.

“Charlie.”

“But my food!”

“Take it with you,” Davey suggests, very patiently.

Charlie looks as though that thought hadn’t occurred to him.

“Okay,” he says, scooping up his plate and scurrying after his brother. He hesitates in the doorway, then adds, “My vote is for an autumn wedding, if that counts for anything.”

“Charlie.”

“Going!”

Once he’s sure they’re both gone, Jack heaves another massive sigh.

“They’re such a pair of little shits,” he says, to Davey and the world at large. “Fucking hell.”

Davey takes a drink of his coffee, holding out his other hand to Jack in offering. Jack reaches over and laces their fingers together, most of his irritation slipping away in an instant at the simple contact.

“But he is right, you know,” Davey comments lightly.

“I know he’s right,” Jack grumbles, rubbing his thumb over Davey’s knuckles. “Don’t mean he ain’t a little shit.”

“Well, naturally,” Davey agrees. “He’s related to you.”

“Oh, please,” Jack says with a snort. “That little spiel of his was all you. ‘The inexplicable reality of the situation’,” he mimics, his voice landing in some strange imitation of Tony mixed with Davey, which ends up not really sounding like either of them. “It was like hearin’ your voice comin’ outta Tony’s mouth.”

“And it was a well thought-out argument,” Davey says pertly, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a wry grin. “His timing could use some work, though.”

“Ain’t that the fucking truth,” Jack says, taking a bite of his cereal⁠ and immediately making a face—it’s gone all gross and soggy during the craziness, because of course it has. He pushes the bowl away with a mournful look. “Didn’t even let us finish breakfast before pouncing.”

“Well, it has been eight years,” Davey says, and he’s definitely laughing a little now. “Guess he’s afraid of a repeat performance.”

“Sure,” Jack says with a shrug, because that part had been hard to argue with. More than half of Charlie’s life, Jesus. “But he was talkin’ like he expected us to walk down the aisle this afternoon. I mean, we can’t just get married. You don’t just get married.”

“Most people don’t,” Davey says, tilting his head. “But then, we aren’t really most people, are we, darling?”

It takes a moment for this statement to fully land for Jack⁠, and when it finally does, it lands with a boom.

“Are you sayin’ you’d marry me?” Jack asks, utterly floored, his heart pounding an unsteady rhythm in his chest.

“Are you asking me?” Davey asks, calmly sipping his coffee like he isn’t rocking Jack’s world, right here over breakfast, for the second time in not even two days.

#newsies #javid #*ask #*editor's note #bits & bobs #*the writing desk #the domestic au #i hope this helps a little! #😊✨💕⭐️💗✨💕

[lokisimps]

A Promise (Jean)

 TW:!! THIS FANFIC HAS SELF HARM, AND BLOOD. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

Request: Can I ask for Jean x fem reader? angst(self-harm-reader) to fluff?

A/N: sorry this turned out shorter than i expected! 

Jean sighed, tapping her fingers against her desk. Her eyes moved down to watch the clock laying on her desk, before flicking back up to the door of her office. Normally she wasn't one to nitpick details, but when you started being more tired, not around as much, she got worried. You usually weren’t one to make her wait for long which only made your lack of presence worse. She let out another exhale and stood up to her full height, letting her heels clack against the floor slightly. She was going to go find you and ask you what was wrong. Jean was prone to worrying even if you asked her not to, its just in her nature. Jean began a brisk pace out of her office. She found herself walking towards the library instead of the door.

“Ah Jean, won’t you be a dear and help me bring all these books down to Kaeyas office?” Lisa asked, not even bothering to turn around and meet the blonde's eyes, if she had she would’ve been able to pick up on Jean's distress. Jean found herself smiling a bit in Lisa’s presence, her friend was always there for her no matter the trouble. 

“Oh, i actually had a question for you…” Jean said, her thoughts trailing off at the end as she stared at the pile of books Lisa was working on. She wasn’t interested in the books, Kaeyas business was his own after all, she was just thinking on how to word what she wanted to ask. Lisa spun and upon meeting Jean’s thinking face let out an amused puff of air. “Looking for Y/n?” Lisa smiled and quirked an eyebrow at the Acting grandmaster. The slight blush that crept on Jean’s face and the way her gaze snapped up from the books infront of her to meet Lisa’s was enough to give the mage her answer. “Well actually..” Lisa started, her brows furrowing as she thought back on the strange girl. “I haven’t seen her around much recently. The cutie came over to give Klee her hat back and then left and I haven't seen her since.” Lisa shrugged. It really wasn’t her business to keep track of Y/n, Though she did note that the young girl hadn’t been coming by to visit Jean, or Klee, nearly as often as normal. Jean sighed and gave Lisa a slight bow. “I’d love to help you with your books but-” The electro mage cut her companion off with a wave of the hand and a snort. “Go on now, I'm sure she will be thrilled to see you stop by.” Jean smiled and let out a quick thank you before dashing out of the library.

---------------------------

Jean arrived at your house’s door. She smiled at the small place, She had helped you pick it after all, and even saved with you to make the downpayment on the place. Her and you had such sweet memories there, Cooking, dancing together to silly songs, you braiding her hair in different patterns before work, watching klee- well maybe the last one wouldn’t exactly be sweet. Jean lightly knocked on the front door trying not to anxiously rock on her heels. 

“Y/n?? It’s me, Jean. We were supposed to meet today?” She tried not to call it a date, though it really was. After a few moments of no response she knocked again. “Y/n??” her voice was gradually getting more distressed. The idea that you weren’t home briefly crossed her mind. “Better be safe than sorry…” she mumbled to herself already thinking of places to check after. “I’m coming in!” She announced to the door. While Jean was more than ready to go grab the spare key you kept hidden for her, what she wasn’t ready for was the door being unlocked, and what she was even less ready for was the smell of iron, the smell of blood hitting her. The familiar smell brought back images of battles, images of wounds. The din of the streets behind her was suddenly overpowered by her heart pounding in her ears. What if you were hurt? Did somebody attack you? Did you get hurt in battle and not tell her? Should she get the healers now or later? A single sound broke through her thoughts. It was shuffling from the other room.

Jean rushed to the other room, her body kicking into overdrive. She didn’t even bother closing the front door behind her, anyone who would try and do anything shady would pay later. As soon as Jean turned the corner her eyes widened at what she saw. Your room was a mess, bottles of cider or even a few of wine littered on the floor. Tissues everywhere, there were cups and plates stacked to the roof of your room. The most concerning sight was you sitting on your bed, holding a small cloth to your arm, the cloth was a dark grey, but it had visible dark red stains blotting it. Next to you on a different small cloth was a square sharpened piece of metal, what to her dismay looked like an arrowhead turned more into a blade on one end. Your eyes flashed up to meet hers, she looked so scared. Jean was scared, she was terrified. 

While Jean may be one to push herself into denial, she knew exactly what was happening here. The way you looked at her in shame and shock, eyes wide and watery with clear tear stains running down your face. She wanted to hold you, kiss you and tell you’d it’d be okay, to cradle you in her arms and never let you go again, but she also wanted to yell, to ask you what the hell you were doing, why you would hurt yourself, why didn't you tell her, did you not trust her? This wasn’t about her however, Jean took in a shaky breath and extended her arms in front of her passively.

“Hey there darling….” her voice was soft and calm. She sounded comforting and warm, like she had it under control despite the slight shake in her slow steps towards you. Warm tears started to stream down your face as you watched the way she looked at you. You never wanted to make her sad, or worried, but here she was in front of you, concerned and almost crying. You pushed the towel a little harder against your wrist without thinking about it, the push caused you to flinch at the pain. Jean made her way to the edge of the bed and knelt slightly in front of it. You watched her with curious and guarded eyes. Why wasn't she yelling at you? You deserved to be yelled at. Jean reached out a tentative hand to your wrist, causing you to instinctively pull away from her. She grimaced at this, as if your denial of her caused her physical pain. 

“...Can i please heal it? It will do much better than the rag…” Jean asked, her voice soft and barely above a whisper. You looked at her almost suspiciously. The blonde watched with bated breath as you mumbled

“I…...i don’t want you to see it…” you swallowed after you finished. Your throat was dry and aching at you to drink water, it caused your voice to come out low and horace. Just hearing you talk seemed to put a crack in Jeans composure, she knew she shouldn’t, but she was blaming herself for letting this happen. Jean looked up at you with pleading eyes.

“I want to help you, Y/n… please” The last word left the knights voice weakly, a gentle plea. The look of sadness in her eyes made your heart ache and caused you more pain then anything you had done to your body. Drawing in a breath of air and turning your head you removed the cloth from your wrist, wincing as it caused the cuts to begin to ooze again. Nothing could compare to the way your entire body tried to retreat at the gasp that left Jeans mouth. You felt so ashamed, so… dirty, so gross. You closed your eyes not wanting to see it yourself. After a moment a warm hand moved to gently touch the bottom of your arm, the injured part. You could feel it trembling as it tried to steady your arm. Jean gently guided your arm forward to rest on your leg, and moved her hand to hover above the injury. The sensation of flowing cool air surrounded the top of your arm, creating a tingling sensation you recognized as the wound slowly closing. 

Jean's other hand, still gloved, reached out and took the Bloody towel from you, setting it down on the floor next to you. What shocked you was when she grabbed your uninjured arm and started guiding it somewhere. A sob found its way rising to your throat when your free hand connected with Jean's face, it was wet, she had been crying. 

“Y/n…..” her voice cracked. Archons that hurt. You opened your eyes and shifted them down to look at her, and what you saw will be forever burned into your brain. One of jeans hands had created a bubble of ameno slowly healing your arm, her other was holding your hand to her cheek, her lips were trembling, her eyes were streaming tears that now made your hand wet. She looked so sad…. Had you really done this? “...why” was all she asked. She was shaking but trying her best to conceal it. You opened your mouth to talk, to say anything, to give her a reason why. She was sitting inches away in front of you, staring up with pleading eyes. 

“I-.... i don’t…” you trailed off. How were you supposed to think when all you wanted to do was comfort her, tell her you were okay even if you weren’t, even if that was what got you into this mess, you didn’t want her to worry or cry over you. Jeans head fell forward and met your lap, her body shaking into sobs she couldn’t control anymore. The hand that was once on her face left suspended in air. 

“I was so worried-” she choked out. The hand that was with yours left to fall forward and hold onto the leg of your pants, to hold onto you. “You didn’t come by- and when i got here and smelt the blood i-” she got cut off from her own cries. Your injured arm had stopped bleeding by now, but would still need time to fully heal or you would re-open the wounds. Your free arm reached down and pushed its way into her hair, hoping the simple familiar gesture would comfort her in someway. You watched her shoulders shake as she held onto you and cried. Small “im sorrys, im so sorry” was all you could muster out, you were now crying too. The two of you stayed like that, her head hidden in your lap, clutching your clothes as if you’d vanish in front of her if you didn't. After moments of silence, only filled with quiet sobs and whispered apologies, Jean raised her face to look at you.

“Promise me.” her voice came out clearer than it had since she entered the building. Her bright blue eyes piercing yours in a resolute. “Promise me you won’t….” the words hurt her too much to say, her quick glance at your injured wrist told you enough about what she was referring to. “Promise me you won’t. Promise me you will talk to me, or someone….please” the grip she had on your clothes squeezed, you couldn’t tell if it was to emphasize what she had asked of you, or if it was unintentional. You leaned forward, maintaining eye contact as you lightly tapped your forehead to hers.

“I promise you.”

#jean #genshin #genshin jean #Genshin impact #i cant use hashtags #Jean x reader #hurt/comfort #fem! reader