#(had to repost bc tumblr hates me)

[incaensio]

@fatefought ( cont from this )

katniss rolls her eyes. his behavior (and hers) is nothing unusual, and, arm in arm with haymitch, she forgets momentarily of any sort of audience. "a party, in this place, is not a joyful thing." she presses on what feels so obvious — how can he feel comfortable to laugh and drink, when he knows what he knows? (who knew the capitol could bring some light to haymitch? it's all his prep team and the alcohol's fault, but still.) however they go at it, it is reassuring to have haymitch, even if she wouldn't admit to that fact; he knows so many people, and actually manages to ease them up. it never ceased to impress her how haymitch could actually be charming to these people. "are we teaming up with 11?" he had spoken, now and then, about his friend from 11, chaff; secretly, she had hoped it had been the case, even if she was not all that familiar with chaff, because she could not help but to gravitate towards the tributes from 11 (she probably shouldn't, though. she's made it clear they can not rely on her by now, hasn't she?). 

she is quick to fetch her own bowl, and even more so to fill it with some ladlefuls of her favorite soup — she’s not in a sampling mood right now — and to take a nibble out of a piece of plum. “he’s babysitting someone else right now.” she says. if their tributes had any chance to captivate some audience of their own, it would be by peeta’s graces, that much she knows, so she can’t even complain he can’t stick around her to hold her sweaty hand. that only means haymitch is stuck with her, but that’s his misfortune. “worry about the taste of the food, not mine.” she grumbles, with a quick movement fetching a seemingly normal roll and pushing it to her mentor’s hand. “gotta soak up all of that.” she explains, as if reasoning her taking care of him is necessary, even now.

#had to repost ours too bc tumblr hates me and wouldnt let me reblog it properly sorryyy #eventideevent01 #( this is with beta/the new editor ) #— 𝐾. 𝐸. : written.

[scuopsie]

Does anyone else feel… bored? Not even necessary on tumblr. But in mbb verse or kpop in general.

Like… monsta x are on tour and i feel like we have so little content (especially here on tumblr)? Which doesn’t make sense.

#this is more of a rant than a complaint #and definitely not a complaint at update accounts. thats not what this is about #like sure we’re getting fancams every stop but thats not all concerts were about #i mean… I remember from my previous experiences when my ults would tour aside from getting the usual fancams #we’d be getting so many interaction vids going viral #and ments #ments were so huge…. they were usually different at every concert and after every shown we had to wait for them to get translated #(ofc this isnt the case here bc mx are touring the us and they either speak eng or they have a live translator) #but i feel like im barely seeing anything new every stop #idk if they’re not happening or they are but just not going viral #like… sure there are a lot of clips on twt but i fucking hate consuming shit there #and no one reposts stuff on tumblr anymore #Ame is inactive and im clearly not doing it #and i know these clips arent something update accs usually repost #like does anyone else remember having 3-4 different angles of an interaction or an incident that everyone would talk abt for days? #like i cant tell if im growing out of mx/kpop or is it just genuinely not as fun as it used to be #i dont even make sense to me so if anyone else feels remotely the same please come forward im going insane ldfkkdkd #niki screaming into the void #another thing #weren’t a lot of these old hilarious vlives that we talk abt to this day from tour eras? #like them just doing group vlives in their hotel rooms and doing/saying dumb shit? #what a situation bro? prank call? minhyuk and jooheon’s secret bonding experience? #im pretty sure all of this happened in hotel rooms #AND SO MANY MORE

[sttoru]

⟣ note. ehem, this was based of a request but didnt show in tags so i hadta repost again bcs tumblr hates me from time to time

⟣ tags. dad!toji x female reader. pure fluff. hearing baby megumi’s first words.

it wasn’t unusual for you to get terrorised by your husband when you have megumi in your arms, but lately, it’s been getting worse. your son was at that stage where he was babbling nonsense, trying to create words that actually do make sense. megumi was most active in your embrace, where you’d encourage the little boy to say his first audible word; ‘mama’.

“say ‘pa-pa’, c’mon buddy.”

but of course, your husband desires otherwise.

toji was cuddled up with you on the couch and had his arm wrapped around your shoulders whilst megumi was on your lap. toji held one hand out towards his son so he could tap against it—megumi taking the opportunity to slam his tiny hands against his dad’s rough palm as hard as possible.

“mm, bla-bla!” megumi blabbers, pouty lips covered in saliva due to him constantly using his mouth to talk to his parents. in his own baby language.

“oh, that was close,” you hum and lean your head back against toji’s chest, “i can’t lose now—c’mon ‘gumi, say ma-ma!”

your husband grins as you make a competition out of the situation. he wasn’t one to back down either;

“no, pa-pa.” toji reminds his son, bringing the attention back to him by gently wiping the drool from megumi’s chin with the pad of his thumb, “i’ll give ya snacks if you do.”

it seems like you were both determined to catch megumi’s first word in person. the small child was in his own world in the meanwhile, still smacking toji’s big hand as if it was the most fun activity to do.

“mbwah.. pa!”

toji’s face lights up and he takes the chance to snatch megumi from your lap, lifting the boy up in the air, his chubby legs kicking around as your husband held him up above the two of you; “almost there, buddy— c’mon, say it twice. papa.”

you both look on in anticipation. your gaze landed on toji’s face and you swore that you felt your knees go weak. you haven’t seen toji look this excited for something in a good while—his lips tugging up in a bright, soft smile instead of his usual grin, eyes sparkling whilst they glance up at megumi.

you were sure that you’d be fine if megumi’s first word were going to be ‘papa’, toji deserved it. plus, you’d love to see him gush and be happy about that achievement (though you don’t look forward to hearing your husband brag about it 24/7).

“papa. pa-pa.” toji tries to coax his son out of pure excitement. megumi was cooing and babbling other incoherent stuff, but that didn’t stop his father from trying again and again.

you looked up at your son and waited for the moment to come—to hear the first word spill from your baby’s lips.

megumi looked down at toji who held him up above the two of you, his blue orbs going from his mom to his dad, making grabby hands towards both, tiny mouth opened the entire time;

his saliva gathered near the corner of his lips as he tried to figure out what to try and say next. both toji and you were too caught up to even notice the small trail of saliva trickling down his bottom lip. the string of drool ended up falling right on your husband’s eye;

“hey!” toji groans, putting megumi back down on his thighs and giving the baby a gentle pinch on the cheek, “do ya hate y’r daddy that much?”

“you okay?” you grin and use the sleeve of your sweater to wipe the drool away from toji’s face. the dark-haired man nods at you with a feign smirk on his lips as he then randomly decides to be overdramatic again in front of your son.

“ugh, no,” toji hisses and holds his hand up to his right eye, acting like he was in immense pain in front of megumi. you roll your eyes at toji’s dramatics, however the little boy didn’t look as unfazed as you; “papa’s hurting—ouch.”

megumi stops anything he was doing and tilts his head a bit, bottom lip trembling as he realises that his dad was ‘hurt’ and now groaning in pain. his arms reach out towards toji;

“pa..pa? papa?”

silence. both toji and you were stunned to the core. you looked at toji and he looked back at you— both trying to confirm that what you heard was indeed megumi’s first word.

as if on cue, megumi’s adorable voice calls out for his dad again, hands still tapping against toji’s cheek; “papa?”

toji stares at him with a shocked expression for a few more seconds before finally hugging megumi tightly to his chest—a confused noise leaving your child’s lips at the suddenness of the affection.

“my boy,” toji sighs, his nose nuzzling against megumi’s small neck, causing the little boy to laugh at the ticklish feeling, “my boy.”

you can’t help but smile at the sight—toji hugging your son like his life depended on it (but not too much to the point that it’d be suffocating), megumi almost disappearing from sight as toji’s big body enveloped him entirely—the blue locks sticking out were the only indication of your son still being present.

toji wasn’t going to free megumi from his embrace any time soon. the new emotions he was feeling were overwhelming—too much so that you started to question if he was actually tearing up. you couldn’t see his face, but you could sense something changing in the air;

“aww, come here—both of you.” you hum and join the family group hug, rubbing toji’s back whilst kissing his forehead.

a new core memory was created and you were more than content with the outcome.

. . .

#ෆ : parenting 101. #jjk x reader #toji x reader #jjk fluff #toji fluff #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #toji x you

[norrizzandpia]

i think this would suit lando but you being down and lando comes over later at night and takes you the park like two little kids, i can just imagine lando being a big kid at the park lmao

I’m going to need someone to love me like the fictional lando i write abt 24/7

We Can Be Kids For Right Now (LN4)

Summary: When her week has tried to suffocate her, Lando turns up at her door and forces her to remember just how worthy she truly is.

Warnings: mentions of heavy anxiety attacks, anxiety in general, language

Note: a draft bc im wrecked rn from this trip im on im so tried lol… I hate that I have to start saying this but I do not condone the reposting of my work without proper crediting or permission. If you wish to post my works elsewhere, it needs to be ran by me first by messages over Tumblr. If found that you have taken my works without my knowledge, I will report you and get my posts taken down from your blog.

Y/n never truly realized she did it until Lando, but when the man started to get close to her, he brought it to her attention that she so easily isolated herself when she started struggling. Even the smallest inconvenience and she shut down, something that irritated the hell out of Lando. Nevertheless, he loved her and the way she dealt with her emotions was something he knew she just needed to work on.

However, the problem they couldn’t get past was her ability to tell him when she was struggling. There were only so many times when he could see it written all over her face.

His comments urging her to open up to him when she was having a hard time dealing with it on her own bounced around in her head as she clutched her phone in her hands, his contact picture brightening her screen. His smile beamed back at her, almost coaxing her into tapping the call button, but her thumb hesitated. It wasn’t that she was afraid of telling him, it was that she was uncomfortable with her own emotions. Uncomfortable of leaning into them. Growing up, she was never given that ability, her parents not having the full capacity to address them head on. She never thought it truly affected her until Lando. She started realizing that he never gave her a problem to be scared, but she still was.

Her thumb had a mind of its own, though. Thankfully. And the ringing tone met her ears before she could even know what was happening. His picking up happened before she could even begin to think about hanging up the phone.

“Baby!” His cheery voice rang through the quiet room and warmed her tender heart. “What’s up? Why are you up so late? Do you want a sweet treat again?” He giggled, his TV pausing in the background.

She was silent. Her mind raced as she tried to make the split second decision of telling him or not. Though, in her silence, he began formulating an answer.

“Y/n…” He whispered, blankets rustling as she imagined him sitting up on his couch.

“Lan,” She said brokenly, albeit with an effort of trying to sound strong.

Keys rustling and his rushed, “I’m on my way, baby,” were her response.

—

Lando knew where the spare key was. It was one of the first things he asked the location of after they first said I love you. Y/n would always laugh at that memory. What she was expecting after the three words were shared was a small kiss or a hug maybe, but no, he had asked her where her spare key was. When she showed him and he very clearly took a mental note of it, she asked him what was so important about it.

“I’m your boyfriend and we’re in love. I should know where the spare key is, baby.” He had said to her so nonchalantly, as if it was societally normal to have that thought process. She just shook her head at him and took the kiss she wanted for herself. He wasn’t going to do it anyway, too entranced in the image of her spare key under her doormat. He was shenanigans bundled into one person. She loved it.

His rapping on the door pulled her from her memories. She drudged over, taking a deep breath before opening the door. He stood there in his pajamas, puffer coat thrown over haphazardly, and stared at her sympathetically. He shuffled in, arm rounding around her shoulders as he kissed her head, “Hard day?”

She sighed, “Hard week.”

He led her to the couch. The layout of her apartment was memorized in his head. “What happened?”

“I just-” She picked at her fingernails and the anxiety she usually felt when Lando asked about her worries began bubbling up. Maybe it was growth, but she thought he’s already here, isn’t he? Might as well lean on him.

So, she did. Literally and figuratively.

Lando squeezed her body as her side laid on his and she started reliving the low moments of the past few days. “Everything has gone wrong this week. I just can’t seem to win and I can’t make anyone happy.”

Tears filled her eyes and a frown appeared on her face. She cried into his shoulder when he pushed her body further into it.

Lando sat with her for a moment, rubbing her back. “That’s not true, Y/n. You make a lot of people happy. You make me really happy.”

For some reason, his comment shot fear through her body and she pulled from him. Her eyes looked anywhere other than his and the irrational idea of an expectation Lando had set for her that she did not believe in herself to meet took control of whatever plan she had to open up to him.

Lando saw it in her eyes, how distant they got. He knew this was bound to happen. It had been too easy. She had opened up to him without that much restraint and he expected a moment to come where her walls rebuilt themselves.

He just wanted her to let him in.

His hands took her face, “You deserve me. You will not let me down. You could never let me down.” He said, knowing exactly what was running through her mind.

“Y/n, look at me.” He tilted his head to meet her eyes and forced her to keep his stare, “I love you. That will never change.”

She cried harder, “I can’t even open up to you, Lan. I’m not even a good employee at a job I’m overqualified for. Yesterday, I handed in that presentation to my boss that I had been working on for weeks and when I presented it to the board of all fucking people, there was a grammatical error on one of the slides. I had confused ‘your’ and ‘you are’, Lan. It was embarrassing. They laughed and joked about it after. I can’t even fucking do my job. And I upset my mum on Wednesday. I hung up on her during an argument and now she isn’t talking to me. I’m being condemned, Lan. I can’t fucking breathe. My dad’s texting me, telling me how disrespectful I had been, but nobody hears about the parts where she called me an irresponsible adult and ridiculed me for taking a job that didn’t make me that much. Nobody wants to hear my side of the story, the part where she was so grossly unsupportive. Then, I had to cancel on Cameron on Tuesday again because I’m so fucking tired and so fucking busy. She got mad at me and now we’re in this fight because I’ve neglected our friendship. I’m a shit friend, a shit daughter, a shit worker, and it’s so obvious I’m a shit girlfriend. I can’t fucking do anything right.”

By the end of her rant, she was breathless and Lando could see she was talking herself into an anxiety attack. Her hurtful words toward herself needed to be dealt with, but he needed to stop the panic seeping into her skin.

He took her hand and kissed her head, “Come with me, my love.”

She kept crying as he led her to his car, his arm wrapped around her body securely as he whispered words of reassurance in her ear. He reminded her of how strong she was, of how much he loved her and admired her for everything she was. How wrong she was about everything she had convinced herself of.

When he softly laid her in the passenger seat, he kneeled down and kissed her shoulder, brushing her hair off the skin lightly. He looked up at her with deep green eyes filled with safety, “Don’t listen to your mind right now, baby. It’s only telling you lies.”

He lightly closed the door, running around the car to slip into the driver’s seat. When he turned the engine on, his hand settled on her thigh and began rubbing softly. He backed down and drove down the road, toward a small park at the end of her street. It was quick, maybe a minute or two, and Y/n was still crying when they parked, but it subsided momentarily when she saw where they were.

“Why are we at the park?” Lando grabbed her hand and kissed the knuckles.

He laid his cheek down on the back of her palm, murmuring, “Because it’ll be fun to be kids for right now. Not have to think about what you’re going through. We can address that later.”

A sigh of relief left her chest. The moment he had given her an opportunity to run away from it all, even for a few minutes, she almost began to feel as though she would find peace.

He always knew exactly what to do.

She gathered herself, wiping away the tears and smoothing down her hair as Lando walked back to her door, opening it and offering his hand as help for her to get out of the car. She took it. She always would. The cold air hit her body and she shivered. Lando was immediate in offering her his coat.

She shook her head, “No, I’m okay for right now.” She was just now realizing how she hadn’t gone outside in days. The cold air made her feel alive again.

Lando’s hand continued to clutch hers as they took steps toward the large structure. When she let go of his, he tensed, but he relaxed when he saw her wandering over to the slides.

She climbed up the ladder, him following behind, and found herself sat in the entryway of the whirling slide.

“Wait, wait!” Lando yelped before she could push herself down. Her head whipped around to meet his eyes.

She smiled and her body warmed when his found a seat behind her, his body consuming her and his hands wrapping around the low point of her waist. His ear right beside her ear, he kissed the top of the skin, “Now, you can go. We can go down faster, no? Seeing as I go fast for a living.”

His questionable logic made her laugh before he was pushing them off and the two were turning fast around the corner of the yellow tube. Her giggling ensued with the way he jostled them around on purpose to make the slide more exhilarating for two twenty-four year olds. And in the heat of the moment, seeing her hair float in the air and a carefree smile on her face, Lando wished she could see herself the way he did. She was superb, unbelievable. She held the strength and courage of someone so commendable. She was kind even when she had seen things and experienced trauma so young that should’ve, understandably so, made her bitter. She was merciful even when she shouldn’t be and she loved Lando in a way he had only ever dreamed of. The way she treated him, the gentleness she approached him with, was something he knew he could never let go of. She was beautiful in so many other ways than just her appearance. She was deeply beautiful and he wished she could just understand that.

When they reached the end, their bodies stopping abruptly right at the edge, Y/n laid her head back against his shoulder. He kissed her temple, “Fun?”

She nodded with a smile, “Somehow, you did make it faster.”

He shot her a look, as if to question why she didn’t believe him in the first place. He pushed her off him, sprinting to the swings and screaming for her to follow him.

“Lando! Be quiet! You’ll wake up the entire neighborhood!” She whisper-yelled at him, laughing as she ran after him.

He threw himself in the seat and began swinging his legs, no doubt gaining momentum but beckoning her over for help nonetheless.

She stood behind him, bracing herself firmly on the ground as she pushed his heavy body up off the ground. When he would meet her back on the ground, he’d lean back so his back would almost come crashing into her front. It made her laugh.

“Lando!” He couldn’t see her, but he knew how radiant she must’ve been looking. Even in his head, he continued to fall in love with her.

She kept pushing him until her arms got tired and she flopped away from him, onto the ground, in a heap of heavy breaths. When he didn’t feel her small hands on his back anymore, he jumped off the swing and joined her on the ground.

It didn’t matter how cold it was or how dirty it inevitably was, they were together and Y/n’s smile lingered on her pretty face.

Lando’s hand laced with hers in between their bodies as he softly whispered, “You’re not a shit daughter, your parents don’t know what they have and they’re too emotionally immature to realize that. You’re not a shit friend, Cameron knows that, you’re just struggling and that’s okay. You’re not a shit worker, you’re actually heavily valuable to your boss and the people around you. They’ve all told you that. And Y/n, look at me,” She turned her head to meet his meaningful ones, “You are not a shit girlfriend. You are the complete opposite. You are everything I’ve ever wanted and could ever ask for. You have no idea how in love with you I am. It’s even hard for me to understand sometimes. There is no one I have ever loved, love, or will love more than you. You are the most important thing to me, so please stop talking about yourself in this way and believing in something that has never been true.”

Everything about the moment is gentle. From the way his thumb caressed her skin to the enunciation of every word that came from his mouth, he made it clear how much love prospers for her within him every day and every minute.

She turned on her side and took his cheek in her hand, “Thank you for helping me, Lan.”

His hand squeezed her waist, “Of course, my love. You’re my favorite.”

She felt her heart blush, if that’s even possible. Maybe her face was the one blushing? She didn’t know. The way Lando looked at her as if she started life itself made her mind feel fuzzy.

Fuzzy enough to realize he was right. She wasn’t a failure or a horrible person. She was a human who made mistakes and many people loved her in spite of it. Lando being one of them.

He loved her in a way she had always craved. She both needed and wanted him. So did he. They were the beginning and end of everything for the other. It showed well that night as they held each other on the concrete of that park. It showed well because, at one am on a random Saturday, Lando had dropped everything he has doing the moment he heard the anguish in her voice. It showed well because Lando’s clear words made Y/n realize he wanted her and no one else. There was no one else like her, no one to ever replace her. Not that he would ever want that anyway. She was completely unique in the most precious way and maybe… just maybe… she was beginning to realize that too.

#mclaren #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fluff #lando norris imagines #lando norris fic #lando smut #lando norris smut #lando x reader #lando imagine #lando norris #lando norris x you #lando norris edit #lando norris blurb #lando norris fanfiction

[sh1-n0bu]

♡︎ 𝙞 𝙙𝙤 𝙖𝙙𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 ♡︎

anon asked: nobu could you do something with scara and feminization?? thank you!

characters: sub!scaramouche x nb!dom!reader

warnings: edging, overstimulation, praise, dacryphillia, feminization, just scara fucking himself stupid on your cock, as always cock can also mean strap on

notes: i gotchu nonnie, i gotchu😌 also scara is a bit of a yandere here ig??? this came out much more softer than i imagined. as a fellow scara-nation person, SCARA NATION COME GET YALL FOOD🗣

reposting bc tumblr has started a war against someone they can’t beat by deciding to suddenly flag my posts as mature

“aah! aanhg! m-mine. mine mine mine! only mine! n-no one else’s! mine! minemineminemine-gyaah~!”

bouncing on your lap with a cute purple, lace lingerie and stocking on was your sweet boyfriend. eralier today when you had your friend and co-worker drop by your house to drop off some of your work documents, scaramouche saw how awfully close you two seemed. your friend even gave you a hug! so he decide to surprise his loving partner with a gift.

after finishing the documents, you didn’t expect your cute boyfriend to be sitting on the bed with the latest lingerie you bought for him. pink nipples being seen through the bra and his already hard cock poking a bit out of the panties with the stocking hugging his thighs just enough to cause a little pudge, he looked absolutely delicious. throwing himself on you and guiding your bigger hands to roam around his body, scaramouche started grinding himself on your legs.

“aww love what’s this gift for?” kissing the old hickeys and marks on his neck, you gently squeezed his ass. even that little action seemed enough for scaramouche to moan in your ears.

“just-just wanted to make you happy” came in the breathy response of your short lover. he oddly seemed quite desperate today. wearing a cute set, throwing himself on you, selfishly grinding his ass over your thighs. but it’s not like you were against it. if your sweet boyfriend was feeling nice might as well enjoy it.

dragging you to the bed by the collar of your shirt and pushing you down on the bed, he seemed more like himself now. straddling your crotch and grinding himself, scara started mumbling and whining about some stuff about how you’re his and he belongs only to you. how you should only look at him, need no one else but him and something along the lines of it.

and that’s what led to this point. with your sweet kuni fucking himself stupid on your cock.

“[n-nameee]~ please? h-help me! ca-anngh aaGKK! pleasshee~ help me! tired. shoo tired nngk~” whining about how tired he is and how he can’t ride your dick anymore he looked down at your face with a pitiful look and tears running down his cheeks. but you only smiled at him and squeezed his hips, gently making him grind down on you. he sometimes hated how easily in control you are.

“shhh, it’s alright baby boy. you can do it. i know you can. do it like how you always do okay? up and down baby boy. up and down” toying with his cherry red tip with one hand while guiding his hips to meet yours, scaramouche found himself growing more and more desperate. soon enough he came with a loud yell of your name and fell on top of you like a deflated balloon.

“aww you did such a good job darling. surely you don’t mind if we go a few more rounds right?” flipping yourselves over and kissing his cheeks you asked him for his permission. he can get overstimulated a bit too easily at times. nodding and smiling dumbly up at you with hearts in his eyes with a dazed look, this was gonna be a long night.

#nobu.writes #sub genshin impact #sub genshin #sub!genshin impact #sub!genshin #sub!scaramouche #sub scaramouche #sub wanderer #sub yandere #dom gn reader #dom!reader #dom reader #x dom reader #dom fem reader #dom male reader #genshin impact x reader smut #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #scaramouche smut #wanderer smut

[thevirgincherry]

BLIND ITEM !

ft. og re4!leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. actor au, smut, leon is an ass, some misogyny duh, reader vomits once like non-sexual context, breaking and entering, dub-con that turns to just consensual sex, only one threat of violence :3

note. comm for the sweetest ever @liableperfections / 🪩 anon :3 plot credit goes entirely to her literally had to cut so many words down it was 10k before bc i was so excited ab it so if it seems choppy I’m so sorry… 😭 ignore my attempt at navigating la.. it’s so confusing usa system is so confusing .. ignore any typos :3 feedback n rbs always appreciated!!! REPOST CUZ TUMBLR HATES ME.

Malibu Beach is a terrestrial paradise. A post-apocalyptic Eden of sorts ‘cause there’s no tree of knowledge or any apples— Only thing Malibu Beach and Eden have in common is the naked ladies. It’s the best part of both. Which to Leon is factually correct, but to be politically correct as Hunnigan, his PR manager, would say it’s an opinion.

No need for serpent-induced bedlam, hedonism is at its peak, the fall of man is in full swing. There’s more snow than grains of sand. Leon’s world comes to life in bottle greens and muted blues, water glittering like a diamond behind the dimmed lenses of his aviators.

He snags a cabana close to the shore, draping curtains to keep him safe from blinding cameras and prying eyes and drab women who are more naked than they are clothed. From afar it’s a great sight. Up close it’s a whole lot of cellulite and over-plumped lips and over-plucked brows. Leon’s not picky, his standards are not high, he’s only asking for the bare minimum. Nice face, nice ass, nice tits— It’s expected, but it’s not an expectation ‘cause that would mean girls have to try and live up to it, but most of them come that way. Well, they’re supposed to come that way, but some girls got a little busted on the flight over from heaven.

Ashley faces him, she should be careful when Leon’s around, he pulls on bikini strings more than he tugs on his own dick, and her bikini has started to look especially stringy.

“Can you get my back?” In the light, her lashes twinkle like gossamer wet with morning dew.

Don’t need to ask him twice. Leon’s hands traverse the plains of her back, he coats her skin in lotion like the finest of pâtissiers would a cake, angling the spatula downwards to smooth thick buttercream into pastel swirls of perfection. It’s only SPF10 ‘cause Ashley’s more focused on getting an even tan and less worried about skin cancer.

They’ve been hanging out between filming. Ashley pisses him off with her hoity-toity shit, someone swapped out her brains for that rack, but she’s hot so Leon keeps her around. And to be completely honest, his perpetual state of ennui had been smashed like brittle glass by Ashley alone. If it wasn’t for her, he’d still be riding the Raccoon City wave. Biggest blockbuster to come out of 1998. That’s a big feat. Competition was big names like Deep Impact, The Horse Whisperer— Oh, who is he kidding, nobody remembers that crap, but everybody remembers Raccoon City, the Resident Evil sequel that hit the ball out of the park.

The Resident Evil series is on its fourth instalment, and Ashley Graham insisted he come back to reprise his role; she wanted to act alongside Leon S. Kennedy and no one else. She stinks of money and Chanel Cristalle. Her dad is the studio head, so Leon’s kissing up to her, takes her cruising in his Bugatti Veyron up and down Rodeo Drive. They never breach the Platinum Triangle, he fears Ashley’s diaphanous skin would erode the moment unfiltered air hits her, melt off her bones in fleshly strings until there’s a skeleton rattling around in his passenger seat.

Ashley’s back is real nice. Like, the skin is super clear and creamy white and her shoulder blades stick out the same way a slinky feline’s do. If he could use anorexic as an adjective he would. Not quite, but almost.

“That feels so good, Leon.” He catches the tail end of the glance she casts over her shoulder, it’s flirty and he knows what’s coming next. Ashley’s spine straightens, skin pulled taut to the jagged bone, she twists her upper half and pouts directly at him. She pouts a lot for someone so scared of wrinkles. but when you’re this rich, the de-ageing secret is just Botox he guesses.

“C’mere,” Leon adopts a wider stance, spreading his thighs so she can curl up between them like a cosy pup in bed. “Hey, cutie.” He traces a thumb over her lips which are a milky shade of pink, fingers curling up beneath her chin to tilt her head up towards him.

She’s giving him bedroom eyes. Feathery lashes fanning his skin with the pace at which she bats them, like hummingbird wings beating against the wind. Leon is so going to get laid. Ashley’s nails rake over the sinewed flesh of his sculpted thighs, a testament to his athleticism, he does all his own stunts you know? Shit, he’s about to get the sloppiest head of all time, his dick is about to be degloved by that perfectly puckered pout, suction must go crazy—

In a single sweeping motion, the flimsy curtain is drawn back, fluttering in the same way Leon’s gut lurches. He can’t tell the difference between butterflies and nausea. It all feels the same to him. He half expects to be struck dumb by celestial flashes of camera light that gets him hotter than the sun.

However, in a much more pleasant turn of events, he spots a black whale tail that leads his sharp eyes to a bead of sweat dripping down a toned abdomen— Her belly button sticks out which Leon hates, but those tiny hotpants make up for her faults. They’re so short the flappy pockets are visible, distressed denim fringe brushing nice thighs that have got to mean an even nicer ass is right behind.

The face is even cuter. Round cheeks yet to shed baby fat, the apples smattered with charming freckles, her reddish ponytail is stiff with salt water. “Move,” she demands in a dictatorial fashion as if the world would bend to her will, rolling over and baring its belly like an appeased dog under her command.

Leon, against his better judgement, stays put. Who even are you, lady? The audacity of some girls, must be a fan of some kind. A clammy hand lands on his leg. Feels more like a dead fish left to rot on the docks. He shivers inwardly, prying sticky fingers off of him to clarify what the actual fuck is going on.

There’s a pretty girl in your peripheral. Not Claire. She’s not pretty in the way Claire is. She’s model pretty, might be a model or an actress or both, or neither. Just plain old pretty. But, it’s not plain, it’s extraordinary really. Polly Pocket dolly plucked from her compact home— Oh, gosh, your stomach is fucking killing right now.

Life is crazy, right? One minute you’re sucking face with a cute guy from Europe, and the next minute rotgut Mai Tais are not pairing well with the sweltering Malibu heat. And now you have reached the gates of heaven, fat-bellied clouds and Polly Pocket and something firm in your hand like a muscled calf. Not like a muscled calf, it is a muscled calf and it belongs to the most devastatingly handsome man you have ever laid eyes upon.

You anticipate the sprouting of wings from his back, the halo of Malibu sunlight that crowns his dirty blond hair to form an actual fucking halo. Holy fuck. You hope God can’t read your thoughts right now. Praying is out of the question, that’s like directly asking God not to press the big red button— Everyone presses the big red button, and then God would cast you down to hell in a fit of disgust. All ‘cause you want this angel to put your thighs to your chest and fuck you boneless with his seraphic dick.

“What the fuck, man?” Is the angelic knowledge he imparts upon your dying body. You feel like you’re being cooked alive, hot oil bubbling your skin.

“What is your problem, man?” Claire’s utterance comes at the same time.

“Hey, Claire,” you greet weakly.

“Hey, babe.” The back of her cool hand rests on your forehead, the heat is going to sear her skin like a piece of Grade-A beef. “Listen, man, can you just take your girlfriend and go?”

“She’s not my—“

“Leon, let’s just go.” The blonde girl loops her arm around this divine being’s bulging bicep.

Claire closes the curtain to shield you from the sun. It brings forth a wave of relief to your sizzling body, doused in floral breeze and sea-salt-infused linen.

“Aw, babe, you’re fucked.” She fans you lightly with her hand in hopes that man-made wind is enough to combat heat stroke or alcohol poisoning or whatever it is.

“You can head back, ‘m good here,” you slur, “gonna take a nap”

“You sure?” Claire pets your head, you see past her composed exterior, inside is a girl who’s mourning the loss of that cute beach bunny who ran for the hills the moment you started to emanate the smell of sickness.

“Mhm.” You nod, a sluggish movement that makes your liquified brain slosh about in your head. “I’ll be okay.”

“I’ll come check on you later, yeah? Just stay right here for me.” She lays a damp towel over your lower half and you feel like a bit of a beached whale. Like, fucking slack and stupid and heavy with sleep. It’s so unfair. Your one day off and the excessive day drinking comes to bite you in the ass.

Your nap is plagued by divine visions - getting to sink your teeth into that angel’s biceps. So life is not all bad. At least you’ve still got wet dreams to keep you going. The sun has sunken beyond the horizon, dwindling light paints the landscape a burnt orange, the deepening blues of the water taking on a coral hue as you poke your head out past the cotton curtains.

In the distance, you spot a mildly Claire-shaped dot with a ponytail. She’s still having fun so you make no move to bother her, instead you gather your belongings in a methodical manner. Beach towel folded at the bottom of your bag, cover-up slotted neatly into the side pocket. Water bottle and sunscreen on top - making sure to check the caps on both are tightly screwed on. Purse, keys, phone. You’ve got it all.

Though you’ve regained a sense of self - whatever you were going through a few hours ago that was an out-of-body experience - a tight knot lingers in the depths of your gut. It’s lodged in your throat. You proceed to the bathrooms located near the car park, beach bathrooms are not the nicest place on earth, but you’re not going there for a relaxing retreat, you’re there to unload the unholy amount of vomit that sits in your stomach like sunken rocks in a burlap sack.

Your gait is slightly off, it’s hard to navigate the beach in rubbery flip-flops, limping as your feet are anchored into the sinking sand with each step. After a treacherous journey over the colossal (read: totally flat, flatter than a brown rat’s feet) dunes, you’re granted access to the mildewy washrooms— The door swings open and collides with your delicate skull. A surge of nausea hits your system like adrenaline, pumping through you, and you pitch forward, hands on your knees as you hurl.

“What the fuck? Are you stupid?”

His voice is like the gentle tinkering of bells or a choir of angels, it’s thick and smooth like molasses, a knife through hot butter. All of the above. Even when he’s swearing the unholiest words you have ever heard under his breath. It’s him, the guy from before. And you just missed vomiting on his feet. Narrowly. He did hit you with a fucking door though. So there’s that.

“Oh my gosh, are you okay? I saw that!” The cute blonde from before has swiftly joined his side.

“I’m fine, Ashley, she ran into me.” Ashley… Ashley…You might’ve seen her on a billboard somewhere in Hollywood. Certainly looks the type.

“Not you, asshole, oh my god, Leon. Are you serious? You hit her!” Her voice is like money. Papery thin, but there’s substance to it. Makes the world go round. Makes you happy. This concussion might be making you woozy enough to feel happy. “Oh my god, are you, like, okay?”

You clutch at the wall of the beach hut-shaped washroom, steadying yourself. “I’m good, yeah, I’m really good, thanks for asking.” The vomit is gone from your system, that’s a step forward, but now there’s an ugly bump forming on your head.

“What if you have a concession?” Ashley frets, she makes no move to step closer as she would have to manoeuvre the puddle of vomit.

“A concussion.” Leon corrects, he side-steps to make a swift and graceful exit from this situation, making a beeline for the topless convertible parked a few rows over. Oh, shit this guy is like a big shot, and you almost puked on him. Keyword almost.

“Leon! Hello? We can’t just leave her!” She waves her arms at him wildly, like she’s flagging down a rescue helicopter.

“Oh no, my friend’s still here, I came in her car,” you begin, smiling sheepishly as she has made you feel a little like an abandoned puppy. Or a nuisance.

“No, no, you’re sick, like, really sick, and Leon hit you. He totally owes you.” Ashley insists, a delicate hand grasps your wrist in a surprisingly firm grip. “Get in the front.” She’s demanding not in the same way Claire is, but in the way of a spoiled little girl. It works for her, and you plop down on a leathery seat that sticks to your skin. “Leon, I’m gonna meet daddy over in Carbon, so don’t worry about me, okay?” She flutters her fingers at him. “Behave yourself!”

Shit. This car costs more than you would on the black market. That makes you nervous. The guy makes you even more nervous. The way he’s glowering at you— What an asshole. Ashley’s right, he hit you hard, you so deserve a swanky ride home.

“Are you stalking me?” He asks, sunglasses perched on the top of his head, he looks like a total asshole, levelling you up with those glacial eyes.

“Excuse me?”

“Are you stalking me?” He’s like dead serious right now.

“Why would I be stalking you?” There’s genuine confusion on your face, at least that’s what you want Leon to believe.

“Funny,” he scoffs, “real funny.”

“I’m sorry, what’s so funny?” You blink at him stony, gaze unwavering.

You, bitch. Acting like you don’t know him, like his face isn’t plastered all over California. In every nook and cranny. From flagship stores to beige vegan cafes that are frequented by a handful of hipsters and bored trophy wives alone. “Nothing,” Leon settles on, you can play dumb all you want, but this isn’t his first rodeo with stalkers.

In your hand, your Nokia beeps, and much to his annoyance, you pick it up to make casual conversation with whatever creep that’s put you up to this plan. “No, I didn’t mean to scare you, Claire. I literally kinda, I don’t know, it’s hard to explain, but I’m safe, okay? I’m in a…” You trail off, casting a sideways glance at him, “I’m in a taxi right now.”

He squeezes the steering wheel white-knuckled. You’re playing with him right now, and it’s not fucking funny. A little pathetic if anything.

“Yeah, I got enough cash on me to make it back, don’t worry about it. I will, I will, yep, okay. Bye, Claire.” You drop your cell phone into your beach bag and it falls quiet apart from the prowling growl of his engine.

“Where you need to go?” Leon asks, his teeth grinding together, offset by his clenched jaw.

“Santa Monica.”

“That’s helpful,” he says dryly. “Long way over.”

“I’m just being safe.” You shrug. “It’s half an hour, where’d you come from anyway? Beverly Hills?”

“You’re being unhelpful,” he repeats to cement the fact that he is going out of his way to be an upstanding citizen and help stupid girls who walk face-first into doors no matter how stupid they fucking are. Leon’s soft spot for girls is clearly limited. “Bel Air,” he adds a moment later, “but you know that, don’t you?” It’s in every tabloid, don’t gotta be a stalker to know where he lives.

“No, I do not, I seriously don’t know who you are, man.” Your profile is nice enough, not an eyesore, lips look kissable, you would look nice at his feet he decides. Girls like you need dick in your mouth to learn a few things about shutting up.

“You got in my car.” Leon points out.

“I was forced into your car.” Comes your rebuttal.

“Listen, I don’t have time for your shit, just tell me.” Leon never raises his voice at women, that would be a brash decision, girls hear a slight shift in tone and go cuckoo. When you talk to them all nice and sweet they turn to putty with no regard for the subject matter at hand. Could be harvesting a few organs or taking a couple billion out of their trust fund, it doesn’t matter, they’ll be stuck swooning.

“Don’t talk to me like that.” Look at you, you think you’re the shit. “I can get home from the boardwalk.”

Leon is a lot of things. He is an asshole, he would feel like more of an asshole if he made a chick walk home in the dark. He swallows his pride and he swears his Adam’s apple bulges out further than usual. “I’ll take you home, no sweat, I owe you one.”

“I’m good, I want to walk.” You are one stubborn bitch.

“You could use the walk,” Leon says, a slip of the tongue. He didn’t mean anything by that. Listen, it just came out. Promise. You’re testing his fucking patience.

You bristle beside him, to his surprise you make no move to insult him in turn. “Who are you, even?” It’s thrown over your shoulder coolly. “Like, am I supposed to know you?”

“Leon,” Leon says, and to his knowledge there are no other Leon’s in Hollywood - Leonardo DiCaprio does not count.

“Doesn’t ring a bell.” You’ve gotta be messing with him. It’s working, you’re driving him insane.

“Okay, sure.” He bites his tongue, and soon enough you tell him your address. Not the nicest part of Santa Monica, not the worst part. Definitely not Downtown L.A. so that’s good.

The velvet sky is frosted by stars, and it is a beautiful night for road head which Leon really fucking deserves for putting up with so much shit. If it were Ashley by his side he would’ve been forced to pullover more than a few times on the drive over to The Flats.

He pulls up in front of a house that looks to be made of paper mache. Wow, you’re slumming it. Leon makes an unmitigated promise to himself to never be seen around these parts ever again. The air is different, and there’s so many bad smells and oh my lord is that a homeless woman? He better leave before she knocks on his car door to offer him a good time.

“Bye, sweetheart,” Leon tells you because he is the prime example of a gentleman. “Not gonna thank me?”

“What an asshole.” You don’t even bother to say it under your breath, just to his fucking face after he dropped you off in this ugly, grey neighbourhood in his gorgeous convertible.

He forgets about you by morning. Leon has seen more women than a gynaecologist will in their lifetime. You’re another forgettable rack. That is until the following week. A blind item drops. He skims the page.

Blond guy… Plays a lot of action-hero roles… Good with women… Total Asshole… Something about harassment… Something about a full article dropping next week…

Sounds like Leon alright. Hunnigan is on his ass about it. Ashley is on his ass about it. The director is on his ass about it. The staff are looking at him funny. The room is spinning. Leon is going to take a prop gun and shoot himself. He’s managed to keep his asshole status under wraps, money and dick go a long way for girls— Shit, that bitch from Santa Monica. You were not an easy lay, there was no laying in fact. He didn’t offer you sympathy dick to make up for whatever he said to get your panties in a twist.

Leon checks his watch— Filming can wait, Ashley can wait, he won’t be long. Traffic is a nightmare, this sheepskin jacket is sticking to him - only time he has ever lamented having a roofless car. He shrugs off his costume, lays it over the headrest of the passenger seat. Your place is the crumbling stack of bricks tucked into the far corner of a street that is more litter than street.

He knocks on your door firmly, afraid it’ll knock down the paper walls. You don’t answer. He knocks again, taps his foot, and you do not answer. Leon tries the handle, he’s fucking desperate, okay? This film— The premiere has to go smoothly, he has to be back in the limelight and then you can go around making as many accusations as you please, send the pitchfork-wielding mob his way the moment promotions are over.

The door opens. Leaving your door unlocked in a neighbourhood this rough, oh, honey, you’re just begging for it, aren’t you? He steps over the threshold, the door clicks shut behind him, he moves forward in deliberate strides like he knows his way around. To be fair, there’s not many rooms to explore, not Ashley’s sprawling marble landing. From the top of the stairs, he hears your voice.

“Claire, is that you? I just got out the shower, wait there!”

Babe, you got ready for him? That’s cute, he hopes you shaved. The floorboards creak under his boots, climbing the stairs to face the open door of the bathroom. You’re in there, facing the mirror, wrapped in a baby blue towel. Easy access. When you spot him in the reflection, you drop the tub of cleansing cream in the sink basin, it splatters at the same moment your scream shatters the silence.

“What— How did you get in? Why’re you in my house? Get out!” All questions that Leon would answer if you shut up. You’re a stupid little thing, backing yourself into the wall until the back of your knees bump the bathtub. “Oh my god—“

“I let myself in, door was open, babe,” Leon says smoothly, “That’s real dangerous, y’know?”

You clutch at the shower curtain and almost bring it down on your head, Leon pries your fingers from the material as his hands find purchase on the fat of your hips. “Get off me— Get off, get off, get off!” Your spine straightens when he taps your cheek sharply. Huh. That worked. Is that what you need to loosen up? A nice, hard fuck. Some dick in that lonely pussy of yours.

“Hey, calm down, it’s just me.” The guy you think you know all about. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“You’re breaking into my fucking house, you fucking psycho, why would I want to talk to you?” Little fists hammer away at his chest, nails catching on his chest holster that looks more like BDSM gear than anything useful.

“You kidding me?” Leon captures your chin, his touch is anything but tender, a tactile intrusion that leaves crescent-shaped impressions on your jaw. “Had a lot to say in that article.”

“Is that… Is that what this is about?” You catch your breath, trying to appear nonplussed, though you tread carefully in trepidation. “The article isn’t even out yet-“ A soft whimper betrays your confident front when Leon bows his head to meet your eyes.

“Look at me when you’re speaking,” he instructs, and you do. What a good girl. “Okay, there you go, baby, continue.”

The disdain that spoils your pretty face intensifies at his words, and yet you can’t look away. Cute. Head says one thing, pussy says another. “I’m not- I’m not making Claire drop the article, this is the biggest scoop she’s ever had, and you’re gross.” You stand your ground. “You’re an asshole, I hope nobody ever has to deal with your shit again, I hope you get blacklisted, like, forever and fucking ever. I watched your shitty movies, I could do better than that and I got a D in drama class, you’re just hot and you get away with it-“

“That’s not very nice.” Leon talks to you like he is scolding a misbehaving child. Which you are. A rash little girl driven forward by noisy temerity. “We talked once, sweetheart. I wanted to go on a second date, what a shame.” He’s glad you find him hot though.

“Fuck off.”

“C’mon, you’re too cute to be using nasty words like that.” His teasing is not taken in stride, you elbow him in the gut and squirm out of his grip. Leon recovers fairly well, his fingers catching the hem of your towel, unravelling it like a spool of thread. He draws you closer, naked, wet body flush to his clothed one. Nice tits, tick, cute ass, tick, he wants to see how you’d look in a tight skirt, one that hugs your stomach and hips and the tapering of your waist. The type Hunnigan wears when she means business.

And shit. Your pussy is the only thing cuter than your face. Shaved bare like you knew he was coming. You wanted it. You did. Leon doesn’t see any other hot dates waiting for you. “Aw, baby, you shouldn’t have.” He coos, tracing your puffy pussy lips with the pad of his thumb.

“Don’t do that…” Your voice is merely a whisper, and you’re not scared, girls like you don’t get scared. They get pissed off. Heated. Angry and upset. But never scared.

“Is this what you want, babe? Some dick ‘n you’ll shut up? Just wanted my attention.” Leon’s voice is a low rumble in your ears, he drawls like a slow trickle of sticky honey. Nothing is stickier than your cunt. He parts your lips, catching the dribbles of slick that form in beads along your slit. “Jesus, you’re fuckin’ wet, baby. You needed this, didn’t you?”

“No,” you croak out, throat dry from only a few minutes of disuse.

“No? You want me to stop then, sweetheart?” Leon slows his touch, it diminishes until it’s gone entirely and you whine at the loss so sweetly. “You’re not making any sense, babe.”

“Oh my god.” You suck in a breath, trembling not out of fear, but out of unadulterated rage and dizzying lust for a piece of his dick. “Fuck you.” He takes that as a Please, fuck me!

“How about we do something easier, baby.” Leon forces you onto your knees, and he was fucking right. You look so good like this. Knelt by his feet. His belt is unclipped, pants unzipped, boxers lowered. He guides his dick into your mouth, and you really are the most cock-starved thing he's ever met, ‘cause you open up and swallow him whole.

Then you do the sluttiest fucking thing a girl has ever done for him - reach back and jab your nails into the meat of his ass to force his dick deeper down your throat. “Shit, that’s right, baby— Fuck, you’re a fucking freak, huh?” Leon rewards you with a skull fuck. Balls clapping wetly and obscenely against your chin.

You gag on it, and you love it. God, he feels the pulse of your cunt through his boot when you grind yourself down on the steel toe cap. It’s round enough to do no damage, cool enough to help that hot cunt out, and the perfect shape to part your folds and stimulate your swollen clit.

Leon slaps it on your cheek a couple of times, then he tightens his hand around the shaft as you play with his balls, try to fit ‘em in your mouth like jawbreakers. Shit, fuck, his brain fucking blanks. He’s gonna cum if you don’t stop. His hand comes to rest on your forehead, hoping to snuff out the pleasure that builds too soon in his belly, you pop off his cock, refusing to stop making out with his tip, tonguing the slit like you’re getting paid to do this.

The bedroom is a couple metres away, it’s an awkward shuffle over with his lips slotted to yours, tongue running over your teeth, licking at your gums. Your back hits the handle, then less than a metre after that it hits the squeaky mattress. He kisses down your body, you smell like fruity body wash, it might be strawberry or raspberry. It smells like pink, that’s all he knows.

A sloppy kiss is placed on the very front of your mound. “You want me to play with your sticky little pussy, baby?”

“Ew,” you whimper out, nodding anyways, legs bent at the knee to bare your sweet pussy to him.

He laps at you like a dog. Eating pussy is tedious, Leon likes pushing heads down on his dick, it’s way better. But to hear you moan like that, shit he would do it a thousand times over, latch onto your clit and suck till you see stars. “Did you like that, baby? Fuck, creamed on my fucking tongue, sweet little thing.” He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. Sure, Leon's going to go back to set smelling of your cunt, it’s not so bad. He quite likes it. Better the tang of pussy than sweat.

“Jus’ put it in,” you beg, “please, please—“

“I heard you the first time, sweetheart. Be patient.” Leon takes your ankles in his hands, puts them by your ears. See this? That’s when Leon can tell a girl really fucking wants him. When she holds her thighs up for him, and then she puts her palms flat to spread herself as open as she can get. “Jesus, baby, you’re a slut.” He laughs derisively, it rolls off his tongue as sweetly as any other pet name.

You’re left keening when the head of his dick sinks into your weeping cunt, your toes curl, and Leon cranes his neck to kiss your ankle. He runs his hands over the backs of your plush thighs, circling his hips as he eases into you— He’s lying. In his world, there’s no easing. Leon’s dick is mean, and he can tell you’ve been dying for a rough fuck. He bottoms out the second his head pops past your fluttering hole. Then he’s balls-to-the-wall. Like, literally. They’re heavy against your ass, slapping loudly with each measured thrust.

“Baby,” Leon starts, he’s breathless, rolling his hips into yours, “I swear on my life, sweetheart, if that shit drops I’ll beat you fuckin’ bloody.” That article dropping would signal the end of his life as he knows it. Your pussy clamps down on him at his words. “Oh, you nasty little bitch, you liked that?”

There’s a string of yes, yes, yeses! and then a string of expletives, and then a drawn-out call out of his name as he drives into you with all the force of a freight train. Your nails are scratching down his back, and your pussy is coating him in the same wetness that pools below your ass.

“Take it, baby, take it, fucking take it.” It takes one last thrust for you to come undone, your orgasm has your body going ramrod straight, and then your pussy fucking gushes. And Leon in all his years of sex and women and pussy and fucking has never made a girl do that. Half of him is convinced you’ve gone and pissed on him, the other half is sure he’s made you squirt like girls do in porn— Holy shit. He’s twenty-seven years old and he only just made a girl squirt.

You cry out as he grinds into you, his dick bumping your cervix, his pelvis grinding into your clit— And you sob, shaking your head as another burst of liquid spurts out of your cunt, soaking his abdomen, soaking his fucking shirt that belongs to the costume department—

Fuck, he’s gonna cum. He’s cumming hard. Leon’s balls tighten, and his shaft twitches as his load shoots out of the tip of his cock into your tight cunt. He didn’t pull out. If there’s one thing, he’s good at, it’s pulling out. Leon made a girl squirt, and he didn’t pull out. All in one day. What an accomplished man he is.

“Mmm.” You roll onto your front, face in the pillows as you catch your breath, still shivering as aftershocks zap at your nerve endings. Leon wipes the sweat built on his forehead, strands of his hair stuck to it. “I’m not convinced, the article’s still going up.”

What a bitch.

“Right.” He delivers a brisk swat to your ass, it elicits an involuntary yelp. “Guess I’ll have to convince you. I got a week, don’t I?”

“A week and a half,” you say, not bothering to bid him bye as he zips his cargos, “I’m pretty hard to convince.” Cheeky.

“It can be done.” Through another round of dick from Monday to Friday.

#leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy smut #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil x you #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut

[2goldensnitches]

ngl since october i've been feeling very uneasy in fandom, like lots of other users in the ones im familiar in are propalestine which is fine until they start throwing dogwhistles around and reposting obvious misinformation about i/p and dehumanizing jews/israelis/zionists as if that does anything to help palestinians (meanwhile when politicians like biden actually try to help they're either ignored or accused of bizarre conspiracy theories that don't make sense with even basic knowledge about the conflict)

i was guilty of sliding down the rabbit hole myself bc i wasn't thinking critically, like oh, this blogger started reblogging some suspicious stuff like the "river to the sea" stuff but if i don't support it i'm Evil and Hate Palestinians so i reblogged it like the Good Tumblr User i wanted to be. i've had reservations about how weirdly people talk about israel, but they say its progressive and moral, and i fell for their words. in hindsight, i really should've known better than to take them at their word, and now i don't really reblog much about the conflict anymore bc holy shit people really showed themselves to be utterly vile about this conflict and i don't trust a lot of people here anymore

then people i thought were trustworthy started getting really mask off. one semi popular fandom account i followed reblogged jvp as a reliable source, but i later learned from browsing jumblr posts that jvp is actually really antisemitic and basically autism speaks for jews. and in addition they also reblogged stuff about how israelis are all Evil and don't deserve any sympathy for 10/7, which is just cruel. i couldn't associate w/ them in good faith any more. other fandom accounts i used to follow started reblogging some really stomach churning (but concerningly popular) posts such as one about how hamas treated the hostages "so well" and another about houthis supposedly attacking ships for palestine's sake. this and looking beyond my usual fandom circles really opened my eyes to just how toxic and ass backwards this was becoming, and how this kind of vitriol is spilling over into the real world and hurting jews while doing nothing to help palestinians or muslims affected by the concurrent rise in islamophobia. it's so nervewracking. now whenever i see fandom blogs post propalestine stuff w/ "river to the sea" in big letters i feel very wary that they might be hiding more dangerous prejudices under the surface. even those who do try to be more aware about the surge in antisemitism still can't help but put down israelis, dabble in conspiracy theories, and/or condescend to jews or occasionally their allies

honestly kudos to you for staying strong in these times. you're a lot braver than me and you and the rest of jumblr deserve better than this horror show

Thank you for the ask. I would just like to say that i don’t care if people support palestine and i don’t give a shit about the israeli government—i just want them to be normal about israelis and jews and not treat an actual war like team sports and fandomise this. Ideally people should want peace instead of thinking about innocent people in terms of a team they can root for while watching a match on the telly. Unfortunately, while the insanity didn’t start on social media, the current nature of the internet facilitated a really shit union between “activism” and fandom where more people are concerned about fictional antisemitic goblins than they are with real flesh and blood people doxxing jews and forming actual lynch mobs. They sloganeer for actual terrorist groups while ignoring the lives of palestinians and yemenis and lebanese and syrians and iranians directly impacted by them. All we can do is sit tight and hope more people come to their senses at least; if they don’t, then we shouldn’t waste time lamenting them.

#asks #israel hamas war

[ghostbeam]

all my blood for the sweetness of her laughter | dabi/touya todoroki

You go to the store for the ingredients you need to cook for him tonight. You pick up the small cake you ordered from the bakery down the street. You wrap the vintage leather jacket you found for him at a thrift store despite his insistence upon no gifts. Everything is going according to plan, for the most part.

That is until you hear his name from the mouth of the news anchor on your television as she describes the events of a villain attack somewhere in the city. From where you stand at the stove, you freeze, listening to the report. You’re too afraid to turn and look at the screen, knowing that if you see him, you’ll break.

notes: hiiiiii so this is a repost from last year because I unfortunately did not have time to finish dabi’s birthday fic and then I remembered I deleted this one from tumblr bc I suddenly hated it ajshsjhdjd but anyways I edited it a bit but it’s also on ao3 (unedited but I’ll do that later) soooo yeah happy birthday to my greatest love or whatever (gross)

warnings: minors dni, no smut but implied sex, f!reader, blood and injury, angst, hurt/comfort, dabi picks reader up

words: 2.7k

Dabi returns home to you on a Thursday afternoon. He carries a beat-up overnight bag not filled with much since most of his wardrobe now lives in your closet, his toothbrush sits next to your sink, and his stash of fancy chocolates lies inside one of the drawers in your kitchen.

He drops the bag at his feet as he steps through the door, the key you made for him hanging around his pointer finger as he slams it shut with one foot, opening his arms for you to greet him with a hug.

His arms wrap around you tightly, walking you backward as he buries his face in your neck. He’s been gone for a little longer than a week, off on a mission for the league in a few cities over, a mission that you are completely unaware of. As far as you know, Dabi was visiting his family.

“Missed you.” You murmur against his neck. Dabi lets out a deep breath, preparing to pull away to look at your face. He cups your cheeks in his hands and grins.

“Really?” He questions. You reach your hands up to rest over his wrists.

“Mhm,” you nod, “did you miss me?”

“What do you think?” He rolls his eyes, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. When he pulls away, he drops one hand to your waist and pinches your cheek with the other. You swat his hand away, glaring at him, but it only makes him smile.

“I think maybe you did.” You shrug in his arms, “You know, judging from all of the random pictures of cats you saw on the street, and the constant messages asking what I was doing, and all the times you asked for pictures—”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” He shushes you again with another kiss to your lips, deeper and hungrier than before. You’re breathless when he pulls away.

“You totally missed me.” You tease, pulling away from him and walking past him to the door. He sends a slap to your ass that makes you jump as you walk by, shoving him away so that you can pick up the bag he abandoned when he arrived.

“Doesn’t look like there’s much in here.” You comment, judging by the weight.

Dabi hadn’t packed much for the mission, just enough to get by in the shitty hideout that Shigaraki had set up for him. But you aren’t meant to know about that, so Dabi lies.

“I dropped some stuff at my place.” He shrugs as you look inside. You pull out a cheap box of black hair dye, looking up at him.

“Your roots are showing?” You question, and he nods.

“You cover them up the best.”

“Oh, yeah? How can you know that? Are there other people dying your roots for you?” You cross your arms over your chest. Dabi wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you in.

“Maybe.” He smirks. You let your jaw fall open, pushing on his chest. But Dabi keeps a tight grip on you.

“Then they can dye it!” You resist, but Dabi pushes your arms down at your sides, trapping you there. He shakes his head, placing kisses across your face as you try to stifle the giggles that threaten to bubble from your throat.

“C’mon,” He rasps, resting his forehead against yours, “you know there’s only you. I don’t think I could find anyone else to put up with me.”

“I’m not putting up with anything.” You say, softly. Dabi pulls away to look at you. “‘Course, I’ll help you with your roots.”

The process is easy enough, one you’ve gone through many many times with him, something Dabi considers important to him. It’s that mix of being taken care of and trusting someone enough to allow it. Dabi couldn’t remember what that felt like—until you.

In the beginning, Dabi resisted you. He hated that wanting feeling and tried to ignore the burning in his chest when he looked at you. You came along and threw his priorities all out of whack, and Dabi was furious with himself for even considering you.

But at some point, the want became need, and there was no longer any doubt about keeping you in his life. Even if it meant hiding things from you. He never planned on not telling you about his villainous activities. He thought about getting it out of the way for a long time. He would tell you and maybe you would scream or cry or call the heroes. Or you’d tell him you hated him, and that had always seemed much worse than being locked up. So want was need, and Dabi was not Dabi he was just yours, and you were something he couldn’t stand to lose.

“Are you sure you’re not secretly way older than you look?” You question him, washing his hair over your tub after letting the dye sit in his white roots. Black swirls around your drain as he chuckles.

“I’m pretty sure.” He says, before pausing to look up at you “Unless…do you maybe have a thing for older guys?”

“Shut up.” You roll your eyes, shoving his head back under the running water.

“I mean, I am getting up there. I’ll be twenty-five soon. Does that turn you on?” He teases.

“You are the worst. Wash your own hair.” You groan. You watch him run his fingers through his hair to get the rest of the dye out, thinking about his words again. “How soon?”

“Huh?” He asks, turning off the water and taking the towel that hung over the tub. You watch him scrub his hair with his brows furrowed.

“How soon will you be twenty-five?” A smile stretches across his face, and he wraps the damp towel around his neck to free his hands. He reaches for you, pulling you towards his chest.

“God, you totally can’t wait ‘till I'm old and gray, can you?” You roll your eyes at him, pushing at him lightly.

“I’m asking about your birthday.” You stare at him. Dabi looks away from you for a moment, letting out a sigh.

“Yeah, cause you’re counting the days.” He smirks. You hook your hands around the towel around his neck and pull him down to your level.

“Dabi.” You warn, touching your forehead to his.

“You know, you really can’t get this close to me and expect me not to kiss you.” He speaks, bumping his nose against yours. Your eyes flicker to his lips, and you slowly begin to lean in. Dabi leans forward, pressing his lips to yours, but you don’t let him linger for long. He follows after you, eyes still closed, satisfied with moving to your jaw once you’ve pulled away.

“When is your birthday?” You ask him, a little breathless. He places a soft bite at the side of your neck that makes you shudder before speaking.

“It’s Wednesday.” He speaks against your neck. You freeze, moving your hands up to his head to pull him from your neck.

“This Wednesday? As in a few days from now?” You ask, your hands still in his wet hair.

“I don’t want to make a big deal of it.” He tells you. Dabi doesn’t remember the last time he celebrated a birthday. He most likely would have missed it if you hadn’t brought it up.

For Dabi, birthdays are a reminder of time working against him, of the clock ticking on all of his plans, everything he’s working towards. He’s also reminded of how those plans seem so small now, compared to waking up with you in his arms every morning.

“We don’t have to make a big deal of it.” You tell him. You move your hands from his head down to rest on his chest. “Can I just…make you dinner or something? Or I can order from that one place you like?”

“Just dinner?” He questions.

“Well…” You trail off. Dabi squeezes your hips, making you yelp and you jolt in his arms. He smiles at the reaction, “Dinner and one gift?”

“No gifts.” He shakes his head, bringing his hand to the back of your head. You look up at him.

“What if it’s the greatest gift ever?” You ask. He smiles softly and shakes his head, leaning down to kiss you.

You let him deepen the kiss, though you know it’s a way to distract you, pressing you into the bathroom counter as he traces your lips with his tongue. Your hands tangle in his newly dyed hair, arching into him as he moves his lips against yours. He lifts you onto the counter, pulling away from your lips to place kisses against your neck.

“C’mon,” You try, your breath catching in your throat, “just one.”

He bites down on your shoulder hard, earning a soft moan from your throat. He kisses over the mark, leaving more kisses down your chest, “No gifts.”

He runs his hands up your thighs as he lowers himself to the ground. He draws circles on the inside of your thighs, looking up at you. “Yeah?”

“No gifts.” You say, running a hand through his hair. He grins at you, kissing your thighs. “Just come at six okay?”

“I’ll be here.” He promises, biting your skin and making you shiver. “Now shut up. I missed you.”

….

Wednesday arrives quickly. You send a happy birthday text to Dabi paired with a scandalous photo of the blue underwear you’re wearing underneath one of his shirts, and he answers immediately. You remind him of what time he’s supposed to come by before leaving your phone behind on your bed to get ready for the day.

You go to the store for the ingredients you need to cook for him tonight. You pick up the small cake you ordered from the bakery down the street. You wrap the vintage leather jacket you found for him at a thrift store despite his insistence upon no gifts. Everything is going according to plan, for the most part.

That is until you hear his name from the mouth of the news anchor on your television as she describes the events of a villain attack somewhere in the city. From where you stand at the stove, you freeze, listening to the report. You’re too afraid to turn and look at the screen, knowing that if you see him, you’ll break.

The League of Villains, the anchor calls them, a name you find vaguely familiar. You don’t pay much attention to the news at all, but you can recall hearing of the group in passing. You don’t expect to hear your boyfriend's name in relation to them. You, at the very least, have half a mind to turn the stove off before you sink to the floor, bringing your knees to your chest. A villain. Dabi is a villain. For some reason, it doesn’t scare you as much as it should. More than anything, you’re upset about being lied to.

You know that the smart thing to do is call someone, the police, a hero, get someplace safe. You don’t want to do any of that though. You want to stare at the cabinets in front of you, and you want Dabi to come home.

You can’t think of anything but him, not the damage he’s done or the people he’s done it to, just him and the promise of his presence at your door at six o’clock. You can figure out the rest later.

He isn’t there at six, though, or seven or eight or any hour after that. You sit on the floor with the buzzing of voices on your television for hours before you pick yourself up. You pack up dinner numbly, placing things into tupperware that you put in the fridge without thinking. You turn the TV off, and you don’t change out of the dress you wore tonight specifically for him, and you don’t wash your face either. You just pull back the covers to your bed and clutch Dabi’s pillow tight. You don’t fall asleep.

Dabi comes home at around two a.m. He stumbles through your front door and leaves his key in the lock, slumping against the counter. He hears you come out of the bedroom, stopping at the end of the hallway and staring at him. He looks up at you for a moment but averts his gaze in shame. He’s a mess, staples missing and bleeding from his seams. His skin is raw and irritated against his clothes, and he’s sure some of his ribs are bruised.

And you, you look gorgeous, in that dress that Dabi’s always liked on you, your mascara lightly smeared underneath your eyes. Have you been crying? He can’t tell. He hopes you weren’t, not for him.

You walk toward him slowly, a little cautious, caught in between yelling at him or holding him. You can yell later, you think. Right now, you just want to stop the bleeding from his face and ice whatever injury he’s clutching at his side.

Approaching him, you bring your hands to rest at the side of his neck, urging him to look at you. He won’t. You sigh and push yourself closer to him. He doesn't move away. He nuzzles his cheek against yours, blood smearing across your skin, and you bring a hand down to his.

Silently, you pull away, tugging lightly on his hand for him to follow you. He stumbles for a moment before catching himself, walking behind you into the bathroom. He sits on the edge of the tub and thinks about when you dyed his hair for him, how long ago that feels now, how you might never do it again after tonight.

He watches you pull a first aid kit out from beneath your sink, rummaging through the supplies and setting them on the counter. You wash your hands and dampen a cloth, before leaning down to gently clean up the blood on his face. You do it all in silence, gently pulling away any staples that are near falling out, careful not to hurt him more than he already is. You remove his jacket from his shoulders and pull his shirt over his head, examining the rest of the seams in his skin. The ghost of a bruise is forming on his ribs, and you stand up to find something to ice it. Touya grabs your wrist before you can leave, his grip limp, tired. You could pull away easily if you wanted.

“Why are you doing this?” He rasps. You pause, turning around to look at him.

“You’re hurt.” You tell him.

“I’m late.” He says. “And I’m–”

“I don’t care.” You don’t care about what you saw on TV, or how late he was. You don’t even really care about the lying anymore, not when he’s bleeding on your bathtub.

Dabi stands with a groan, and you reach toward him to steady him. He takes the cloth from you and rests a hand on the back of your neck. He gently wipes your cheek in the place where his blood is smeared. You close your eyes, feeling the tension in your shoulders leave your body.

“Things are never going to be how they are now ever again, you know.” He speaks, setting the towel down on the counter. He caresses your cheek with his thumb. “You’ll know everything because I’m not going to hide it from you anymore, all of the gory details, everything I’ve done, everything I’m going to do.”

“Dabi.” You try to speak, but he doesn't let you. His other hand comes up to cup your cheek, keeping you focused on him.

“I’m not a good man, and I don’t deserve you. And if I was better, I would let you walk out of here. But I’m not. I’ve always been weak, and I’m not losing you.” He’s desperate, so afraid that you’ll walk away, leave him, tell him he’s too much. “So you have to tell me now if you don’t want this.”

“I want it.” You speak, almost frantically. “Maybe something is wrong with me, but the only thing that mattered to me tonight was that you’d come home.”

“I am home.” He speaks, pulling you tight against his chest. He winces at the pressure on his ribs, but when you try to pull away, he only squeezes tighter. “I’m home.”

You wrap your arms around him, “Sorry your birthday sucked so bad.”

“We’ll try again next year.”

#dabi x reader #dabi x female reader #touya todoroki x reader #bnha x reader #bnha angst #ghost.writes #ghost.fic

[skazoo]

slow and blue and endless.

↳ kim taehyung x f!reader

someone stared at you through the window. you had always felt safe in your own home, shutting out the scary, real world. but a window is just glass, and glass… oh it breaks so, so easily.

length. 1.7k

genre. angst, yandere

warnings/tags. language, obsessive behavior, implied stalking, yandere themes, mind break, emotional manipulation, love bombing(?), mention of mental illnesses, physical violence, kinda gruesome allusion to murder, dark themes overall, minors advised to dni.

networks. none for this.

notes. [THIS IS A REPOST BC TUMBLR TAGS WON'T WORK AND I ALMOST CRIED<;3]

GAH these photos are so 80s serial killer making a creepy videotape that's gonna get edited in a true crime documentary coded...... i know you're seeing my vision, i KNOW it.... anywayyyyyy this is kinda not proofread, and i wrote it while i was supposed to be studying for my exams a while back!! because when am i inspired if not when i shouldn't be?? i hope you like it and i swear something is almost ready for me to publish please wait a little longer (for my engenes and atiny besties)

⚠️ it goes without saying that i in no way condone any obsessive/stalking/creepy/violent behavior and despite this being "x reader" i'm not in any way romanticizing anything i'm writing. also this, as you all know, is fiction and names are merely a narrating mean. ⚠️

i'm desperate for feedback and i love comments with your opinion!

(cross-posted on ao3 only)

navigation

in a way you’ve always loved him. he knows. you don’t even have to say it out loud for him to be happy. 

but sometimes it feels like you take him for granted. sometimes you make him really, really angry and that, he can’t let pass. and it's not for his sake but for yours. always everything for you. he has to make you understand that there are things you can’t do if you want to stay safe from the outside world. safe from him, sometimes.

running away is one of those ugly, wretched things you know well he hates, and he slams you against the wall and drags you back through the front door into the house by your hair, he bashes your head on the kitchen counter, near the fire of the stove he’s been preparing lunch with to make you understand a concept you're apparently too dumb to grasp.

“what the fuck did i tell you about running, uh?” seething with undiluted rage .

“i just wanted to go outside, tae. i swear!”

“i said what the fuck did i tell you about running!? do you understand how much it would hurt me to see you go?!” his voice booms inside the walls of your head, an endless echo that makes bitter tears gather at the back of your eyes and spill over.

your face is burning. tongues of fire lick at your cheeks, a scorching caress that reminds you of taehyung's. his palm always leaves a brand behind, reminding him and yourself that he’s there. 

your hands scramble for his in a miserable attempt to lessen his hold. “i’m sorry, tae! so sorry, please! please!”

his closed fist in your hair pushes your head closer to the heat. “i’ll fucking kill you if i have to, you know that right–” it’s not a question, merely a promise, but you nod anyway, frantically, desperately– “they’ll never stop finding your body, baby. do you understand?” he screams and shakes you with his hands tight in your hair when you only cry in response.

“i said,” leaning in, mouth brushing over your ear. chills go down your back as his voice turns sickeningly mellow as if he’s whispering sweet nothings instead of threats, “do you understand?”

“yes! yes! god, yes i understand! tae, i’m so sorry! it’s all my fault! it’s all my fault!”

your mindless babbles seem to humor him and he moves your head at a safer distance. “and why is that?”

“ ‘twas my fault! i put myself in danger if i run. tae, please! i’m so sorry!” 

and you cry and cry and cry until you have nothing to give. until there’s only emptiness in your head that’s resting on his shoulder. until his shushes really feel reassuring. until he sits you down at the table to eat the lunch he prepared, the one that was so close to killing you. you nibble on it, too weak to really even taste the flavors.

he breaks the empty silence between you with a question. you startle at the sound of his voice and force your heavy eyes to focus on him.

“aren't you curious? about why i chose you?”

“no.”

he scrunches his eyebrows and regards you with a slightly displeased look that has you shrinking back on your chair. 

“but i want to tell you…” he whines.

you don’t say anything about his antics. despite him behaving like a child you’re terrified of what his reaction would be if you actually treated him like one, so you press your lips together and wait. 

“i like people that like me.” and it’s so simple how he says it. obvious, even.

“but why do you think i like you?” quietly, meekly.

he seems to like the question, his boxy smile one full of teeth that in other circumstances you would have found endearing. now it only makes him look like a predator, an animal, drool dribbling down his fangs, jaw ready to snap close around your neck if —and ultimately, when— you say or do the wrong thing. 

“oh, i was so happy, Y/N,” he coos, your name curling in his mouth with ease, as if you’re always been around each other, as if it belongs there, “that when i chose you, you came with me.”

your mouth gapes open at the absurdity of it all. you wonder if he really thinks that you wanted all of this, that you wanted to be taken from your home. you’d ask your old psychology professor if you’d be correct to label him as a narcissist of sorts. a man with too much power, and free time, and loneliness to exhaust all on himself that he had to go around looking for a scapegoat for his secret misery.  

“i didn’t– i didn’t come to you, taehyung. i didn’t have a choice.”

“so you were almost forced to come?”

“no,” it comes out more as a question than an answer and you lower your head in search of a way to rationalize the conversation at hand, “i was completely forced–”

“that’s what you tell yourself,” he retorts before you can even finish your sentence.

“it’s what i know is true,” you spit somewhat offended by his insinuation.  

his smile is a sick thing when you raise your head from the food on your plate —cold and uninviting. the smell alone makes you want to throw up. 

“are you sure?”

your anger leaves space for an unnerving sense of confusion. “what does that– what?”

your frown deepens as you watch him play around with his lunch. you follow his hands pushing back his glasses on his nose. the sick look of complacency that dances on his face seems to speak words that make the hairs at the back of your neck raise in dreadful anticipation. i know something about you that you don’t, his eyes say, and that alone is enough to make you want to scream.

he knows nothing!, you’d be shouting to the usually calm neighborhood, i haven’t told him anything about myself. he can’t know anything! he knows nothing! he knows nothing! you’d holler to the kids walking home from school hand in hand with their mothers who’d be looking at you with contempt, unaware of who lives among them. a wolf in sheep's clothing that could easily make you look like a psychopath. 

you’d do it, you swear to yourself that you’d do it all if it weren’t for the fact that you’ve got the inkling fear that you’ve truly gone mad. the doubt that crawls on your back and makes its way in your ears, slithering then, with much glee into your delusional brain.

how long have you been in this house? his house or the one you bought together once you finished college? did you meet him on a slow rainy day outside a coffee shop or did you catch him staring at you from the window before he broke in and took you from your bed, leaving behind torn sheets and a broken frame with a picture of your friends? does your mind deceive you? are you sane? is he?

it feels like you've had this exact same conversation with him an infinite number of times, always stuck in a loop of unease and sadness that you really can’t explain. loving looks sent your way melt into scary grimaces sometimes and all you can feel is guilt because that’s tae. your tae. the man you chose, the man that chose you.

you realize your vacant eyes are crying when you feel a thumb swipe your cheek with a gentleness that makes your stomach churn in disgust and again a voice tells you that there’s something wrong with you.

“baby, are you alright?”

the way you look at him does nothing to the sick warmth brewing in his stomach. your shiny little doe eyes peeking up at him from under wet lashes, asking for forgiveness that taehyung would never deny you. nose red from the frustration of being lost in your own mind and mouth parted as if to ask him to show you the way, the truth that you seem to have lost.

he stands up and rounds the table to you for you to bury your head in his chest. sobs shake your tired form.

“shh, it’s okay, baby. i swear everything it’s okay. it happens to forget.”

“i’m sorry, tae,” you plead through broken breaths. “i’m so sorry, please.”

he shushes you. lips plant themselves in the crown of your head, a hand rubs at your back soothingly.  

later, in the late evening, you lie in your bed. a bed. the sheets smell of him and the air you breathe does not feel like the one you're used to, but you’re calm. you think you are. maybe.

soft snores sound from behind you and you attempt to turn your head to make sure it’s him. 

“tae?” you let out a whisper. not one that expects itself to be heard.

“yeah?” voice hoarse from sleep.

“nothing.”

he buries his nose in the hair at the nape of your neck, inhaling the shampoo he bought for you. “what?”

“just wanted to make sure you were still here.”

“i’m always here, baby.”

you hum.

minutes pass slowly, like molasses, as if the hand of the seconds inside the alarm on your nightstand is fighting an invisible force, a wall of rubber that threatens to bounce time back. you think he’s fallen back asleep. breath slowing, chest heaving, lulling you to slumber.

you close your eyes. “tae?”

he doesn’t answer. a car alarm sounds from outside the closed curtains, its prolonged blaring bringing a certain agitation in your otherwise silent night. a breath of summer wind leaves bumps on your skin in its wake. you sigh and his arms tighten around your torso. an unconscious gesture, soft, loving.

“i dream of you–” you let your words sink into the air, into the boiling water you carry around in your lungs that doesn’t let you breathe properly, and you shiver again but not from the chill bite of the wind “–and it’s slow, and blue, and endless.”

behind you, taehyung’s mouth stretches into a smile.

in a way, you’ve always loved him. he’s certain of it now as he was before. and even if you didn’t, he will always make sure to make it a reality, one way or the other. wether you want it or not.

taglist: @taevestr @fa1ryjoons @vcutvante

#taehyung x reader #bts x reader #taehyung angst #bts angst #bts imagines #taehyung imagine

[ainri]

hello! I'm the one who asked for one of illumi (yandere) could you make it headcanons?

illumi zoldyck as a yandere (hcs and drabble.)

•hunter x hunter

•yandere illumi headcanons + small drabble

•mostly fem oriented

•assasin/servant reader

•fic warinings: !dark content!, mentions of death multiple times including reader + reader’s family, insinuated character death at end, forced labor, undergarmnet theft, swear words, mild gaslighting, obsessive thoughts.

•🔞

•masterlist

•a/n: this is my first request so ty!!! tbh i rlly like writing yanderes like its just so fun? anyways someone should really do a crime count because i had to put some extra stuff in the fic warning so that people wouldn’t go crazy on me or call me insensitive 🥰sorry for the wait i completely forgot abt tumblr…..🙊if it doesnt make sense its because i rushed it bc i felt bad for how long i kept my anon waiting (sorry anon pookiebear) and its 1:27am 😞😞

continuation of this post!

<🌟🌟🌟>

-how did you end up this position again?

-oh yeah thats right! your parents were also assasins who just happened to have ‘issues’ with the zoldycks.

-they had personal issues with silva due to a deal gone wrong between the two assassin families.

-how did silva handle getting played by your parents? by sending out an order to kill them.

-but silva is a higher class man with much bigger issues. who’s better to do the job than his son illumi?

-of course the original order was to kill you, your father, and your mother.

-when illumi saw you walking back onto your family’s estate something in him just snapped.

-he just couldn’t help it; he had to have you, no matter the cost.

-that was the moment he realized he couldnt just let you die or kill you.

-you were…special?

-that was the first mission he had ever failed… he just couldnt bring himself to kill you.

-after silva finished beating the shit out of him; illumi had an idea.

-illumi spoke of this idea to silva; to make you a personal servant in return for you and your parents’ lives.

-of course silva agreed, once silva privately told you of this ‘agreement’ you had to agree.

-best to not test the zolycks’ willpower and to not test the waters.

-working as illumi’s personal servant was fine, that was before your panties started disappearing randomly from your laundry bin.

-“master illumi, i hate to bother you with this but have you seen my panties?”

-“no. what are you saying servant?”

-he quickly retorted back, almost, no, way too quickly.

-of course, this all started to add up when the male zoldyck house staff started to ignore you + avoid you like the plague.

-apologizing profusely to you over the smallest mistakes or accidents.

-this was all bizzare…. you needed answers, as quickly as possible.

•••

it was a calm day of cleaning when suddenly you walked in on it—illumi torturing your male coworker who helped you clean the atrium yesterday. “master illumi, what are you doing?” the servant asked horrified and confused,

“none of your business servant-“ he stopped himself to reword his sentence, “you know what? no! i was teaching him a lesson for speaking to you. besides you only belong to me!-right? right? say you belong to me! i killed all of those men—no, boys for you and you can’t even say, ‘thank you master illumi.’!?” he was yelling, now losing his temper.

“master illumi i didnt ask for you to kill for me! whats wrong with you? you-you-you psychopath! youre being completely delusional and irrational!—“

CLANG

all you saw was black as you felt your vision go blurry with illumi hitting you in the head with skme heavy blunted off object.

“i don’t appreciate that (name), i don’t appreciate it at all. you ungrateful woman. all i ever wanted to do was love you. clearly you cant even allow me to do that much. what a shame.”

END

••••••••

©2023 ainri; do not repost my work without credit or repost my work in a different language♡

#illumi hunter x hunter #illumi zoldyck #hunter x hunter headcanons #hunter x hunter x reader #dark content #yandere headcanons #yandere #yandere illumi #illumi x reader #illumi zoldyck x reader

[bubble-dream-inc]

Lemniscate (the place between sleeping and awake)

a chance encounter with your superior during a very lonely holiday season leads to an interesting conversation and an insight on yours and Ghost’s relationship.

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

rbs greatly appreciated!

WC: 4,8k

a/n: i had to repost this bc tumblr was being fussy and hiding it oops. also i was listening to so handsome hello by woodkid while writing this so there’s my song rec for the day. i am down bad for this man someone help me! thank u loml @deafeningcat for being the best beta reader ever, always <3

warnings: explicit talk about death, war, trauma and violence, suggestive, profanity, ghost being ooc, sex as a coping mechanism for ptsd, heavy antimilitarism, angst to fluff, slight prey and size kink if you squint, non intentional liverpool slander, reader is part of 141, soap calls you "bonnie" once but otherwise no gender especified for reader, reader thinks they can fix him and is sorta emotionally dependent so its kinda toxic idk, intentional repeating of words, christmas/holidays ambience. MDNI

The puddles rippled under your boots, and right there under the faint street light which reflected the light drizzle of rain darkening the already pitch black night sky, you remembered how much you hate the holidays. Sure, it felt nice not having to worry that much about being ambushed or shot or killed for once, but you’d be lying if you said you looked forward to having time off from work. Having spent the last few years constantly living on edge, running solely on the primal instinct of survival for weeks on end had you addicted to the adrenaline, and you forgot what it’s like to be completely at ease a long time ago. 

You felt your skin dampen under your clothes in the humid air. You haven’t bothered with an umbrella; you have been through worse. Liverpool was never your cup of tea, the sky was too gray and the wind felt like tiny needles attacking your skin on the rare occasion it wasn’t raining, and in moments like these you missed the scorching summer sun from your hometown. But again, could you really call it home? That thought had been lingering in the back of your head as an ugly reminder of one of the shittiest parts of your job ever since a few days ago when the base you were stationed in was filled with the sound of rambunctious laughter and the smell of cheap cigarettes and beer, all of it a reflect of a mission well done. The intel was useful, the danger was dealt with, and your teammates could not be more grateful the timing was just right so that they could go spend some time off with their families for the holidays. You weren’t really thinking too hard about it, too absorbed in your teasing banter with Gaz, until Soap turned to you.

“What about you, bonnie? Where ya spendin’ your holidays at? Going home?”

You had shaken your head no with a chuckle, swallowing the bad taste the word home left in your mouth and masking your discomfort. Having all their attention on you as your team mates waited for your answer wasn’t inherently bad, but you did have to ignore Simon’s piercing stare from across the group, focusing only on Soap and trying to not give in to your instinct of looking back at your Lieutenant. As the years went by, you’d found out that was just the way that he was, and you had to learn how to differentiate when he actually wanted for someone to be scared by his constant, terrifying eye contact, and when to know he was simply looking in your general vicinity. Not that it worked that well, of course, since just his massive presence and the low timbre of his voice could make anyone’s fight or flight instinct blare sirens in their head, and yet, at some point you realized you liked it. You felt like a prey under his gaze, and the fact that it both terrified and excited you was intoxicating. 

“Nah. I’m heading to Liverpool, i think, as usual” 

Being in Liverpool for you was far from pleasant, but a few years before you decided to go there for your time off just because it was closer to the base you were stationed in and you had nowhere else to go, and it became a tradition, even if it sometimes felt like self punishment. It certainly seemed like it, you thought as you wandered aimlessly through a quieter part of the city, occasionally passing through a group of tipsy barely-of-age kids, or a happy looking family going back to the comfort of their cozy homes together. It made your chest ache, but the loneliness got duller after so much time being surrounded only by the 141 members and having to watch so many people you knew die on the front lines. 

“Do you regret it? Joining the military?”

You had asked Ghost one day after you two had to get holed up in a dingy safe house, trying to pass the time while waiting for exfil. He had stared at you for a few seconds, silently, and you wondered if you had crossed a line by asking something way too personal, but in a moment he was back to staring at the worn out coffee table in front of the couch you were in. 

“No. I did what had to be done at the time.” 

While somewhat cryptic, you accepted his answer without prying for more, but after a few seconds he looked back at you, not going unnoticed how his eyes looked a bit more tired than usual. 

“Do you?”

You remember sighing.

“Everyday. War is hell.” 

He only hummed in response, putting an end to the conversation that had barely been started, but your mind dwelled on your answer. It seemed like ages ago when you were a starry-eyed private, having been fooled by the military propaganda promising you’d be a hero, but that resolve quickly broke a few months later in your first mission, and you certainly didn’t feel like a hero after taking someone else’s life for the first time. 

Lost in thought as you walked, you almost paid no mind to the man in your path that was leaning towards a lamp post and having a cigarette, if not for the fact that even from a distance you could see he was massive. There was only one person you knew that seemed as tall as that, and that was your-

“Lieutenant?” You squinted, being pretty sure you couldn’t mistake your towering 6’4 masked superior over someone else, and he acknowledged you with a look. If he was surprised to see you, he didn't show it. “Liverpool sure is tiny, huh? I thought you were from Manchester.”

“I am.”

His answers were rarely something other than short and dry, and he knew you knew better than to pry into his own personal reasonings, even because you also had no real reason to stick around that city and yet there you were. Still, the laidback-ish atmosphere of being between missions made it easier for you to act a little more daring than usual, treading lightly as you questioned him, unable to hold back your curiosity. Alas, you found yourself hypnotized by the way Simon’s full lips wrapped around his cigarette as he took a slow drag, waiting for you to say something.

“Heading somewhere?” Your voice sounded foreign even to yourself, and you didn’t know whether to blame the cold, the awkwardness of feeling like you were bothering your superior on his time off, or the way just being by his general vicinity made your chest ache with a feeling you hadn’t quite been able to name yet, but you shrugged all of it off and focused on trying to act as normally as possible.

“Not really. Are you?”

“Not really” You mimicked his words, smiling faintly and wanting to imagine that you actually saw mirth in his eyes. “Lookin’ for a pub that’s still open, but I'm not having too much luck with it.” You paused, unable to stop the next words that came out of your mouth. “Care to join me?”

Ghost pondered your bold request for a moment before putting out his cigarette by stepping on it and nodding with his head for you to lead the way. His way of communicating with so little words made you uneasy at first, but nowadays you’d find it endearing. 

And that’s how you ended up in a beaten up looking pub near the port, sitting side by side with Simon by the bar, acutely aware of the bartender eyeing you two warily. You weren’t sure if he was angry for the fact that the bar actually had customers, which meant he couldn’t go enjoy time off at home, or if he was intimidated by Ghost. Maybe both. It was an otherwise cozy little pub, the warm lighting and the low ceiling made you feel slightly comforted by your surroundings, even if there were only three other customers around and the air smelled of burnt oil and deep fried food. You tapped your fingers on the wooden surface of the bar while waiting for the grumpy bartender to bring your beer, comfortable with the silence between you and Simon. When it arrived, you watched with a side eye, trying to be discreet, as he raised his mask slightly to take a sip of his bourbon, even if you knew he had noticed you.

Ghost’s face was somewhat familiar to you. Less than his body, admittedly.

There were a handful of times you had seen him without his mask, but you had barely committed its features to memory since it had mostly been in the dark confines of his quarters - which made you think how nice it must be to have a rank high enough to have your own room - and in times where staring at his face was not the first thing on your mind. It didn’t matter anyway, knowing he really was handsome after all under the balaclava didn’t change how your chest would tighten at the sight of him way before you dreamt of seeing his whole face.

Being alone with your superior was hardly foreign at this point, after so many years and everything you had been through together, and while you had never said it directly to him, his company was enjoyable. You remember clearly; It had happened the first time during mid summer after a mission gone particularly wrong in Somalia. One hour in the shower later, scrubbing your skin raw, you still felt dirty and grimy, as if you believed you could let go along with the blood-dirtied water the screams of all the civilians you had heard and the image ingrained into your brain of all the innocent people lying dead on the streets, massacred without a second thought. You tried showering, smoking, drinking, going for a walk, talking to your fellow team mates - all of them who looked just about as shaken as you were - but nothing could get your mind off of it. Mid walk, you had rounded a corner inside the base and locked eyes with Ghost, who was coming from the opposite direction, and, for reasons unknown, something instantly changed in the air between you. Sure, you had flirted a bit and perhaps given some indication of your attraction towards him before, but at that moment maybe you looked more distraught than you thought, and in only a split second after the very sudden eye contact, a non-verbal agreement was set, and quickly you found yourself glued to his broad chest, his hand lifting his mask just enough so you could connect your lips in a messy and aggressive kiss as he guided you to the door of his room. There’s no way to tell how long you were there for, but as you felt him blindly in the dark to hug his neck while he was inside you for the nth time, you were grateful he didn’t comment on your sobs that you now allowed to flow as freely as your tears, and, in turn, you didn’t comment on how tender your huge, scary superior could be, holding your face gently and whispering praises, comforting you the best he could. 

It became something akin of a habit. At first it was just fucking to destress or to not have to deal in a proper way with all the trauma that came with your line of work, but then you started to linger. His touches became gentler, his big hands would stroke your skin instead of just gripping it hard enough to bruise, and you found yourself staring at his strong and scarred back one morning as he slept somewhat soundly beside you. Your hands itched to trace them, and at the moment you decided you wouldn’t mind sharing a bed, literally, with your superior more often, it was when you also realized you were fucked. To the others, surely it looked just like a very unethical and paperwork-worthy sexual tension, but you weren’t stupid, and not a teenager anymore, so you couldn’t find any excuses for the lingering glances and touches, how you started worrying more for him in battlefield, and you didn’t know if it was comforting or terrifying for you to think that he probably realized what was going on inside your head whenever he looked back at you, even if his hardened and unreadable gaze never faltered. Some nights, you’d find yourself alone in your cot wondering if you were imagining it all or if the longing you felt for his reciprocity was too delusional, and the thought made your throat ache in the worst way possible. You knew it was a bad idea, but you were unable to restrain yourself from finding your way back to his bed more often than not - and whenever he’d open the door for you when the base was already dead silent, realizing he also seemed glad to see you made all of your rational thoughts go out the window. 

“Quit the starin’.” 

Oh. Right. You were still looking at him. You muttered out a low sorry and looked down at your cup, well aware of Simon’s gaze burning holes into your face. So much for not staring.

“Why don’t you ever go home?”

There’s that word again. You wondered if your experience with feeling so stateless after fleeing from the place you used to call your own such a long time ago was that uncommon between soldiers, and suddenly the beer in your tongue didn’t taste that bitter anymore. 

“It was just a place like any other. I’m afraid there hasn’t been anythin’ for me there in a while, so i guess i don’t really got one anymore.” 

But again, you did wonder why Simon was all the way over to Liverpool and not Manchester, and a part of you selfishly hoped you weren’t alone with the gut wrenching feeling of not belonging anywhere but your base. Not that he’d ever admit to something like that. Simon was not the kind of man to say his thoughts clearly, or with words, for that matter.

“No family? Friends?” 

Chuckling dryly, you’d let yourself linger a bit longer on Ghost’s sudden interest in actually knowing you more than physically if his bluntness didn’t amuse you in a bitter way.

“People realize really quickly how hard it is to keep relationships with someone who’s gone for months on end, and could very well be dead in a ditch the next time you try to call. Can’t say I blame ‘em.”

Simon said nothing in response, but his gaze on you seemed to soften a bit. Experiencing him outside of the battlefield was the kind of thing that would surely give you whiplash, years of military experience and living through horrors beyond comprehension would, of course, make him have a dangerous and reserved aura 24/7, but watching him let loose just a little bit and allow himself to be minimally vulnerable through his gaze and casually, softer spoken words were a new sort of fascinating. He was never the kind of person to ask things out of politeness, no, he was brazen and direct, so his genuine curiosity in you made it difficult to calm your already palpitating heartbeat. 

Under the lights of a very dimly lit pub in East Liverpool, you were seeing not Ghost, not your Lieutenant, but only Simon Riley. You came to the conclusion you really liked this side of him. So, you decided to take your chances and prod a little bit more.

“What about you, Lieutenant? Where is home for you?”

“Classified.”

You chuckled, and a tiny, barely-there smirk formed on his lips before he hid it with the rim of his bourbon glass. It was worth a try.

You lost track of how long you were sitting there, in silence, just listening to the static-ish audio of the shitty television on the corner of the bar or the idle chat of other patrons, occasionally muttering something to Ghost, but it all felt superficial. You wanted to jump him, to strip him bare, not of his clothes, but of all of him that was a façade, and lay down every word left unsaid. Maybe it was selfish, but you wanted him to let you care for him the way he cared for you. For every time he’d wordlessly patch up your wounds in a dirty alleyway, push you out of a sniper’s line of sight or bark orders for you to get to fucking safety, you wanted to help him through each nightmare (that he thought you didn’t notice it plagued his nights more often than not, leaving him restless the next day), and hold him close when the throes of carrying a whole team and an entire life of trauma on his back became too much to bear on his own. You felt like a fool, pining over a man who made no effort to hide how little he trusted people.

Soon enough, the pub grew quieter and more devoid of people, and at some point you and Ghost decided the bartender’s gaze was way too unwelcoming, as he clearly wanted to go home, so you wordlessly decided to go back to your aimless wandering. A few of your old army colleagues wouldn’t hesitate to pull off their military card to get what they wanted, whenever and however they wanted, but just the thought made your stomach turn in disgust. Your blood stained hands didn’t feel like the ones of a hero that deserved to be pampered. 

“Why are you still here anyway?”

He had asked you a few days after your conversation in that dingy safehouse. You had found yourself brushing shoulders side by side together after you went out for a smoke in the base, running into him leaned against a parked truck, lost in thought. For some reason, the question made you feel ashamed to meet his eyes, even if his tone wasn’t accusatory; just curious.

“I feel like it’s too late for me. I’ve seen too much. There’s nothing else I know how to do at this point.”

Your tongue felt like lead inside your mouth. A part of you longed for an early retirement so you could live a quiet and monotonous life somewhere in the countryside, but you also knew most people with your lifestyle wouldn’t live enough to see retirement.  Alas, deep inside you felt like it was impossible to not grow restless if you were to live a life free of the adrenaline you embraced as a vice. It felt hypocritical, suffering over the consequences of your own choices, but God knows you’d leave in a heartbeat if you weren’t already too far deep in. You’d suppose becoming a soldier had its good sides, though, even if just the idea of finding any comfort in your work made you uneasy. Surely you’d never have met the 141 otherwise and, consequently, made them your little dysfunctional found family. You’d hold onto that for the sake of your sanity. On your side, Ghost hummed, acknowledging what you were saying, and maybe you’d find he could relate to your feelings, somehow. 

“It’s difficult to let go of a whole life of violence.”

His words had stuck with you, as wise and cryptic in a way only he managed to pull it off.

Outside, the drizzle seemed to have gotten a bit stronger in the last few hours, but neither of you cared enough for it. It didn’t feel that bad compared to the storms that rained over you in open fields or the mud you’d have to crawl across to stay hidden sometimes. You’d feel pretty stupid if this little rain actually got you sick, but that was a worry for future you. It didn’t even cross your mind to ask Ghost if you were heading somewhere, you just followed him blindly, analyzing him in silence and noticing he looked good in civilian clothes, the plain black hoodie fitting him perfectly. From the little distance you walked besides him, you could notice he was smelling good, a mixture of cologne and his natural musk which you were already very well acquainted with.

The street was clearly in a commercial district, and it felt even quieter than the one you were before. All the stores were closed with only a faint night light illuminating a few of their interiors, and you appreciated the faint smell of the sea by being somewhat close to the port. 

You enjoyed the stillness of it all and the lack of people to make you jealous with their normal, happy lives. 

Subconsciously, you barely noticed that you ended up scooting even closer to Simon as you walked, happy he didn’t seem to mind it. 

Suddenly, he stopped mid-walk, and you became hyper aware of how much you were staring at him. God, you felt like a creep. After a second, he spoke in a murmur, not turning to look at you.

“Since when?”

You waited for him to elaborate what he meant, but it never came. Chuckling nervously, you peered up at him, confused.

“Since when…what?”

Finally, he turned to look at you with something indescribable in his eyes. It made you feel small, like he wanted to devour you, but it also made your heart leap in your chest, like he wanted to devour you. 

“I know how you feel about me. You’re not very subtle about it. I’m not bloody stupid, kid. ”

Your head snapped towards him at his harsh words, even if his low voice and gentle-ish tone didn’t quite reflect the true nature of them, but any witty reply you had died down once you saw how his eyes were downturned in unease.

Oh.

Oh.

You realized what he’s talking about, and turns out your late night musings were right - at least part of them. Simon leaves no opening to figure out by his body language what the bringing up of the topic means to him. Maybe he doesn’t care. Maybe he will reject you and reprimand you for being unprofessional (as if loving him was more unprofessional than fucking your superior). Maybe-

“I’m…not sure.” You admit, refusing to meet his steely gaze. “It just…happened. Stopped being just casual sex a while ago.”

His silence makes seconds feel like hours. You try to control your labored breathing by listening to the soft pitter-patter of the rain that’s back to drizzling on the store awning you’re both under. A part of you wishes the rain would suddenly get so strong it would break the awning and drag you away with the current from Simon’s soul-crushing silence. You feel stupid, foolish.

Fool, fool, fool-

He closes the distance between your bodies. Having never paid much detailed attention to the rare occasions when gloves didn’t adorn his hands outside the bedroom, you suddenly notice how much his palms feel a pleasant kind of rough and calloused when they don’t carry the intent of ravaging you, so big against your face as he gently cradles you. Of course, he knows you’re a soldier, not some porcelain doll to be easily broken, but God knows how much seeing him hold you as if you’re something precious makes your once-labored breathing come to a halt altogether. His eyes are soft, half lidded, and uncertain on you as he murmurs out sorrowfully.

“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into, kid.”

For the first time ever, you feel like you’re the only person who’s ever seen Simon Riley look scared. You don’t know if he’s afraid of hurting you or the other way around.

Instinctively, your own hands gingerly go to the top of his in a light caress, and you fight against the urge to close your eyes and breathe in his musk as you lean into his touch. This up close he also smells faintly like cigarettes.  

“Maybe not.” You admit, and you hope he can notice the way you look up at him with hearts in your eyes and willing to wear your own on your sleeve. “But I want to find out.”

He doesn’t really smile - he almost never does - , but his gaze holds a promise in it, a vow. One of his hands leaves your face to hike up his mask, and you expect it to stop just below his nose, as always, but he keeps going until it rests on top of his dirty blonde hair, making your breath hitch once again. You were wrong about him; you didn’t need to strip him bare, no, you realize he’d do it for you if you asked. A long time ago you decided you didn’t give a shit about how his face looked, but you made sure to take a good look at him, finally committing his features to memory, acknowledging his trust in you and also how much you really were a fool by underestimating it before. The stubble on his jaw feels coarse under your fingertips, and you indulge yourself by lightly tracing the scar on his lip the way you wanted to do with all of his marks ever since that morning. It occurs to you that even when the hookups turned into something more, you had never seen him so vulnerable, and it sets an equally giddy and unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach, as if you were witnessing something you weren’t supposed to, but you weren’t about to question his resolve. Taking the reins - as he always does - his lips are on yours in an instant, and you swear you’d die happily at that instant.

The way he kisses you is something new, slow and passionate, as if trying to savor every piece of you at his pace and communicate what he doesn’t know how to put into words. You’d kissed before, sure, but it was always animalistic, an aggressive dance filled with wanton growls deep from his throat and your involuntary whines whenever he would bite your lip - a gazelle in the jaws of a lion - and in the occasions sex was tender, it was most likely because something bad had happened, and you’d hide your face in the crook of his neck so he could pretend not to notice how much you needed it - him -  to cope and how much his touch kept you grounded; you’d like to imagine yours made him feel something of the sorts as well. Simon Riley was not the type of man to engage in raw emotional affairs without getting something out of it. And yet, as you close your eyes to hug his neck, bringing his large body impossibly closer to yours, you feel like he is finally giving all of him to you in the rawest way he knows how to. Of course, you’re not teenagers, and with the way of life you lead, emotional attachment can make any soldier feel dreadful for their future, so it would be foolish to expect a full on love confession in the rain, but, if anything, you suddenly realize you can feel Simon’s heart beating fast on his chest through your own, and that is enough for you, making you smile against him. 

When you separate, there’s still minimal distance between you two, the air around you feels lighter, and you surround yourself in affection by the way Simon looks down at you adoringly. Any outsider would be quick to say he has the look of a stone cold predator, and he is as unreadable as they come, but once you start dealing with the true man under the mask - even if only figuratively -, you realize that his eyes are truly the window of his soul, and any words left unspoken you’d die to uncover are visible in his dark hues the moment he looks at you. A few blocks away, a clock tower strikes midnight and you spare the building a look from where you can see it.

“Merry Christmas, Simon.” You murmur, knowing full well religious holidays are neither yours or Simon’s thing. The irony of it all is lost when he huffs out a small noise of amusement and distances himself just enough to extend his arm for you to take, his gaze never leaving your form. You could point out he hasn’t really lowered his mask yet but you enjoy the view too much so you might as well indulge in it while he doesn’t remember to do so. His bicep is thick and strong under your fingers as you grip him gently, and he nods forward beyond the awning.

“It stopped raining. Let's get going.”

#i stayed up until 5 am yesterday writing this i hope y'all like it mwah #cod #cod mw22 #cod mwii #cod modern warfare #call of duty #call of duty mw2 #call of duty mwii #call of duty modern warfare 2 #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley smut #ghost x reader #ghost smut #cod ghost #cod simon riley #cod smut #capy.writes

[bbytamaki]

PRIVACY — armin arlert

genre: nsfw (MDNI)

content: nerdy!armin x mean bff!reader, black reader, a sprinkle of plot, armin gets off on being called a pervert 🤧, not edited.

note: reposted bc fuck tumblr

“you’re a virgin, aren’t you?”

“what’s it to you?!”

you definitely knew armin was too busy for dating. every week he was cramming in lectures, late night study sessions, club duties, and a laundry list of other things that prevented him from getting any, but you could tell he needed someone to take the stress off. being the kind and generous soul you are, you couldn’t just sit back and watch your best friend suffer.

of course, you had to have some fun for yourself first.

“is it small? that’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“i-it’s not! why’d you come over if you were just gonna distract me?”

armin hated you. he hated how rude you were, your slick jokes, and your shitty attitude. he hated that you never took him seriously. he hated how invasive you could be.

he hated your pretty hair, he hated how you kicked anyone’s ass that treated him wrong, he hated how bad he wanted you to keep prying. he hated that he was ready to throw all of his privacy out of the window just for you.

“distract you? why are you so red then?”

“cause you… you’re…”

he couldn’t finish with you leaning over his shoulder like that. you knew what you were doing. your chest rested on the headrest of his desk chair, just a little too close to his eyes.

armin looked at the digital clock on his desk. ‘21:27” it read. he looked at the shelves full of action figures and his favorite books. his eyes darted around his bedroom in search of anything to focus his eyes on; anything but you.

“do you touch yourself, min?”

his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. “wh- you’re such a fucking perv.”

the answer was obviously yes, but he didn’t want to think about it. if he did, he’d be forced to remember what, or rather who he thought about when he did. he could think about you for hours with his hand shakily gripping his cock with his lips red and puffy from biting them to control the noise.

you slipped onto his lap and smiled.

“what’s this then?” armin hissed at the pressure of the warmth beneath your pink panties pressing against the bulge he was both shocked and ashamed of.

you leaned forward with a smirk. “pervert.”

armin whined underneath you, desperate to feel you any way he could. his hips bucked up impatiently, searching for any relief he could find.

despite your teasing, you knew he wasn’t lying. he want small at all. even without pulling his cock out of his sweatpants you could feel how big he was. such a shame he didn’t know what to do with it :(

this was all he had dreamed of and better. armin’s eyes screwed shut as he awkwardly gripped your waist. he just wanted to be closer to you. he could feel how wet your underwear had gotten from grinding against him. he felt the bohemian curls at the end of your long braids tickling his neck. he felt your glossed lips leaving sticky red marks at the base of his neck. it was all too much.

the only thing that could make this better was if he could kiss you. he imagination ran away from him, picturing your plump lips against his. just the thought of your taste made his eyes snap open in alarm.

“y/n wait-“

your head popped back up. armin tried desperately to still your hips and keep himself steady.

“hm? what’s wrong?” you looked so innocent for a change, so sweet.

he didn’t mean to look at your lips. he didn’t mean to squeeze your waist so tightly.

“don’t do that. i- i can’t hold- fuckk…“ armin’s voice could only be described as tearful when his head jerked back against the headrest.

armin shook underneath you with the most beautiful sounds you’d ever heard rippling from his lips. he looked so pretty when he came. ‘21:30’

“oh my god.”

armin looked down at the darkening spot on his pants and wondered if you’d cum too, or if he’d finally embarrassed himself beyond redemption.

“armin, i think i love you!” you couldn’t contain your laughter as you met his gaze at the wet spot. armin knew that was a joke. you’d always tell him that he ranked number 5 of 5 in guys you’d be interested in. maybe that meant he still had a chance.

“don’t say that.” his eyes never met yours.

“i do. as your best friend, who you love so so much, i have to teach you everything about sex!” you playfully kissed his cheek.

all he wanted to do was kiss you. just one time. he just wanted to feel you.

“we’ll work on stamina another time.”

#repost #minors look away #aot x reader #aot x black reader #aot smut #aot headcanons #armin x you #armin x reader #armin x black reader #armin smut #armin headcanons

[skrunklybf-archived]

safe

summary: he's really not as big and bad as he seems.

pairing: reiner braun x gn!reader

tags: drabble, fluff, established relationship, general softness <3 inspired by some hcs from one of my gcs!!

notes: reposting bc tumblr hates me </3

he's always so tuned in to your emotions;

Even from across the room, Reiner could tell something was bothering you. The way you gripped the sides of the treadmill said enough, but catching a glimpse of the frown on your face had him wiping the sweat from his brow and trotting over with slightly contained haste.

"Hey," Reiner met your gaze in the mirror and gestured to his own ear, signaling you to remove your earbud, "what's up, dove?"

You paused the machine and turned to face your boyfriend. He fiddled with the towel draped over his shoulder as he tried to gauge your body language. Did you maybe hurt yourself somehow?

"Nothing. I think I'm ready to head home, though."

... no, you weren't hurt, he decided. You just looked... uncomfortable. Reiner nodded, holding a hand out for you. "Alright, that's no problem," he smoothed, "not feeling well?"

he's always more than willing to take care of you;

"No, not really," you sighed, laying your palm in his. Reiner's skin always burned so hot against yours; it was only amplified by the workout he'd just finished, before he instinctively looked over to check on you. A little guilt fell onto your shoulders as you both gathered your things. "You don't have to stop, Rei. I can just come pick you up when you're done." You offered.

You would've thought you had something sprouting from your forehead with how he looked at you next.

"Don't worry about me, baby. I'm making you dinner when we get home." He straightened his back, shouldering both of your gym bags with ease. A sweet, thousand-watt smile grew on his face as he took up post by your side.

Still, you couldn't shake the icky feeling, even as you both neared the front doors.

And Reiner, despite the smile he still held for you, watched you from his peripheral. Some naggy part of his brain told him to keep pushing -- just a little -- so, giving in to the mild anxiety, he reached out to hold your hand as you walked.

"Talk to me," he said softly. "What's on your mind, hm?"

he really is your angel;

You settled yourself in the passenger's seat before a sigh sank your shoulders. Reiner didn't even start the car. He just shut his own door and turned to you with a subtly expectant look.

"I feel... bad," you began slowly, kneading at the fabric of your athletic pants, "I know you love it when I come with you, but it's just... hard for me, sometimes."

A second or two of silence passed before Reiner gave you a little hum in reply. He delicately laid his massive hand over your knee, swiping calming crescent moons in hopes to ease your nerves. Reiner knew you better than anyone else -- he knew that strain in your voice, and he didn't like it.

"I understand, dove. Thank you for telling me." You could practically feel the concern radiating from him at your side. "I do love it when you come with me. You're my favorite cheerleader," he chuckled a little, squeezing your knee, "but I don't ever want you to feel uncomfortable, especially for me."

he really is just so soft;

Reiner drove with his hand secured on your leg. An anchor, a warm reminder.

without even trying;

In your shared room, you smiled at the fluffy cat waiting for you on your bed. He always laid on Reiner's pillow -- much to your boyfriends displeasure -- and greeted you with a gentle chirp. Distantly, the shower cut on. Reiner's deep voice sounded through the cracked bedroom door.

"I have a warm shower running, hun."

He peeked his head in, that little worry line still dashed between his eyebrows. You wanted to kiss it away.

"Is it alright if I wash your hair for you?"

he really is your safe space.

#let's try this AGAIN #attack on titan #aot #reiner braun #reiner x reader #aot x reader

[munsons-melody]

eddie's death

summary: you were there with him in the upside down when the demobats attacked, leaving you to witness the death of the love of your life, eddie

pairing: eddie munson x female!henderson!reader

cw: death

recommended song: featured audio clip / lovely by billie eilish & khalid

word count: 1.7k

a/n: my goal was to make someone cry if they read this but it backfired on me bc i sobbed writing this. also i made this audio myself so pls no reposting it to any other site w/o my permission

masterlist

i do not consent to having any of my works republished, translated, or posted to any other site except here. if you see my works anywhere but tumblr, it has been republished without my knowledge, consent, or permission.

-

you never meant for it to happen. you never meant for your boyfriend to get wrapped up in all of this but here you were, trying to defeat some evil creature of an alternate dimension together in hopes to save the world

you had just finished hearing your boyfriend play the famous chords of Master of Puppets.

the song you heard him listen to for hours on end after it came out, the song you would hear him strum on his guitar while you were sitting in his bed admiring how well he played, and unbeknownst to you, the song that was going to serve as his last performance

“most metal ever!” dustin and eddie screamed as they came back into eddie's trailer

"i'm so proud of you!" you squeal, giving him a giant hug and a kiss on the cheek

you were so proud that this plan was going smoothly so far...

oh how you wish you would've known

but the clang of metal above you continued to drum fear into your heart as the demo bats started to rain down onto Eddie's trailer

everyone knew the plan. everyone knew not to stray away from the plan, and god you wished eddie would've too

after helping dustin back through the gate into hawkins, Eddie went to lift you up when he suddenly stopped you and looked you dead in the eye,

"here," he said, handing you his guitar pick necklace, and you looked taken aback 

"but why?" you ask and he gave a small smile before your eyebrows started to furrow, realising what he was insinuating 

"god, eddie no, nothing will happen to you, i promise" you tried to reason but he didn't want to hear it

“i love you y/n, but please forgive me” he said, before shoving the necklace into your hand and hoisting you up through the air causing you to fall through the gate and land on your back on the mattress

the mattress from his bed where you spent many nights with him, laughing, smiling, kissing...

now you laid on it, watching the him act on a deadly heroic deed in order to save a town that hated him

“eddie!” you scream with confusion. you hoped he’d hear you and follow you back to where it was safe, that the conversation you just had was nothing more than an anxious thought, but that was proven untrue when you looked back up at the gate

he looks at you and dustin one last time before cutting the makeshift rope of sheets

“eddie no!” you scream again as your hand stretched out in a last ditch effort to somehow stop the events of your worst nightmare unfolding

“shit shit shit what is he doing?” dustin yells, and you look at him, pure fear and adrenaline coursing through your veins 

"chairs" is all you manage to say before quickly grabbing the one next to the table and setting it up under the gate. the chairs weren't tall enough to reach the gate, so you quickly jump down, running to the side table next to the couch, stacking the chair on top 

"once you get up you jump through" you told him. your mind was racing, there was no other thought occurring besides eddie 

dustin quickly climbed up and did his best to jump through the gate when you heard a thud and a loud crack

seconds later, dustin was screaming out in agony when it clicked what had happen 

"dustin!" you yell, climbing up the same table and chair he just did

you use all your strength left to jump into the gate, flipping down onto the mattress next to a screaming dustin 

"oh my god!" you scream, helping dustin sit up 

"jesus christ!" he sobbed out, but neither of you focused on his injury for long, both knowing the high stakes of eddie being out there all alone

"can you stand?" you ask him and he shook his head

your arm went under his in attempts to help him stand, not helping much but giving him some form of movement to head out of the trailer with 

you heard a crash and scream from outside the trailer, the scream sounded like Eddie and you hoped and prayed there was a god out there to help keep him safe, that it wasn't him screaming, somehow he was fighting off every bat, not attaining any injuries

when you heard the loud noise, dustin and you looked at each other in fear, and you both scrambled to get out of the trailer, when the second you went out the door and caught sight of eddie,your heart dropped as your blood ran cold

you helped dustin run over to eddie, the two of you collapsing next to him

"eddie jesus you need to go a hospital right now" you say, trying to pick him up

"help me!" you scream at dustin, long forgetting about his fresh injury that happened moments before

the two of you try and help him up, but he's struggling to do anything by lie there on the ground 

"wait no just give me a minute" he snapped and you laid him gently back onto the ground, lifting his head up onto your lap for support

"i didn't run away this time, right?" he started and you knew what was happening, it all clicked.

your boyfriend was dying in your arms.

"shh, eddie, you're going to be okay i promise" you reason, trying to wipe the blood off of his face 

"you're going to be okay and we're going to get you to a doctor and soon you'll be right back to normal" you continued, starting to sob

"and I'm going to graduate right?" he asked with a struggling smile, his breathing getting more choppy as he tried to remain calm 

"i think it's my year henderson" he said, reaching a hand up to wipe your tears that seemed to flow like river. even when dying, he always wanted to make sure your tears were dry, one of the many selfless acts of the man you love.

but it didn't stop the tears, if anything just watching him act that way on his deathbed reminded you again why you loved eddie munson 

"i think it's finally my year" he spit out, the two of you both struggling to breathe. 

"it's your year and you're going to do so many great things" you tell him, gripping his hand tight 

"i love you man," he tells dustin, who's just as teary eyed as you

"i love you too eddie" dustin sobs out as he tried to stop the bleeding 

"y/n" he croaked out", and you looked at him as best you could with your blurry teared vision 

"yes eddie?" you ask in attempts to breathe but nothing seemed to slow down your heart which you believed would burst at any minute 

"remember that day in the cafeteria? when you and i first met?" he asked, and you nodded intently. it was the best day of your life. it didn't matter that he ruined your favorite sweater when he accidentally ran into you, spilling your lunch everywhere, because the second you locked eyes, you knew you needed him in your life one way or another 

and low and behold that's what occurred through date nights at the hideout watching him and his band play, late night picnics at lovers lake, helping him create campaigns for hellfire even though you were completely lost on everything going on in DnD, the times he snuck into your bedroom window late at night to comfort you after calling him at 3 am from a bad dream, the countless times you rewatched your favorite movie just because he wanted to hear you say all the lines you knew by heart, the early mornings in his trailer watching the sunset and seeing wayne get home from work...

"of course" you say, nodding to him

"that was the most important moment of my life, cause that was the moment i fell in love with the most beautiful girl in the world" he stuttered out, breathing even more shallow than it was before 

"oh eddie" you manage to mutter out, your breathing erratic, sobs flying out of your body

you stare at him intently, waiting for him to mutter out another word to give you some sense of hope that he was still with you but when he failed to say another word you felt your entire earth shatter around you 

you screamed. 

the scream you let out was one of terror and heartbreak, almost like something out of a movie.

your throat was sore, your face was numb, and your vision was completely blocked by the tears

the screams continued. it was the only thing soothing the worst pain you've ever felt in your entire life 

and you stayed like that for what seemed like hours, holding onto eddie for dear life, praying you'd feel his chest move or see his eyes blink but nothing happened

all you could hear was tour own screaming. your own sobbing. 

the only thing you could feel was the numbness in your body soon taking over.

you didn't even hear when steve, robin, and nancy returned to the trailer to see you sobbing over eddie's body.

you didn't hear the gasp nancy let out, the cries robin had, or the stomping of steve's boots coming up behind you 

"y/n we need to leave" steve said with urgency, but you couldn't move. you wouldn't move.

"y/n please we have to go" steve yelled, starting to wrap his arms around you in efforts to pull you away but you didn't move

it took all of steve and robin to pull you off of him, but even when you couldn't feel eddie's body in your arms, it seemed like your whole body shut down

steve immediately picked you up and held you bridal style back into eddie's trailer to where the gate was

but you didn't care

your body was frozen. you would've been fine if they had all gone through the gate and left you there. 

you stared at the ceiling, wanting some form of thought to occur other than the one you were trying to process, the one you just lived, the one you'll keep reliving.

nancy and robin took to create another makeshift rope to replace the one eddie had cut and within minutes, you were thrown back into what the others considered the 'normal world '

but to you, it was purgatory.

fin. 

#eddie munson #stranger things #dustin henderson #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fluff #eddie x fem!reader #eddie blurb #eddie x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie stranger things #munsons-melody

[maehemthemisfit]

꒰ ♡ BEAUTIFUL ♡ ꒱

A/N: I went a bit off script so it's not exactly trick or treating, and my brainpower was not 100% with this but I wanted to give y'all some TR content.

Anyways I hope you enjoy this tiny drabble <3

Pairing: Mikey x GN!Reader, ft. Draken

Genre: Fluff no Angst

REPOSTING THIS BC TUMBLR IS STINKY AND HATES MY TAGS

"Wait, I thought you were supposed to be the wolf, right?" Draken tilted his head, squinting in disbelief that you managed to talk Mikey into wearing his current attire, red cloak, adorable boots, and a basket not far behind.

"Eh? [Name's] costume couldn't fit them so we switched," Mikey answered with one of his signature smiles, attempting to take a bite of his Taiyaki until you smacked his hand away softly. "Hey! This is not how you treat a beautiful princess," He huffed with a small pout, earning a loving eye roll from you.

"Little red riding hood isn't a princess, Mikey, and I need you to sit still so I can finish doing your hair," You explained, pinching one of his cheeks until his frown turned into a squished grin. And suddenly his eyes seemed to be unable to meet yours, most likely from his heart threatening to burst under your touch. "But you're right about one thing,"

"Never thought I'd hear anyone say that to Mikey," Draken quipped and Mikey threw the rest of his snack at him, immediately regretting it since he missed AND lost his food as Emma giggled in the background along with you.

Mikey's newly lit eyes connected with yours once again, his now free hand tugging on the sleeve of your costume; his craving of physical affection shining through, though you didn't mind at all.

"Right about what? Wait..." He groaned, a disinterested look on his face. "Don't Tell me you were trying to make another short joke!"

The thought of saying how fitting it was for him to be little red riding hood did cross your mind, but you already teased him enough already.

A laugh Mikey couldn't describe as anything but angelic passed your lips as you finished up his hair. "No, surprisingly not this time~"

He sighed in relief, taking the headband that had wolf ears from his lap and carefully placing it on your head. Being so close to him felt so warm and... intimate. It was no surprise that Draken left the room, probably in search of Emma to make fun of Mikey in private and give you both space to do whatever couples do.

"Then what is it?" He blinked. The way he tilted his head reminded you of a puppy, pulling on your heartstrings like a Grand Harp into a wonderful fluttering melody. You couldn't help but cup his face, delivering a soft peck to his nose which proved to be enough to turn his skin into a color that rivaled his costume, and whispering closely to his ear.

"That you are beautiful."

#tokyo rev x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers #mikey x reader #mikey fluff #tokyo rev fluff #tr drabbles #tr x reader #draken #manjiro #sano manjiro x reader #manjiro sano x reader #manjiro x reader #manjiro sano #mikey tokyo revengers #tokyorev x reader #answered 💌 #mikey #mikey scenarios #tokyo revengers x y/n #moots 💖 #mae — tokyorev thoughts

[7amaspayrollmanager]

Can I talk about israeli anti zionists. I promise that I am not just being resentful or shouting at a wall.

I used to follow one prior to 2021 and when the sheikh jarrah protests happened they had alot of anons call them a colonizer blah blah and complicit and it's like funny bc if u r that confident then get off anon. But very much after they were making posts that, paraphrasing, were like "oh you guys are so stupid for thinking that posting is activism" and "I need to step away from social media" and "I don't feel safe" and... I unfollowed. I just felt like these were not the posts I wanted on my dash it left a bad taste in my mouth

And today I was curious and I already had a feeling that considering *waves hands around* all of this that they'd be making the same posts and..they are. And idk if I would call it victimization but it is amusing to me but what is not amusing to me is that they made a post that said this

Granted, tumblr is not the place where youre gonna get much interaction with posts like Twitter and Instagram but I really hate this condescending and demoralizing rhetoric so much sooo much. Reminder donating is practically useless. Rn there is no aid going through theres some ways to get money on the ground I am honestly not entirely sure which ones are more legit. But the way social media has been used to fight against the censorship means the world to palestinians. Instagram and Twitter delete videos and you guys re upload them. A gazan journalist took a picture of a piece of a bomb that showed it was manufactured by Woodward, a US company and thousands of people reposted it and exposed the locations of this company. There is sharing of gazan journalists social media pages so their videos make it to people

Like Muna el Kurd said "your posts are treasures to us" the last few years have shown that social media has become a way for people to mobilize.

And even if tumblr is not a place for it, it means the world that blogs are constantly spamming updates. That you guys didn't stop posting what's happening like israelis hope u do when they cut off most internet access to gazans to hide their atrocities. It means so much that you are sharing sources to combat the misinformation and propaganda and palestinian history.

#anyway it really lifts a burden on me to be the only one posting like i dont need to collect all the new info someone else has done it #i am happy that i am getting dms from white ppl from high school and theyre posting on their stories theyre going to protests!?!?? #thats new that's because of whats on social media #which is both a curse and a blessing