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yuujism · 3 years

Text

NAKED

| PAIRINGS: bonten!mikey x reader

| WARNINGS: suggestive (minors dni), implied sexual content nothing explicit, obsessive and toxic behaviour (lowkey), gender neutral reader, mikey centred, reader is clueless, mikey has emotional issues, mikey is delusional, kinda angsty, grammar errors, mikey is silly and deranged

| WORD COUNT: 2,107

| A/N: this is literally one of the two works i’ve finished in almost a year so uhh sorry if it’s not good or something but i just felt like writing about emotional unstable mikey and his need of love so it’s kinda short and non detailed 😭 there’s another a/n at the end of the work in case of confusion bc damn idk if i portrayed it correctly anyways enjoy <3

SUMMARY

Where Manjiro Sano gets obsessed with you (with a plot twist).

Mikey Sano was afraid.

He was afraid of his heart’s beat, increasing in intensity and pace whenever his mindset landed on the one he yearned for the most. He was afraid of the exaggerated thoughts that drowned his mind, leading to destructive behaviours that he couldn’t help but fall into, almost as a defence mechanism he’d mastered over the years.

Mikey Sano was afraid. Of love. Of you.

It was intense. It was raw. But it was real.

The sharp pain in his chest as he looked at those eyes full of ecstasy and passion proved it. His hands, tingly and sweaty, wishing to be held by yours one more time. Even by a mere coincidence. Even by accident. But, please, just one more time.

He needed you. Your warmth, your assuring words, your praise, the feeling of your body close to his to prove everything around him was worth it. Even himself. Because he was to you and, as easy as connecting the dots in a piece of paper, he started thinking maybe he actually was important, he was needed.

But was he?

The memory of the empty cold side of the bed that damned next morning still haunted him during his loneliest nights, city lights and streets full of people under his nose being his only companions along the chilly wind current hitting his face. Secretly, maybe even subconsciously, he hoped to see you again among the crowd, waiting for him just like he was waiting for you. Perhaps you would be standing down there in the sidewalk, looking up at him from below with that sweet smile on your face that enchanted him at first sight and he would smile too, heart fluttering and body heating up with thrill and excitement, just like a scene from those romance movies from his childhood. But, of course, that never happened.

Silly Mikey. Stupid Mikey. Worth-for-nothing Mikey.

Where did it go wrong? He asked himself that same question at least thrice a day after the last time he saw you almost a month. A month full of desperation. Was it something he said? Something he did? Maybe even something he didn’t do. He couldn’t come up with anything that may have scared you away because, god, it all seemed to be going fine before you left him.

That last night was perfect. He was feeling light-headed just by remembering the previous events. You were so eager for him. To please him and make him feel good. And that you did.

His name falling from your lips like a mantra followed him to the few dreams he could gather throughout his usual sleepless nights, almost as if something or someone out there was giving him the divine reward he wasn’t worth of. For a small moment, he didn’t think of himself as the ugly and disgusting mess he was thanks to your lovely ministrations of your lips in his chest, his neck and his face. Warm hands moving down his torso, reaching the place where he needed you the most while leaving a fiery trace all over the exposed skin that came into contact with your touch. The chaotic yet beautiful tangle of limbs and mix of saliva and moans filling the room along with the explicit sound of skin slapping against skin. It was passionate, loud and naked.

Manjiro, Manjiro, Manjiro. Because that night you didn’t see Mikey. You saw Manjiro. In his most naked and purest form. With tears filling his eyes as the pleasure invaded his body, words of adoration and an unnoticed confession leaving his mouth only to be muffled in the soft spot between your neck and shoulder, making you whine at the moment as he painted your insides white with a loud, needy sob of your name.

Manjiro, I want you.

Manjiro, I need you.

Manjiro, I’m yours.

And just like that, he fell. And hard. God, how desperate was he to hear those words again. He wanted you. He needed you. He was completely and utterly yours ever since the first kiss you two shared.

So why the hell did you leave him?

His hands clenched into fists on his lap, negative emotions filling his body after the distant yet sweet pleasure his memories brought him. Anger, sorrow, despair. He didn’t hate you, he just couldn’t come to have any kind of rencor towards you. Actually, he kind of understood why and he felt miserable at how hurtful could realisation be.

Why wouldn’t you leave him?

Everyone did, so why wouldn’t you do the same? The same sharp pain pierced through his chest to the point he almost felt like throwing up and crumbling to the floor. It would’ve happened sooner or later, right? At one point you probably realised how dangerous staying with someone like him was. Strong yet weak. Intimidating yet afraid. Sweet yet sour. He was a hard pill to swallow and a venomous one at that.

But you told him he was needed, didn’t you? That you were his. Even if Mikey wanted to fight with himself inside the dark cave that was his mind, it seemed his feral and egocentric side beat up the bundle of insecurities that told him it was his fault. At least when it came to you. Because how could it possibly be his fault? He didn’t leave you. He didn’t abandon you. He didn’t lie to you. Everything he said and felt was real, he was now sure about it.

So he went back to the low-life place where everything started. Where he saw you for the first time and approached him with confidence in your steps, as if you didn’t know what you were doing to him when your hands wrapped around his waist to bring him closer to you. And he let you. He let himself drown in your saccharine scent and the feeling of finally being desired. The walls and crowd were now a blurry, almost unknown, memory, focusing on you and just you.

So please, please, be there.

He hoped, wished, prayed and begged to whatever was out there listening. He regrets not inquiring about your house, he would have more of a chance to corner you and question you, to finally get an explanation on why. Why, why, why. Was he not enough? No. No, he was enough.

His tired eyes roamed around the place, realising he couldn’t even remember the way the faint amber luminosity made him feel dizzy just like this moment, completely forgetting about it once he had you between his arms. The crowd. Were there this many people that time too? Or was it him? He must’ve been really drunk off you to not even remember basic architectural features. Minutes of confusion and doubt passed and passed, finally deciding to sit down at the table closest to the exit just in case you walked by.

And you did.

And you looked as bright as the first time he saw you.

Everything seemed to stop around him. The music, the background noise of people chatting and even the cars passing by outside. Everything except his beating hard against his chest he even got worried it could actually lead to physical complications in the next few minutes. But that didn’t matter. In fact, nothing mattered but you.

He couldn’t look away. Not even if he tried. His stern gaze followed you all the way until you were in front of the bar, elbows resting on the surface and looking at the distance with a small smile on your face. He couldn’t help the way his eyes slid down the shape of your body, admiring every curve and corner of it as flashes of the passionate night you both shared came to his mind, making his pants tighten at the growing arousal. He licked his lips in anticipation, standing up from his spot to walk to you while wondering, a mix of emotions messing up with his state of mind once again.

Did you not see him? Or were you just ignoring him? Did you still remember the way he made you feel the last time? Have all the marks he left all over your body gone away completely? Could you steel feel him between your legs, filling you up with all he’s worth? Did you not miss him? He’s been craving for you. Yearning even.

How he wished he could listen beyond the sound of his heart beating in his ears as he was few feet away from you, legs bobbling with nervousness and something else he couldn’t pinpoint. Because you were finally there, in front of him and looking the same as he last saw you. The soft lips that swallowed him whole and let out the sweetest of sounds he’s ever heard, the hands that held him with such love and care, putting him together for a few moments of his entire life, the eyes that were filled with raw adoration and lust as he thrusted into you eagerly, whimpers leaving his lips. Everything was the same. You were the same.

A whisper of your name behind you. The turn of your head to connect your sparkly soft eyes with his dead ones yet covered with hope and illusion. Your sweet smile welcoming him again as his head started spinning with ecstasy to the thought of you needing him again. You were so sweet. So, so sweet to him.

“Do I know you?”

His whole world crumbled down.

Suddenly, he couldn’t stand the honeyed tone in your voice as you also asked for his name, getting closer to him to get a better look at his face. He couldn’t stand the way the crowd that seemed to disappear was now suffocating him along with the background music. His eyes stared at you for a few seconds, trying to find the slightest sign of a laugh, a crack in the elaborated joke you tried to pull on him before you took him in your arms again.

Because what did you even mean with a question like that? Did you seriously forget him that easily? He felt like dying during the whole month he spent without you, without your touch, while he didn’t even cross your mind. Was that night nothing to you? Was he really just another irrelevant person on your life? Was he really as unimportant as he felt?

Mikey felt naked in front of you once again. However, this time it felt shameful. It felt degrading. He perceived himself small under your soft expecting eyes, as if he was nothing but a pebble in your way. And, apparently, he was.

He didn’t want this.

He couldn’t handle this.

You moaned his name over and over again. He gave himself to you that night. He told you he loved you as he came inside of you with a sob of your name. You told him you were his. Manjiro, Manjiro, Manjiro. That night. That one and only night. He’s never felt more naked than when being with you, both in the right and wrong way. Honest but disgraceful. Loved but forgotten. Manjiro but nobody.

Do you know him? Yes, he wanted to answer, you’re mine. I’m yours.

But Mikey knew better than to make the same mistake again. He now knew better than to strip himself from all clothes, barriers and masks to you from the beginning. To not leave his heart exposed to sweet words and lustful lies. And, as you asked once again for his name, this time worry and suspiciousness coating your still sweet tone, a smirk appeared on his face.

Never again.

“No,” he purred, slowly closing the gap between you, dangerously low and seductive. Just like he knew you liked him. Like you told him you liked him.

This time, he will do it the correct way.

“But you can call me Mikey.”

And you repeated his name as you eyed him up and down, that same look you gave him the first time that you approached him, almost as if you tried to savour the way it would sound when he was taking you rough and raw a few hours later. Just like the first time. Just like the only time.

This time, there was no excuse for mistakes. This time, there was no space for Manjiro and his pure nakedness, for words of love in a world filled with flowers and rewards. Because you didn’t deserve all that delivered in a silver plate just like he cluelessly gave it to you that night. If you wanted to play, he could play. He wasn’t going to let you go. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever.

Tonight, you were going to become entirely his. For real this time.

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a/n: just to clear something up if it was confusing 😭 basically mikey got obsessed with reader over a one night stand, thinking they actually meant everything they said and he wants them to stay with him forever now! thanks for reading mwah

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #mikey sano #sano manjiro #manjiro sano #mikey x reader #mikey sano x reader #sano manjiro x reader #manjiro sano x reader #manjiro #manjiro x reader #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers x reader smut #mikey sano smut #sano manjiro smut

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jeehye · 3 years

Text

BNHA villain boyfriends when you’re depressed

— Shigaraki and Overhaul

— Gender Neutral!Reader

Warnings: Depression / Mental Disorders, Implied Nudity, Probably OOC Shigaraki and Overhaul. Harsh-ish Overhaul(?)

Genre: angsty fluff

A/N: This is a little more personal. Sometimes we go through the motions and that is okay. I am proud of you for even simply browsing through Tumblr. I promise you, someday it’ll get better, so hold your head high, these waves will pass. If you ever need to talk, I am always here for you. You’re doing amazing, never forget that.

You didn’t know how it got so bad.

Clothes littered the floor, shoes and stuffed animals thrown all over. Plates of half eaten food and water cups stacked up; all creating a chaotic mess.

You wore a baggy shirt and undergarments, mix matched socks that were slightly coming off your feet, but you did not care.

You hadn’t cared for days now.

Everything in life was like a seemingly tedious task. Even combing your hair was almost excruciating to do, and not because you had to yank knots out of your hair, but because it consumed every fiber of your being to get out of your bed and do so.

You had no energy. No enthusiasm.

You were so tired of it; so, so tired of it all. You felt desperate as you sunk deeper and deeper into this dark abyss. It was like you were trying to reach up for air but the weight of everything was continuously dragging you down. You desperately wanted to cry out for help, but you didn’t have the energy or strength, or even humility to ask for help. And so, you just laid there, time continuously ticking by, as the world continued to move forward, and you stayed stagnant in one place.

And as the sun rose on the fifth day, you heard a creak at your door and footsteps shuffling inside your room.

Shigaraki Tomura

Shigaraki came in quietly, like he always does when visiting your room. He didn’t know what was going on with you, but he knew deep down you did not want to be alone. So, he sat on the ground of your messy bedroom, switch in hand, playing Animal Crossing.

You could hear the background music of the game and the sounds of Shigaraki fishing. Sometimes he would grunt in frustration when he failed to catch a fish, which placed a tickle of a smile on your face.

After about 30 minutes of listening to his gameplay it went dead silent. You could hear him get up from his spot and shift his body weight onto your bed, causing it to creak.

“That damn Nook is a fraud”, Shigaraki grumbled, “This stingy bastard wants me to pay 548,000 bells for an expansion! This game is literally what I hate about society and those fucking ugly villagers do not deserve homes”, he continued to rant, scratching his neck in frustration.

You could practically feel him sulking.

“Maybe…” You murmured quietly “…maybe we could play together?” You lifted your head to look at him, your face still puffy from the crying session you had.

Shigaraki hated when you cried. He hated when you got the way you did too. When he first started dating you, he had made it a promise that he would protect you from everything, and make sure you were treated with the upmost care and respect. In some ways he can’t help but feel like he failed you, but he knows blaming himself would only make you feel worse.

Shigaraki gave you a soft smile and reached for the s/c switch that was sitting on your nightstand with 4 fingers.

He handed you the switch and you booted up Animal Crossing: New Horizons. As you were getting through Isabel’s mantra, you felt Shigaraki shift in bed.

“Y/N…” He said quietly, slipping his arms around your waist and nuzzled his head into your neck.

You hummed in response, all of your attention focused on running to open your island’s gate for Shigaraki to join.

“I know you are dealing with a lot,” He continued, “but do not have to take all of the weight of world on your shoulders, you can give some of the weight to me…”. He hugged you closer and kissed the side of your jaw.

You felt tears prick your eyes, “Thank you…I honestly do not know what I would do without you”, you said meekly, wiping your face.

“Mhm…I love you Y/N”.

Overhaul

“Your room is so filthy; don’t you ever think about cleaning it up?”

You shuddered in your bed as you heard the monotone man step foot into your room. You could feel the man’s judgement in his voice and it made your eyes prick with tears.

“I am sorry boss”, you muttered, ashamed and disgusted with yourself. “I’ll do bett-“

“No.” He firmly said, cutting you off.

You could hear him breathe deeply, as if he was trying to muster up courage, before his gloved hand yank your body out of your bed and into his chest. Your eyes widening in disbelief.

“Sir?” You looked at him in bewilderment, knowing damn well you’re not up-to-date on his cleanliness protocol.

Suddenly, dread washed over you as you thought he was going to reconstruct you right here, or just kill you because of how you were, but he didn’t do either of those things. Instead, Kai dragged you into your bathroom.

“I told you to stop with the formality”, he grumbled underneath his mask, “now put your hands up”.

You did as you were told, and he slipped your shirt off, as well as your undergarments and socks. You felt the cold air surround you and as you were about to shiver and cover your body self-consciously, strong arms picked you up and gently placed you into the warm bath water.

Kai turned away to take off his mask and gloves off and set them neatly on the marbled vanity table before turning back to tend to you.

“Aren’t I dirty?” You muttered your eyebrows furrowing together.

His golden eyes looked at you, his face expressionless, “why else do you think I’m washing you?”, he asked in a more matter-of-fact tone, as he lathered your h/c hair with f/s shampoo.

You could feel your shoulder loosen up as he massaged your scalp, your body slowly sinking into the tub in bliss.

Kai’s eyes softened at the sight of your pure, fragile state. He saw you as someone worthy of so much and he hated when you got into your depressed states. He tried his best to build you up as much as he could, though some could argue that his methods were more-or-less tough love, but regardless the man adored you. Even if you rolled in mud and were covered head-to-toe in dog shit, he would still never view you as dirty. Kai held cleanliness next to godliness and you were a god(dess) to him.

“Don’t fall asleep on me angel”, he hummed, rinsing your hair off with the shower head.

You hummed in response, the warm water lulling you to sleep. “Too late…” you mumbled, and as soon as you said that you felt the shower head looming over you turn off and the sound of the bath tub being drained.

You were about to whine in protest when the same strong arms picked you back up and wrapped you into a warmed, soft towel.

“It is not good to fall asleep in the bath”, Kai scolded, wiping your body down and putting a new pair of clothes on you.

Once he was finished, you tried walking back to your bedroom, but he stopped you. “I am having your bedsheets changed currently so you cannot head back to bed yet. You can go once they are done.”

“Okay…thank you”, you said shyly.

Kai looked at you intensely for a moment before he wrapped his arms around you. “Y/N, I do not mind taking time out of my day to take care of you”, he said slowly, pressing his lips against your wet hair. “You’re my everything angel, I want to make sure you are always okay”.

You nodded in response, “Thank you Kai…for everything”.

“I love you angel".

Requests are Open!

#Shigaraki x Reader #Shigaraki Tomura x Reader #Overhaul x Reader #Chisaki Kai x Reader #Fluff #Angst #BNHA #MHA #Boku No Hero Academia #My Hero Academia #MHA x Reader #BNHA x Reader #Shigaraki Tomura #Overhaul #Chisaki Kai #MHA Fanfiction #BNHA Fanfiction #I was going to add dabi but I made him so ooc y/n might kill me #sfw

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reinvent-and-believe · 4 years

Note

48 from dialogue prompts + 50 from wordless i-love-yous for geraskier?

Dialogue Prompt 48: “You make me want things I can’t have.” Wordless I-love-you 50: buying them a special treat when you go out shopping

It catches Geralt’s eye while he haggles over an outrageously priced jar of alchemy paste with a none-too-impressed herbalist on the outskirts of Novigrad, a buxom widow with thick-braided auburn hair by the name of Irmina.

“This for sale too?” He picks up the brooch from the countertop where it rests in a beam of golden light streaming through a dingy window. He examines it. It’s simple enough metalwork, a brass oval with a scalloped edge, but inlaid in its face is a single pressed yellow flower framed by tiny white blooms encased in resin.

The herbalist’s dour demeanour brightens immediately. “It is indeed!” she answers, her brown eyes shining in a plump, suddenly pleasant face. “Made it myself just last week. It’s something of a hobby of mine, making pretty knick-knacks from the flowers we can’t sell. Got plenty more like this if you’d like to peruse ‘em, master witcher! Forget-me-nots and arenaria, hellebore, violets, any flower you might like.”

A buttercup, he realizes belatedly. That’s the yellow flower in the center.

“No.” He sees Irmina’s brow furrow in offense, so he hastens to appease her. “No need, I’ll take this one. I...I’m partial to buttercups.”

Her freckled face breaks into a sly, knowing smile. “Oh, aye, I’m sure someone is partial to buttercups.” She winks, waving away his stammered attempts at an answer. “Never you mind, I know a man besotted when I see one, and it seems a witcher’s not so different. Tell you what. Fifty crowns for the paste and I’ll throw the brooch in for only ten.”

Leaving the herbalist’s shop with an overpriced paste, a lighter purse, and a useless trinket, Geralt curses himself for a fool.

He’s not sure why he bought it.

He knows buttercups are Jaskier’s favorite, of course. “None but the noblest of flowers for my sobriquet!” Jaskier had squawked indignantly when Geralt once made the grave mistake of referring to the pesky things as weeds after he’d stopped Roach from chomping on a patch of the bright, poisonous blooms.

They are weeds, buttercups. They serve no function. They can’t be used in any of the potions, decoctions, or oils Geralt brews, nor do they have any particularly helpful curative properties for humans.

“As ever, my dear witcher, you have no sense of poetry,” Jaskier had sighed in a most put-upon voice when told as much. “Their function is they’re pretty. Their function is to enrich our lives through the beauty of the natural world.” He’d looked to the sky, tip of his tongue between his teeth showing through his frown as was his custom when puzzling through the right way to turn a phrase. “From a strictly utilitarian perspective, perhaps the buttercup has less value than, say, moleyarrow, or verbena, or chamomile, even. Some plants provide nutritional or medicinal or alchemical qualities of various sorts. But some exist to make life worth living! To transform the banal into the sublime.” He’d plucked a buttercup from the roadside, twirling it between his long fingers. “It’s graceful and balanced, effortlessly beautiful. It’s vibrant, bright like...like sunlight, on a summer afternoon! And when you see it growing alongside the various and sundry flora, it fills you with the loveliest burst of warmth, like a lover’s smile.”

“So...it’s a pretty weed.”

“You’re incorrigible, witcher, that’s what you are.” Jaskier had huffed dramatically before tucking the buttercup behind Geralt’s ear, his face alight with a delighted grin.

Like sunlight on a summer afternoon.

The Kingfisher Inn is crowded when Geralt arrives. He goes to the bar, orders an ale from Olivier, and leans against the counter to take a look at the stage.

Jaskier loves playing the Kingfisher. In many of the inns he plays across the Continent, he’s relegated to a corner to try to sing over the clang of dinner, his only option to win the common folk over a raucous drinking song or a filthy ditty. And while the bard doesn’t shy away from such vulgarities, the patrons of the Kingfisher tend to be of a more artistically inclined ilk, responding with appropriate gusto to the virtuosic art songs that he rarely performs outside of competitions or Oxenfurt.

Or so he’d explained to Geralt when he’d suggested they meet up at the inn.

Jaskier sits atop a tall stool on a rather large stage framed by crimson curtains, his sky-blue doublet a vivid contrast. The audience, enraptured, listens to his ballad, a melancholy tale of a fair maiden who’s violently killed before she can profess her love to a farmhand in her village, a beautiful, strong, kind man whose hair shines like a blaze of pale fire in the sunlight. Her love for him tethers her to this world, and her spirit—bitter, weary, and endlessly yearning—calls the men working in the fields to join her dance at midday, when the sun is in its zenith, hoping against hope for the chance to finally confess to her beloved.

In the end, the brave, noble farmhand sacrifices himself, hoping to stop the spirit’s killings by listening to her song and joining her as she beckons. And as they are reunited, as she finally kisses the lips she’s longed for in a blinding blaze of sunlight, they pass on together, their spirits becoming one.

It’s a contract Geralt worked a few years ago, a noonwraith outside Oreton—or at least something close. As ever, Jaskier has taken artistic liberties, romanticized the actual events (“Sometimes, in our pursuit of Truth, we must sacrifice the facts,” Jaskier loftily explained on more than one occasion. He seemed quite taken with the profundity he seemed to find in the statement. Geralt called it pretentious once and Jaskier hurled a chunk of bread at his head). Once it might have bothered Geralt, but he’s grown accustomed to Jaskier’s rather malleable relationship with veracity in his ballads. There’s no denying the impact of his storytelling: when Geralt glances around the inn, he sees several patrons discreetly dabbing at their eyes.

It’d been an ugly case, leaving him feeling empty, drained. Noonwraiths haunt his thoughts far longer than most the monsters he dispatches. They��re victims of circumstance more than anything, young women who’ve been transformed into bloodthirsty, violent spirits through no fault of their own, through the violence inflicted upon them. Nearly forty men had fallen prey to her before the farmhand distracted her with his kiss—though Geralt would hesitate to classify his grotesque, gruesome sacrifice as such—so the witcher had a chance to strike her down with silver. Jaskier has spun the miserable tale into something beautiful, moving, something that clearly resonates with his captivated audience, that speaks to a greater force at work than the chaotic, banal evils the witcher sees every day, and Geralt thinks he understands, for a moment, what the bard had told him of Truth and facts.

(Geralt doesn’t know what greater Truth is served by changing the beloved farmhand’s hair from the dull brown it really was to “a blaze of pale fire,” but then, Geralt’s not a poet.)

The final notes hang in the air, all eyes fixed on Jaskier for a rapt, breathless moment before the room bursts into wild applause. Jaskier stands and bows deeply, once, twice, a third time, surveying the room as he offers his thanks. When his gaze catches Geralt at the bar, his expression of showman’s grace vanishes, a flash of something that looks almost alarmed for a split second before it’s replaced by a small, gentle smile.

Geralt nods and raises his mug toward the stage in cheers, draining the remainder. Jaskier is quickly swept into the swarm of captivated fans, accepting their praises with a gracious, if distracted, smile.

The witcher turns back to the barkeep to order himself another ale along with a glass of wine.

“Geralt!” Jaskier swerves to avoid a near-collision with a frenzied barmaid on his way to join his companion at the bar. He grabs the wine glass with a groan of appreciation, taking a swig before asking, “Is this for me? Gods, but you’re a marvel, darling, I thank you.” He takes another sip and sends a disarming, roguish wink to a pair of girls staring at him and giggling to each other. “I wasn’t sure when you’d arrive, but it wouldn’t have mattered, I suppose, they only had one room to let when I checked in and it hasn’t cleared out since. You’ll share mine, of course, but I’ve been here a week so, you know, best brace yourself, I’ve quite made the place my own.”

Geralt snorts. He’s stayed in enough rooms that Jaskier has made his own over the past decade to predict with some certainty what mess he’ll soon venture into.

(Doublets draped over furniture after they’ve been discarded; crumpled sheets of paper tossed near, never in the fireplace; a few near-empty bottles of wine; a shirt hung to dry over the modesty screen between the sleeping and bathing areas; bottles of a dozen oils and perfumes and soaps scattered haphazard near the tub; an unmade bed that may well contain an abandoned undergarment or forgotten stocking left by some well-satisfied guest.)

“Have you eaten? Shall we? I’m starved, felt jittery all afternoon and didn’t eat a damned thing which was all well and good until I got onstage and suddenly wished for a fainting couch. Or we could take your things up to the room first, of course. Oh! We could have them bring our dinner up to us, it’s awfully crowded down here tonight and I’m not sure I’m up to socializing all evening, to be honest, I’ve been dreadfully out of sorts, did you notice, Geralt, that I’ve…”

Jaskier continues his ramblings, and the witcher can’t help a twinge of worry for his friend. It’s not unheard of for Jaskier to be in a heightened state over a particularly important performance, but usually afterwards the nerves dissipate and he seems more himself. Not to mention, why would playing in an inn prompt such anxieties? Even if the Kingfisher clientele trends toward the more refined than the country folk he often plays for, it’s still rather a low-stakes environment to trigger such stress.

“New song?” he asks casually. Jaskier always beams when he notices such things, when he makes an effort to ask about his music.

Instead, Jaskier blushes, looking away with an expression that almost seems guilty. “Ah, yes, well, I wasn’t certain when you’d be arriving, of course, I thought I might try out something different, a sort of test audience, as it were, to feel out the piece before I use it for anything important.” The look he’s fixed on Geralt seems almost wary. “Did you...like the song?”

Geralt shrugs. “Not quite how it happened,” he grumbles, out of habit more than anything.

A smile, genuine and rueful, breaks out on Jaskier’s face. “Gods, I’ve missed you, my friend,” he says, shaking his head and looking away quickly.

“Hmm.” He reaches quickly into the coin pouch at his side, thrusting the trinket from the herbalist into Jaskier’s hand with a brusque, “Here.”

“Whatever have we got…” He cuts off as opens his palm. “Oh.”

There have been so few times over the years that Geralt has seen Jaskier speechless that he begins to worry he’s offended him. He turns the brooch over in his hands, once, twice, his thumb swiping gently over its smooth enamel face. He doesn’t look up.

Even in the crowded room, Geralt can smell the shift in his demeanor, the muted sickly-sweet anxious smell becoming something sharp, metallic, pained, like he’s been stabbed. “You’re upset.”

“I...no.” Jaskier shoves the brooch into his trouser pocket, a tense smile on his face, not at all reaching his eyes. “Thank you, Geralt, it’s lovely. Shall we take your bags to the room now?”

“I didn’t...I didn’t get it to upset you.”

Jaskier laughs, a broken thing, and Geralt grows even more alarmed. “You didn’t, it isn’t that, sometimes I want things I can’t have is all.” He grabs the saddlebag sitting at Geralt’s feet, not meeting his eyes as he rushes past him up the stairs to the last bedroom in the hall.

Geralt follows after a moment, giving his companion a respectful distance. There’s a tightness in his shoulders, a knot in his gut that only grows as he watches Jaskier’s hand tremble on the key as he unlocks the door.

It was a stupid idea. He knew it was stupid when he bought it, yet he bought it anyway, somehow ruined everything anyway.

“Here we are.” Jaskier’s voice is filled with a forced cheer as he sets the bag down, hand never leaving the doorknob. “I’ll go fetch us some supper. Or, actually, you know, now that I think of it, I’ve a few errands to run before it gets too late, meant to do it earlier but you know how it goes, lost track of time…”

“Jaskier.” Geralt moves toward him but stops himself, helpless. “Please. I’m sorry I upset you.”

Jaskier stands in the doorway for another moment. He takes a deep breath, closes the door, and walks slowly to the writing desk in the corner. He pulls the chair out, moving the doublet strewn across it before sitting. He doesn’t look at Geralt.

“You didn’t.” Every word is calculated, deliberate. “What kind of ungrateful wretch gets upset over...over an exceptionally thoughtful gift from a friend after a time apart?”

Geralt sits on the edge of the bed. His elbows rest on his knees, fingers locking together as he stares at the floor. “You’re not a wretch. The fault is mine.”

“Dammit, Geralt, there isn’t fault, I only—why did you bring me a gift?”

Geralt frowns. “I’ve bought you things before,” he says slowly.

“Things, yes!” Jaskier vaults from the chair, pacing listlessly about the room, no longer trying to mask his inexplicable distress. “Lute strings when I broke a string and I was low on coin. The lute is my livelihood, it made financial sense for you to replace the string so I could pull my own weight, help you when we pass through several towns in a row with no contracts. Boots when you noticed the hole in the heel of my old pair, because I slow you down limping about in footwear that’s falling apart. Room and board, sometimes, because you know I’m good for it, I’ll cover you the next time.” He’s stopped pacing, stares silent into the fireplace.

“Wasn’t keeping a tab.” Geralt’s voice is quiet. “You needed strings and boots and food and a room.”

Jaskier doesn’t turn to face him, but Geralt sees his hand slip into his pocket, pull out the brooch. His head bends, studying it.

He’s not offended or annoyed or angered by the gift. He’s hurt. But why?

Except...

Jaskier looked guilty when Geralt brought up the song. Like he’d been caught red-handed. Did you like it? he’d asked. Incredulous.

The noonwraith singing her song in hopes that her beloved hears her confession. That he’ll hear her song of longing and come to her.

Hair like a blaze of pale fire, not dull brown.

Sometimes I want things I can’t have.

“Geralt?”

The witcher snaps back to attention, eyes fixed on Jaskier, finally facing him.

“Why did you get it for me, Geralt?”

Geralt frowns. “It’s...pretty,” he starts lamely. “I thought you might wear it when you play. You wear gaudy things.”

Jaskier snorts, a small, crooked grin on his lips.

“It made me think of you,” he confesses quietly, his eyes tracing the wood grain of the floor. “Sometimes...things don’t have to have a function. It was a buttercup and it was pretty and it…made me think of you.”

When Geralt dares to raise his eyes, Jaskier’s staring at him, brows drawn together and mouth slightly agape. After a moment, he walks toward the witcher, sitting carefully beside him on the bed. He reaches his hand towards Geralt’s and presses the little brooch into his palm.

“Will you pin it on me?” he asks softly.

Geralt nods.

His fingers feel thick and clumsy as he fumbles with the delicate clasp. The top few buttons of Jaskier’s doublet, as ever, are undone, but it closes neatly just beneath his exposed neck. Geralt slips a finger beneath the satin fabric to pull it away from his throat, cautiously piercing the fabric with the thin pin and sliding it into its slot, locking the clasp with shaking hands.

His hand doesn’t move from Jaskier’s chest. A sword-calloused thumb, seemingly of its own volition, grazes lightly over the bobbing Adam’s apple.

“Geralt.”

He looks up, almost pulls away but for the flushed cheeks, the tongue that darts out to wet pink lips, the hooded eyes beneath dark lashes fixed on Geralt’s mouth. Jaskier’s breath is warm against his face. When did they draw so close?

“Are you going to kiss me, Geralt?” The breathy whisper is laced with wonder.

And he didn’t...didn’t buy the brooch to entice Jaskier into anything, didn’t mean to solicit any sort of reward, and he opens his mouth to tell him so, yet as his rough hand moves to gently cup the back of Jaskier’s neck the words that tumble out instead are, “I’d like to.”

And Jaskier throws back his head and laughs, a euphoric, intoxicated sound, as his lovely hands cradle Geralt’s face. He brings his forehead to rest against Geralt’s as they still, breathing each other for a moment before Jaskier surges forward to capture his lips.

His kiss tastes like sunlight.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #the witcher fic #the witcher #my fic #anon asks #prompt fill #thank you so much for this absolutely lovely prompt!!!!! i'm so sorry it took me months to actually filling it!!!

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amimimi · 3 years

Text

kissing face

synopsis: tiktok makes langa a lil insecure

genre: fluff

pairing: langa x reader

warnings: mentions of insecurity and physical appearance, kissing

word count: 1.4 k

notes: i started thinking about what langa’s fyp on tiktok would look like (it would be chaotic. pure, utter chaos. that and cooking tutorials. no in between) and then I wrote a lil paragraph for sh*ts and giggles. and THEN it turned into...all of this. also, i wrote this during my study breaks so if the gramma/spelling is off, it’s because my brain is actually fried. enjoy!

langa sees all those tiktoks making fun of that face boys make before they kiss you and he’s like “ew?”

but then he tries to practice kiss in the mirror and he’s horrified because wtf wtf wtf wtf? has he been kissing you like this since you started dating him? why haven’t you said anything?

so when he’s over at your house for a studying session, the both of you sitting on your bedroom floor, you don’t notice that langa is purposely withholding from kissing you because you’re in study mode.

the timer on your phone goes off, signaling for you both to take a break. sighing deeply, you rub the back of your cramping neck and look up from your laptop. you turn over to langa, who’s eyes are glossed over from reading, his hair a mess from frustratedly running his fingers through his locks—he looks like he’s just been shuttled from another dimension.

“i’ve...been rereading the same five sentences for the last thirty minutes” he murmurs, sounding equally as dazed as he looks.

this earns a giggle from you, as you shimmy over to wear he sits. with a sympathetic smile on your face, you smooth his hair down as you coo “poor baby”, before you start giggling again.

langa, whose brain is way too fried to respond, can only stare at you, blinking ever so slowly. you settle closer to him, cupping his cheeks and langa catches your gaze dropping to his lips.

suddenly, he gets a mental image of those god awful expression he saw on tiktok and he’s shaken from his studying induced stupor. Wide eyed, langa wriggles out you grasp feeling a little bad at your confused expression.

“is something the matter?” you ask, frowning slightly. “i’m sorry—”

langa places his hands over your cheeks before you can finish your apology. “close your eyes” he says, straight faced.

you blink. “huh?” you question.

“can you close your eyes...please?” he mumbles, a lot less confident than before. he pouts a little in an attempt to conceal the fact that he’s slightly blushing (you notice).

still confused, you shut your eyes. “okay, but hurry up. your hands are cold—” you stop yourself when he feel his breath fan your face. without thinking, you inhale on instinct. it was embarrassing to admit, but you loved the scent of langa’s breath. he was impeccable when it came to hygiene, so he always smelled nicely. but you loved langa’s scent—it was hard to explain. he always smelled like mint and well, himself. him. him. him. him.

you knew what was coming next, but you couldn’t help but jump when his lips met yours—soft and hesitant. inhaling much more deeply this time, you slightly part your lips and lean into the kiss. langa hums appreciatively and you bring your hands up to grasp onto his forearms.

before you can open your eyes, langa swiftly pulls away, leaving you slightly dazed. you open your eyes to see langa cautiously staring at you.

“why...what was that all about?” you ask, trying to keep your face from twisting into a smile. you give langa’s forearms a squeeze and he drops his hands from your face, resting them on your lap.

“nothing...” langa mumbles, looking everywhere but at you.

he was obviously not telling the truth, and you knew that. but you also knew that the inner workings of langa’s mind was an enigma and if you were being honest, this wasn’t even close to being the strangest thing he’s done.

so you let it go—that is until he’s getting ready to go home.

you’re standing in the doorway, watching langa tie his shoes before he stands up straight and adjusts the strap of his messenger bag over his chest.

you grin. “that was hot”

langa blinks. “what was?” he asks, bending over to pick up his skateboard.

“when you adjust your bag like that” you reply softly, sliding your fingers over the strap before you bring your hand over his chest.

langa’s confused expression melts into a fond smile. you think he looks prettiest like this, smiling so easily with a gentle shimmer in his eye, like moonlight reflecting off the ocean.

“okay, i’ll keep note of that” he replies quietly and you can’t help but giggle at the sharp contradiction between his formal choice of words and the affectionate tone of his voice.

langa continues to softly grin as you giggle.

but then, oh shit, you’re staring at his lip again. langa panics, not wanting to ruin the moment but he’ll be damned if you see that ugly ass expression on his face before he goes in for kiss. but you must’ve seen it before right? did you notice but chose not to say anything out to preserve his feelings? did he really look like a fish while kissing you? a fish?

“all that studying must’ve fried your brain, huh?” you smile at him through half-lidded eyes, drumming your fingers against his chest. langa realizes he’s been staring at you with a dead expression and bites his lip.

langa takes the hand you’ve placed in his chest and grips it. “goodnight, y/n” he whispers before hesitating. “c-close your eyes”

the smile on your face falters as you take in langa’s tensed appearance. you tilt your head to one side. “why?”

“so...”

“so...?”

“i can kiss you goodnight”

there’s a long pause. langa’s grip on your hand has increased tenfold as he stares at you expectantly and he almost looks—nervous?

you blink, still confused, before langa reluctantly continues on.

“just...until i figure out how to fix my face...” he mumbles, eyes flitting off to the side.

“okay, now I’m really lost”

“i—” langa starts before sighing, deciding it would be better to show you. with the hand that isn’t clasped against yours, langa whips his phone from his pocket and unlocks it.

bewildered, you watch your boyfriend closely as he navigates through his phone—for what? you have no clue. off handedly, you think to yourself about how cute his expression is, brows furrowed and his lips set in a tiny pout.

“this, this” he rushes, bringing up his phone up to your face. you watch the tiktok he’s pulled up for you, in which a girl imitates the different ways boys go in for kisses.

you purse your lips in an attempt to conceal your smile, your chest jumping with an aborted giggle.

“oh, that’s—” the sentence dies in your throat when you look up at langa to see his dejected expression. “oh, no no no, langa, no. sweetheart, no”

“we’ve been dating for months—” langa mutters as you cup his cheeks, standing on your tip toes so that you’re eye level with him.

“no, oh my god, langa!” you half-whine, giggling as you try to get langa to look at you. he directs his gaze toward the ground, cheeks warm in against your palms.

“—and you didn’t tell me that I was making fish eyes at you?”

“well, not fish eyes” you offer thoughtfully and langa peers up at your earnestly. you drop one hand from his cheek to grab his forearm, raising his hand so you can examine his phone again. you rewatch the tiktok again. “your eyes don’t get scary wide and you don’t let your mouth hang open like that”

the sigh of relief langa let’s out almost sends you into a laughing fit.

“but...”

langa winces, giving a slight whimper behind shut lips.

“i mean, you do cross your eyes a little—”

langa shuts his eyes, face grim, like you just told him his puppy passed away.

“but it’s really cute, insanely hot, very model-esque!” you rush, but langa hangs his head. you fight the urge to roll your eyes at his theatrics.“there has never been a time in which you’ve looked even remotely mediocre, let alone unattractive.”

langa glances up you.

“but it’s embarrassing...” he murmurs.

“but your hot...”

“i can still be embarrassed!”

“so you agree?”

“agree?”

“that you’re hot?”

langa’s face flushes as you smile up at him innocently. “i...never said that” he mumbles, turning his face from you.

“well if it truly bothers you, we can practice” you offer, gently pinching his cheek.

“right now?” he asks incredulously.

“only if you’d like” you shrug, placing your hands on top of langa’s biceps. his heart beat quickens when you grin up at him coquettishly. “i think you kiss fine, but i can make you into a bona fide kisser if you want.”

“how long would that take?” langa questions. in his head, he imagines that it would take days—weeks, even, to scrap off the awkward expressions from his face.

“hmm,” you hum with faux thoughtfulness, tapping your finger against your cheek. “when is reki coming to take you to S tonight?”

“11:45?”

“i’ll have you done by 11:30”

langa blinks at you, cheeks slightly rosy. then, his face falls into that easy smile, the smile that you love so much.

notes: dramatic langa is very pleasing to me. this was supposed to be like, two paragraphs long but then it turned into all of this. please excuse me for any errors, i’ve been studying for midterms all day and I wrote this during my 5 minute breaks lfkgkdk@&:$:

i’ll come back to edit this!

#sk8 the infinty #sk8 the infinity x reader #langa x reader #langa hasegawa x reader #langa x you #langa x y/n

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a-dorin · 3 years

Text

a glimpse of intimacy

pairing: august moor x darth maul

word count: 1.036k

warnings: none! two star-crossed lovers being idiots, maul being grumpy

a/n: this was only supposed to be a little blurb, but this is what it has turned into. enjoy my chaotic messes not knowing how to interact with one another properly. for some context, she's not supposed to be there, and he's a sith lord while she's a jedi padawan.

“stop playing around with things you have no knowledge of. you’re going to spread your jedi filth with those tiny fingers of yours.”

his tone is icy, undeniably cold as she wandered around the confines of the ship, absentmindedly playing with a variety of bells and buttons, whether it was pressing them experimentally or toying with the levers. the zabrak winced as shrill whistles shrieked out, prompting her to stop.

“you’re the one who drug me on your pathetic little ship anyways,” the words were laced with a venomous barb, fiery yet so cruel off her tongue, “if i recall correctly, you cornered me in that alleyway, demanding that i come with you or else you’d execute me.”

“have i executed yet?” the zabrak’s brow arched every so slightly, “you know why i cornered you. i could feel you crying for me in your force signature. you practically begging for me to follow you. don’t be coy with me, august.”

rain drummed against the roof of the ship, echoing through the static space as the zabrak shivered, discarding his cloak. august’s breath hitched in her throat as she noticed his hands nimbly removing the first few layers of his robe, tossing them to the floor. a shudder ran down her spine as the fabric clung to her skin, sopping wet, strands of hair clinging to her forehead.

gods, there was always rain when he came.

“i can hear your teeth chattering from here,” maul snorted, wiping a droplet off his cheek, “do you need a change of clothes? not sure how your little friends would feel about the sudden wardrobe change.”

yet, the words were only white noise in her ears as he spoke.

there was this nagging sensation, almost as if some sort of entity was whispering in her ear, only enabling the thoughts running rampant through her mind. she clenched her jaw as the sensation seeped lower, clutching at her heart, nearly squeezing it.

gods, there was this tightness in her chest, attempting to suppress her racing heart.

hesitantly, she raised her left hand, fingers extending, feeling drawn to the intricate tattoos. how they stood out in contrast to his crimson skin, “c-can i touch you?”

maul nearly choked on his own spit, his muscles tensing at the inquiry.

yet, there was this aching, this yearning, enticed at the idea that such a beautiful being like her would ever want to touch a monster like him. he was grotesque. ugly. did she not notice the horns sprouting from his skull? the sharp features? the eerie glow in his gaze?

the words still came tumbling from his mouth, a breathy and pleading noise.

“i-if you would like.”

there were only a few steps before the space between them was filled, and she wasted no time going about it, springing forward.

fingertips brushed maul’s chest, tracing the ink. the zabrak’s heartbeat nearly ceased as she caressed the area over his hearts, going about in circles and shapes. her hand trailed down, the touch so utterly blissful to the zabrak. her fingers were soft and gentle, hand tiny in comparison to his broad chest.

it had been too long since he had felt something so.. intimate. maker, was it so euphoric watching her fingers dance, gliding over every crevice, brushing over the scars.

august’s eyes were focused, full of admiration, “you, your species. you’re so beautiful. did this hurt when it was tattooed?”

he was gorgeous. a divine being. a man birthed from all of the beauty of the galaxy. maker, she was not worthy enough to be in such close proximity, feeling the muscles tense and relax underneath her. feeling how his hearts spiraled, beating so fast as he crumbled away by the second.

and yet, he remained there, granting her all of this permission.

giving her this opportunity to see him for who he was. a mere zabrak, attempting to find some clothes after getting caught in the rain.

warmth spread into maul’s chest, consuming him whole. his breathing picked up, shallow and ragged as she laid another hand on his chest, fully enveloping him with her touch. this time, the tips of her fingers followed lines across his collarbone, going in a slight crescendo down the lengths of his arms. her hands stopped at his hands, intertwining their fingers together experimentally.

his lashes fluttered, a rumble in his throat brewing as she continued, the feelings within the confines of his mind indescribable.

“it was quite painful,” maul breathed, finding it increasingly more and more difficult to find the words, “b-but it’s tradition.”

“hmmm,” she hummed, the zabrak’s gaze raking over her soaking wet frame, “i see.”

he could sense her thudding heart, how the blood roared in her ears. it was almost as if she knew she shouldn’t be this close. that she shouldn't touch.

almost as if she knew how dangerous this was.

she coughed ever so slightly, her hands remaining on his chest. his skin was burning now, nearly scalding. was he always this warm? so inviting? she could stay wrapped up in his arms for eternity. only if it meant she could feel that delightful heat.

“i’m not sure how much longer i can-”

maul’s hand grasped august’s chin, tilting her head upwards, satisfied that her cheeks were glowing a rosy shade, “you know, august, you have nothing to be afraid of.”

“but you’re a-”

“you should worry less about titles angel,” he tsked, “and a little more about how weak you make me.”

“is that such a bad thing?” the jedi arched a brow, pursing her lips ever so slightly.

her pout was enough to make his knees buckle, the zabrak finding it harder and harder to avoid from falling into those stormy depths, enamored completely by the way her features glowed in the low light, the droplets of water only glistening on her skin.

there were no stars out, but they sure glittered in those eyes. those damn eyes.

his fingers drifted across her cheek, tangling into her roots as his lips hovered over hers.

“no, because if my mind were to become invaded with thoughts of you, i would let them in. i would let them in with no fight at all.”

☆☆☆☆☆

tagging: @kenobislittleangel @xcertaindarkthingsx @ghost-lantern @galacticdream @fandom-gal44 @calamity-queen

#darth maul #maul #star wars #august moor #star wars oc #jedi oc

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glassessence · 3 years

Text

Oikawa headcanons | SFW & NSFW

Nobody asked for this, but I just love him so much. Thinking of making this a series and expanding to other pretty HQ boys ^^

O I K A W A T O O R U | S F W

Good with his hands. His fingers are long and slender and calloused, but incredibly nimble. Loves braiding hair. Knows all the basics and is damn good at them too.

Likes cuddling, but loves to be cuddled. If you initiate cuddling, homeboy just melts. Hold him close and run your hands through his hair. Being the best setter around Miyagi means he’s always taking care of his team, so he’s super appreciative of small moments when he can just relax in someone else’s arms.

Usually you two are just a mess of limbs in bed. His arms loose around you, his legs tangled with yours under a sky quilted with stars. It’s chaotic, but comforting.

He loves falling asleep with you. He tries to not fall asleep before you do (which fails half the time lol) because his favourite moment is the space in between. When you’re asleep and he’s drifting and the whole world feels ethereal. In the quiet hours of the night, when the world is slow and soft, that’s when his dreams feel closer than ever, especially with you by his side.

We all know this boy is obsessed with volleyball, but he’s also a star nerd. He adores the starry skies and is always trying to teach you about it. Stargazing dates. Meteor shower reminders sneakily put into your calendar. Flirty texts telling you about rare celestial events. Wrapped in blankets and cradling hot cups of tea, amidst the cold night and icy winds, you and Oikawa have seen as far as the four moons of Jupiter through his telescope.

His love languages are words of affirmation, gift giving and quality time. He doesn’t always have time for you since the man lives and breathes volleyball, so he makes sure that the time you do have together is meaningful. He likes coming home with surprises for you. Never anything big, sometimes something silly and always something that makes you smile.

Is totally the type of person to bring you a Hershey’s kiss as a meme on date night though. (dw, he always makes it up to you later).

Definitely a Slytherin. No contest.

His favourite subject is literature. Hates the concept of “the chosen one” and is into surprisingly dark subject matter. He’s probably into Greek tragedies, tbh. Relates to the hero’s downfall whilst also refusing to fall to the same fate.

Cannot handle spice for the life of him. Mild all the way for this boi.

Would never wear ugly Christmas sweaters with you. They go against his pretty setter aesthetic. Would totally wear disgustingly cute matching outfits with you though.

An ass man for sure. His favourite outfit on you is tight jeans and a pretty top. Ya boi’s a bit of a sucker for the elegance in simplicity.

NSFW under the cut, ya filthy animals ;)

O I K A W A T O O R U | N S F W

Likes having his hair pulled. Not too roughly, but deep kisses with your fist in his hair is a massive turn-on for him. One of the easiest ways to get him in the mood.

Is a massive tease. To him, there’s nothing better than watching you squirm, getting you all hot and bothered, feeling the slick between your legs and knowing it’s all for him. It’s heady, it’s hot, it’s a power trip and he thrives in your heavy breathing and soft whimpers for him.

Switch. Either way, he never loses his quips and wit. He’s always got something smartass to say to you. It’s one of his charms. Plays it up for playful punishment during sub-play.

He’s willing to try almost anything with you. In fact, he quite enjoys being pegged when the mood strikes. Just don’t suggest anything involving other people. This man has been fighting for his place his whole life; the thought that he may not be enough for you would crush him.

(he might be willing if it was iwaizumi though… )

Slow and sensual sex with this man is a gift from the gods. He knows how to please. Long kisses. Tender touches. Deep thrusts while he gazes into your eyes and tells you how much he loves you. How good you feel. How good you make him feel. Treasure these nights. They are jewels in the dark.

Gives oral liberally and enjoys it too. This boy’s tongue works fast with words, but it works even faster with the taste of you in his mouth. Nimble fingers and a talented tongue make for a deadly combo.

Prefers handjobs over blowjobs. Loves getting a handjob from you while you kiss his neck. Blowjobs are hot too, but there’s just something so fucking sexy when your lips ghost over his neck, your hand tugging on his cock and your fingers clenched in his hair.

Oikawa would never scream or groan loudly enough for the neighbours to hear, but he does make a lot of noise. Soft grunts. Loud gasps. Moans. Lots of muttered curses and gibberish. Your name. A lot. You make him feel good and he wants to make damn sure you know it too.

Aftercare from him is the best. He knows he’s used you. He knows you’re tired. So he’s incredibly gentle with you. He’ll press tender kisses to your forehead, rub the soreness from your body and clean you up. He’ll make you warm tea and food if you’re hungry. This boy will take care of anything you need with hearts in his eyes.

#oikawa #oikawa headcanons #oikawa tooru #haikyu #hq #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyu!!#hq oikawa #i am trash for writing this

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theworldbrewery · 4 years

Text

background: empty nester

skill proficiencies: insight, perception, one additional proficiency of your choice

tool proficiencies: herbalism kit, one type of gaming set

equipment: a set of common clothes, fishing tackle, a flask, a mess kit, and a scrapbook containing your most precious family memories.

Feature: Mid-Life Crisis

You’re finally embracing spontaneity after the repetition of daily life. You have the admiration of other ordinary folk who also yearn for the carefree life of an adventurer. Furthermore, you’re inclined to make some reckless decisions, like buying a boat or adopting a python, but your resolve never wavers in the face of doing something you’ve never done before. You have advantage on attacks with weapons you are not proficient in as your enthusiasm gives you an edge.

Hobby: Every empty nester needs a way to pass the time now that the kids are out of the house. What did you pick up? (roll 1d6)

Bowling league

Car(t) maintenance

Essential oil MLM scam

Community theatre

Model town assembly

Gym membership

Suggested Characteristics: You know you’re not cut out for the adventuring life, but you’ll be damned if you let it stop you. You just don’t have formal training, but you’re a go-getter, or at least game to try something new.

Personality Traits (d8)

Look, I’m fun! This adventuring thing has nothing to do with my sense of malaise in my daily life! I can totally handle a sword!

Back in my day, there weren’t any adventurers to rescue your village if it was besieged by a dragon. Townspeople these days are so entitled.

You know, this whole problem could just be solved if we went out and talked this evil necromancy scheme over at brunch. Who wants a Bloody Mary?

It’s one +1 sword, Maracnar, how much could it cost? A thousand platinum?

I just got divorced, I’m not looking for a relationship, but maybe me and that bartender could get into some trouble together...

I don’t have a favorite child, of course not...well, one is a famous lawyer and engaged, and the other is still at wizard university and hasn’t been on a date in months...but I don’t have a favorite, don’t be silly.

Live, Laugh, Love, I’m so #blessed to have a family that loves me so much, but I’m happy to leave them at home for months at a time.

This adventure is just like that spring break I spent on the Sword Coast, man, that was one wild week, I was doing shots off a---is that a mindflayer?

Ideals (d6)

Purpose. My kids were my life’s work. Now that they’re grown, I need a new reason to get up in the morning. (Lawful)

Fun. You have to lead a stable lifestyle when you’re a parent. But after raising children, it’s time to raise hell. (Chaotic)

Love. Maybe it’s a little saccharine, but taking care of each other is what life is all about. (Good)

Discord. Life is a PTA bake sale. Cutthroat and competitive. And if I’m going down, I’m taking everyone with me. (Evil)

Fulfillment. We all have goals when we’re young, before life gets in the way. Maybe now is the time to finally live our dreams. (Neutral)

Experience. It’s a big world out there, and I want to see it all. (Any)

Bond (d6)

My divorce was ugly, but I’m still secretly in love with my former spouse.

I married young and I was never happy as a parent, and the guilt is killing me.

I love my children more than life itself. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for them.

My irresponsible spending drove my family into debt. I ran out on them and changed my name to become an adventurer.

My spouse and children have a much longer lifespan than I do; I don’t want them to watch me grow old.

I know I am just a trophy for my successful partner. I would be a worthless nobody without them.

Flaw (d6)

I get all my news from unreliable sources, and repeat what I hear as God’s honest truth.

I’m addicted to the rush I get from spilling gossip; I can’t keep a secret to save my life.

I don’t believe in magical healing. Don’t you know necromancy magic causes zombification?

I’m obsessed with whether or not I show signs of aging and go to great lengths to maintain a youthful appearance.

I led a charmed life, and struggle to adjust to the rough living of an adventurer.

I insist on being spoken to with respect, whether or not I’ve earned it, and won’t listen to you otherwise.

Inspired by @andtheremustbetowers and @returnsandreturns.

If you like what we do, consider supporting us on Ko-Fi!

#dnd #d&d #dungeons and dragons #rpgs #homebrew #backgrounds

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missorgana · 3 years

Text

lucky accidents

pairing: geralt/jaskier

fandom: the witcher (tv)

rating: teen and up

word count: 2408

warning: swearing, alcohol

summary: Jaskier's dog runs away. He might have to sneak into a random house to get her. Needless to say, it's going to be an interesting night. (modern au, teacher jaskier, single dad geralt)

(a ridiculous meet-cute(slash ugly??) and geraskier being chaotic as a very late birthday present for the queen Sabrina / @poirot my love!!! really really hope you like this fic babeee 💖 and thank you my ride or die Cat / @inafaithforgotten for beta reading for me, saved my ass once more MWAH 💕✨ enjoy!!)

read on ao3

Out of all the ridiculously stupid and awfully humiliating things Jaskier’s done in his life, this has got to take the cake.

Granted it isn’t completely his fault. Promise.

It’s rather Buttercup’s fault, his darling beloved cocker spaniel, who’s decided to pay a visit to a random house’s garden, and house, right in the middle of their perfectly fine 2am walk, thank you very much.

Curse her loveable face. He supposes she gets her curiosity and recklessness from himself, really.

And in the end, what can Jaskier do other than try to find a way in?

It’s taken him three months to get her rid of that habit of eating just about everything dropped on the floor (his local vet probably hates him), so he’d be damned if he’s gonna lose his baby to a stranger.

Maybe he’s way past sleep deprived right now. Maybe he’s had a couple of rums in his coffee. Maybe he has no fucking idea what he’s doing.

But, oh, what a perfect time for an adventure!

Okay, if he was in his right state of mind at this point, he’d probably stopped in his tracks and realised there’s a perfectly sensible way of solving this problem, involving a fucking door bell.

Alas, as mentioned earlier, embarrassing.

Whether it’s the daunting scenario of disturbing someone’s beauty sleep or the judgement a stranger might lay upon him from having a dog who doesn’t listen to him that scares him the most, Jaskier isn’t really sure.

So, here he is.

It took a little less than an hour for him to decide his plan of action, after about ten minutes of frantic searching, ten minutes of dawning realisation, and the rest a frantic panic staring at the god forsaken house.

Ultimately, Jaskier climbs over what he assumes is the gate to the backyard. Remember, definitely not sober right now.

It’s moments like these that leave him wondering how he ever landed his teaching job, but he prays to whatever gods might be up there that this doesn’t end up with him losing it. He’s too fucking passionate about that school and those kids to let it go.

But fuck! He wants his dog back!

Jaskier lands in the backyard, right to his assumption, and well, now that he’s officially trespassing on private property, he can’t really chicken out.

Luckily, a window is propped open for his convenience. It’s an extremely hot summer night, as the last two weeks proved, so he’s in no way surprised.

And a plastic chair and table-set to jump from, wonderful!

Don’t think about the illegality of all this too much. Jaskier’s trying his best.

At least, he proves that to himself climbing in, surprising himself in how quiet he can be. Even dodging a potted plant on the window sill, he sets his foot on wooden floor, huh, those years of ballet did pay off after all.

And, yes, he took his shoes off beforehand, duh, he’s not an idiot.

But soon enough, well… uh, let’s say that’s as far as Jaskier’s plan went. Now he’s officially breaking into a home , and he’s standing as if glued in place, staring at the living room that looks stuck in a forgotten century.

Focus!

He ponders on calling her name, or rather, whispering, but Buttercup’s familiar, frantic running footsteps get ahead of him.

“Buttercup!” he whispers, willing his voice as stern as possible for the troublemaker, “Come on, girl!”

Shakes are heard, more padding of feet, and his baby comes running along from what looks like the kitchen. He’s, like, 50% sure, it’s dark and the rum is making the world a little crooked.

Thank heavens she hasn’t broken anything.

And thank heavens he’s in time to shush her before the inevitable bark comes. She looks so clueless, but so happy with her big twinkling eyes, it’s a bit annoying.

She’s in deep, deep trouble for this. Can’t get out of this that easy. Nope.

Jaskier’s gonna scold her anyway, but right now, relief washes over him more than anything else. Entry succeeded, goal obtained, now it’s time for his exit.

To be honest, not really something he planned, either. But surely the way in works the other way around too, right?

See, that’s the funny thing, because it’s not his happy pup smashing anything in her spontaneous adventure, no, it’s when he heads back for the window the crash happens. Or, well, he thinks it’s the way for the window, the general direction at least, but Jaskier’s hip meets with a table, and he’s pretty sure a lamp’s involved in the fall.

That really hurt, thanks for asking.

But instead of fleeing the scene even faster, like any sensible person would do, he’s frozen half-standing, half-leaning against the windowsill, as light switches on in a room down the hall, and a voice calls, “Dad?”

Shit . Why is Jaskier drunk doing this? Why is he doing this at all?

Buttercup tilts her head at him and he’s none the wiser. He really does try to move, but then she’s running off again and he can’t even get to chase after her before a high pitched scream meets his eardrums.

He’s caught.

Yep, he’s so caught, because he’s an idiot who didn’t jump out the window when he should, and soon enough he’s being hit over the head with a slipper. Best night ever.

Jaskier becomes a bit of a flailing mess of limbs, attempting to dodge without much success while Buttercup starts barking excitedly somewhere in the other room. He even throws out a couple of “Ow!”s, because, seriously, that slipper hurts, what the fuck?

He can’t exactly blame his attacker, of course. In fact, very much the reaction he’d have himself. Still, he’s rather glad the hits come to a halt when the room is suddenly illuminated, the lamp he pushed over staring at him in offense.

The gruff voice from the hallway surprises him, when it says, “Princess?”

However, he’s a little more than shocked right now, because once Jaskier blinks himself to clear vision, he sees a young girl in front of him he in no way expected to meet today. Tonight. Whatever.

Ciri, one of his students, is clutching a blue slipper, used as a weapon only seconds ago, to her chest while staring at him with teacup wide eyes.

Well, this just got a hell of a lot more embarrassing.

And when Jaskier averts his eyes from the blonde girl, a giant blonde man who he can only assume is Ciri’s father, with arms that he’s pretty sure could snap him in half like a twig, is staring with a similar shocked expression, face twisted to a frown.

Why, oh, why in the name of all that is sacred and good, is the first thought jumping into Jaskier’s mind how he’d let those arms do all sorts of things to him.

You absolute goddamn clown. His brain’s too busy scolding him to say anything, but turns out he doesn’t need to since his pup jumps his student happily, because she doesn’t understand the situation at all and just found new friends in her post-midnight scavenger hunt.

He thinks he might’ve hit a new low at this point.

However, Ciri frees him of her father’s scrutinizing eyes for a minute, as she giggles in excitement, and now looks up at Jaskier with such a huge grin her cheeks are bound to hurt, “Mr. Jaskier!”

Okay. Okay, out of all the homes he could’ve possibly intruded in, this definitely isn’t a worse case scenario. Luck, maybe?

Not that he feels particularly lucky looking back at the man watching the scene, looking rather, uh, furious, which is understandable.

“You know this man?” he questions his daughter before Jaskier even gets time to consider his options, and the young girl looks back with an eager nod.

He himself is pretty much frozen in place.

Kind of fearing the brick wall of a man will murder him on the spot if he even moves an inch. Practically already killing him with his eyes only. Embarrassingly enough, he finds that even more attractive. Think with your head , idiot.

Meanwhile, Ciri’s face is painted with brief confusion, “My music teacher, dad! Didn’t you listen when I told you? Mr. Jaskier’s classes are my favorite.”

The girl seats herself on the floor and scratches Buttercup behind the ears, who seems to finally have used up all her energy for the day.

Ciri maintains her excitement, though, while looking painfully disappointed at her father. The man instantly reacts, it seems, because the glare vanishes into thin air, his stance less volatile, his expression almost… soft?

That word doesn’t exactly fit the blonde man, but it makes Jaskier feel a lot of ways. Man, is he drunk or just horny at this point?

“Of course I did.” his student’s father tells her, still eyeing him warily while apologising, “That doesn’t explain what your teacher is doing in our house, princess. At night.”

Jaskier wants to fucking die.

He tries to stammer something out, it takes, uh, a while, only landing on, “My dog.”

The blonde man frowns again.

Ciri still has zero judgement in her eyes, God bless her, and he laughs nervously in the attempt to elaborate, “Buttercup here, she, uh, ran away from me. In here. Didn’t wanna wake ya. Sorry.”

And Jaskier shakes his head at himself like it’s second nature. Well, sort of is. If you knew all the stupid shit he accidently gets himself into, you wouldn’t be surprised.

Luckily, his (favorite) student just giggles when Buttercup licks her hand, and her father seems degrees less inclined to call the cops, so that’s good. Ciri even asks him if she can give the pup a treat, and Jaskier can’t exactly say no to that, can he?

Buttercup’s clearly in love with her now, it’s adorable.

Which is why it makes him feel like a bit of an asshole when he clears his throat and tells the duo it’s probably time for him to make his exit. Ciri’s heart might as well have just shattered in pieces in front of him.

But he’s just still pretty terrified of her father’s rather menacing figure. Note to self to not be present at that parent-teacher conference.

The eye candy, though.

Focus on not getting arrested, Jaskier!

Ultimately, she looks to her dad and stands up hesitantly, her and the pup looking at each other like they’re being torn apart for eternity, and then directs her pleading eyes back to him, “Could I walk her sometime, Mr. Jaskier? Please ?”

His student drags out the word almost to the point where she loses her breath, and Jaskier can’t help his chuckle. Thankfully, her dad gives him a look of approval.

“Sure thing, kid.”

In return, he gets his second scare of the day when Ciri screeches again, only for a few seconds when she probably remembers it’s the dead of the night, and jumps for a hug. Bless her heart, but he can’t help still feeling utterly embarrassed.

Jaskier pats her back before she lets go and her father ushers her to her room, and the yell “Goodnight!” is way too endearing, although it was most likely more directed to his pup than himself, fair enough.

Well, then. He finds himself standing around awkwardly, nervously still not moving until said giant of a man crosses his arms and gets Jaskier out of his own head.

“Ah, well, that’ll be my leave then.” he says, looking everywhere else than the person in front of him, scratching his neck.

It’s almost obvious he’s getting a cold shoulder until the deep voice speaks again, “Make sure to use the door this time.”

Yup, he deserves that.

To be honest, Jaskier can’t quite believe he’s… uh, survived this. Better not jinx it, though.

“I, sir, uh,” he starts, holding out a hand for Buttercup to follow along, “I cannot stress how sorry I am for this. Seriously. If you tell my superiors about this, I’ll understand, uhm, I guess I just want to let you know I thoroughly enjoyed teaching your daughter.”

And the blonde is frighteningly silent once more, though he lifts one eyebrow, whatever the hell that means.

At last, a sigh.

“Well, I hope you’ll continue.” are the words coming next, shocking enough, Jaskier almost thinks he’s sound-hallucinating, or something, “Apology accepted. Nobody’s hurt, and Cirilla seems to like you quite a lot.”

He honestly can’t help but smile, in relief more than anything else. Buttercup barks once, and the man glances down. “And your dog, too.”

Is- is that a smile? Jaskier can’t really tell, because it looks oddly out of place with, well, everything else about him. Not that he doesn’t like what he’s seeing.

The not-so-scary-anymore man even opens the door for him, gosh, he does like his men with good manners!

Maybe, possibly, he really needs to sober up. Or eat something, now that he thinks about it.

“Then, adieu!” he offers with a little flourish of his hand, but while the pup’s already running eagerly out into the rose bushes, the blonde man stops him in his tracks with, “I suppose you’d like my number.”

There’s that familiar awkwardness again! Jaskier realises this when all he can do is gape like a moron, but honestly, those might be the most surprising out of this whole evening. That says a lot.

He finds himself stammering, “Uhm, uh, pardon?”

The giant’s already writing it down on a fucking post-it note. “So you don’t have to use the window when Ciri’s going to walk her new friend over there.”

Jaskier blinks, “Ah!” Of course, what else? He’s bordering on a thin line to delusion, truly, “Obviously.”

“Obviously.” he repeats back, and Jaskier pockets the note hilariously quickly himself.

Good, good, don’t humiliate yourself even more now. He guesses he can be thankful he’s just sober enough to not try one of those… horrendous pick-up lines of his.

Guess the eye candy will be enough.

He gives the blonde a nod at last, taking his final leave after a way too strange night, but not before the man forms that almost-smile, pretty sure it’s a smile, again (good God, did he just check out his ass, or has Jaskier officially lost it?) and says, “Name’s Geralt, by the way.”

Jaskier nearly chokes on his own breath.

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hazbincalifornia · 3 years

Text

Soiled Tea

Chapter 23: Blitzo gets home and contemplates things.

Warnings: As always, mpreg, and brief mentions of underage drinking. Generally shitty thoughts about babies.

Likes, replies, and reblogs are all appreciated, both here and on ao3!

Ao3 link

“Blitz.” There was a pounding on his door, and it took a few seconds to process that it was Loona. “You’ve been in there for like three hours. The fuck happened?”

“Piss off!” Blitzo called back, scrolling mindlessly down Voxtagram with only a pause to scrub at his sore eyes. The phone buzzed with another text from Stolas, and he swiped it up without looking like the last twelve. A growl rumbled from behind at the door, and the scratch of Loona’s claws dragged down the wood.

“Fine, don’t tell me! It’s not like I care either way, I just want to know if you’re going to start bitching at me over whatever it is!” Loona’s weight creaked the floorboards as she padded away from the door, mere moments before Blitzo’s stomach growled.

Oh. Right. He hadn’t eaten properly in days, and the little fucker was going to be feeling that.

...It’d be easier to starve the bastard if it wouldn’t hurt him too. He only realized that his fingers had dug into his stomach when the red glow fluttered in and out, and his teeth gritted as he pushed himself off the bed, the creak reminding him how badly he needed a new mattress and frame. Stolas sleeping on it the other day couldn’t have helped, and it was going to collapse under him one of these days. There was probably some kind of metaphor in there he didn’t feel like puzzling through at the moment.

Moping later. Food now. He was pretty sure they’d stocked up a few days ago, so unless Loona had eaten everything since he’d been out, he could make some cup noodles and curl back up on the bed in peace. Loona was draped over the couch with screams and gorey splatters echoing from the TV when he exited his room, and she raised an eyebrow at seeing him mere moments after he’d told her to piss off. Blitzo sighed.

“Look, I just want to bury my sorrow in some cheap-ass junk right now, got it?”

She pointed to the freezer. “Try the strawberry scoop.”

“Thanks, dear.” First he needed to get the noodles, though. Blitzo opened the cabinet, reaching for the cups before brushing against a small bag. Why did he have a bag in the…?

His fingers froze, touching the edge of the packet- it was Stolas’s tea from their café meeting, tied with a pretty little bow. He’d mostly been over the nausea hump by the time he’d gotten it so it had been stuffed in the back of the cabinet, and right now, it was leaned against a partially-opened hot chocolate packet that must have been years old. It made the wood smell both moldy and chocolatey-fresh. Over the last few weeks, the powder had seeped into the mix of the tea- and probably ruined it too. There was an ant curled up in front of the fancy little bag which was almost certainly dead, flat on its back with legs curled heavenward.

The thing was moving again, but when he smacked the side of his stomach, it turned over a little with a shudder and stopped. Progress.

His hands were shaking by the time he pulled the noodles out from next to the tea (and next to the hot chocolate, and some expired crackers, and the little baggie of rat poison he’d borrowed from Millie and Moxxie’s closet) and began boiling the water to prepare them the same way he’d done hundreds of times before. No thinking required. The TV droned on in the living room, but the volume was low and he could still hear the water dripping from the leak over the fridge and his own heartbeat.

Casually, he leaned back against the countertop as he waited for the water to soak in, then realized that angle made the bump stick out even more, and also that he’d never actually taken off Stolas’s shirt. The knot in the back was thick and hard on his back, and it pressed on his protruding vertebrae against the granite. He tapped the end of his tail next to a stray protein bar wrapper on the countertop before sweeping it towards the trash. It missed, fluttering down to the dirty floor like a dying moth. Blitzo scooped up the cup, stabbing the top with a fork before bringing it back to his room and turning on a video of some idiot screaming at video games to drown out whatever thoughts couldn't be suppressed otherwise.

Loona didn’t bother him for the rest of the night, but he could hear her slam the fridge’s door shut and pop open a can of something around ten. He peeled off the shirt and went to bed.

__________________

An hour after going to bed, he realized that the sex-sweat stuck to his skin was itchy, sticky, and smelled like shit. He managed to last approximately fifteen more minutes before dragging himself off the bed and crawling into the shower, flipping on the water and twisting it to scalding. He didn’t bother to scrub anything down, simply letting the pounding water pelt into his body until the caked sweat slid off like a bug shedding its skin.

Loona was still in the living room, playing some kind of racing game. They made eye contact for a few seconds and she sighed, chucking him a chocolate bar that she’d fished out of the cushions at some point during the night when he’d been in his room.

Sure, she couldn’t actually eat it herself anyway, but the gesture was nice, even though his teeth felt kind of fuzzy when he flopped back on the bed again after pulling on a worn-out band tee that had become a crop top at some point even before the pregnancy.

__________________

The kid was moving. Of course they were. It wasn’t like he could ask for sleep or for them to allow him to pretend they didn’t exist for a few hours, could he? They were just a lump of stupid meat, they didn't know any better than being an annoying pest that their daddy couldn't stand. He screamed into the pillow again. It didn’t help.

__________________

Maybe he could join the circus again. He had new, better jokes now. Like his life. (That one would have gotten a laugh, or at least it would have with a crowd that wasn’t drunk off its ass- or maybe that would have been the exact audience for it. Kids were never drunk enough, and the ones whose parents shoved bottles at them to get them to shut up just puked everywhere. Their taste buds weren't developed enough yet, it just tasted like piss half the time before you got used to it. He still remembered the smell of the cheesy chips incident.)

__________________

Had Stolas planned this all along? He’d sure as fuck seemed to think that Blitzo had already known what the deal was, and maybe he’d wondered a little, but come on, the guy had been so excited, anybody would have figured that he wanted to be the one to raise it. Babies were (literally) shitty little leeches on the lives of whoever was unlucky enough to pop them out, but Stolas had been so pumped for another kid, obviously he’d wanted to raise it. This was entirely his fault. This was entirely his fault. Blitzo was a smart guy, he'd find some way to get out of this. He'd made it this far, hadn't he?

__________________

Could he get out of this? He tried to remember exactly how the deal had been phrased, but then realized that Stolas would probably yank the book back if he did manage to find some way to kill the thing without offing himself. Well, shit. That’d suck, and he’d probably lose Moxxie and Millie in the bargain, and then him and Loona would get chucked out on the concrete and have to forage for scraps until they managed to mug some particularly wealthy sinner. Could you pass on syphilis through bites? Loonie’d probably know. It was something to keep in mind as a potential threat.

__________________

Did orphanages do speed dial? No, Stolas would find it somehow. He probably had some kind of magic tracking device for occasions like this.

__________________

God damn he needed a better mattress. He could still feel the indent where Stolas had been if he rolled over just right, and he smacked at it until it felt like the rest of the bed.

It didn’t actually help that much, but at least when one spot got hot, he could roll over a little to the cooler half without sinking in.

__________________

What would it even look like? Would it be kind of cute or some mutant monstrosity? Both its dads were hot, so it would have to have something going for it if it wasn’t just some horrible moaning mess of feathers and patchy skin.

He hadn’t really minded the thought of being, like, an uncle or some shit. There for the fun parts, popping in like twice a month to jingle keys above its face and teach it to play paintball. If Barbie had squeezed something out after fucking around when they were still a duo act he could have dealt with that as long as they didn’t have to sleep in the same room- he didn’t really mind kids that much in small doses. They could be fun little chaotic monsters, even though they were judgmental as shit and smelled fear.

With this, though, he couldn’t just hand it back when he got bored, and he always, always got bored or scared or- fuck, not thinking about that.

He would try scrolling Voxtagram again, but he came across an ad for maternity wear before trying to go to sleep the first time and nearly chucked the phone.

__________________

The only thing that kept him from rolling off the bed and grabbing a hard drink to knock him out, baby be damned, was the fact that he’d found a spot that almost was comfortable in the sheets now soaked with sweat again. Unfortunately, the clock said it was 5:13 AM.

__________________

The alarm blared directly in Blitzo’s ear and he whapped it with a pillow, slamming it off the bedside table and into the floor. It was definitely broken now from the horrid cracking noise, and he groaned, scrubbing at his eyes. "Fuuuuuuuuuuuck."

“Morning, sleeping ugly,” Loona said as she gargled mouthwash in the sink. She had the bags under her eyes that probably matched his and said she’d been drinking more than usual last night. Smart kid. He’d picked one that he could be a parent to without changing diapers for a reason- so he could be supportive to an actual person and not just a screaming little meat-lump that couldn’t even drink or smoke yet. Maybe Stolas could make it magically grow up so he wouldn't have to deal with that shit? “You gonna finally tell me what the fuck happened? You look like you watched the apartment blow up and you smell even worse.”

“Come on, honey, I showered-” Blitzo cleared his throat. To be fair, sex-stink didn't come off that easily when you were going at it for days, and Loona had always had a real sensitive nose. “Daddy’s maaaaaybe got a little tiny problem,” he muttered, and she raised an eyebrow.

“And that problem is? Usually, you’ll be upfront about why you’re being a whiny-“

“Apparently,” he started, and his tone made Loona’s mouth snap shut, “Stolas thought I was going to be the one actually raising the little bastard.”

“What the fuck? You two didn’t clear this up months ago?” Her claws dug into the counter as one eye twitched, and a bit of mouthwash foam dripped off her chin.

“I didn’t think we’d have to! He wanted the thing, he’d take it, that made sense!” He dragged a hand down his face, and Loona leaned back against the sink, crossing her arms. The foam hit her top, soaking in next to the left tit.

“So get rid of it.”

“I can’t, he enchanted my guts.” Blitzo snatched a butter knife smeared with long-dried jam off the table and aimed it at his stomach- moments before it touched the skin, red flashed. His hand shot to the side, preventing anymore more than a slight scratch. “I don’t even want to know what’d happen if I tried to take a pill or something and puked it up. Explode, probably.”

Loona sighed. “Well, this is fuckin’ peachy.” She crossed the kitchen, grabbing some toast that popped up, pressing more down and dropping the plain bread with a pad of butter on the side on a plate in front of him. “Toss it at an orphanage.”

“It’s gonna be a freak, it’d probably just get mauled. Imp kids are vicious, especially orphans, they’ve all gotta fight for table scraps.”

“Why would you care?” Loona shifted a little on her seat. “You get rid of it either way.”

“Stolas’d kill me.”

“He likes your dick too much, he wouldn’t. I’m not changing diapers. Why can’t he take it again?”

“He thought his wife would shank the fucker. Considering she tried to stab me, it’s probably not that far off. I’ll find some way to-” he yawned. “To pawn it off or something. Maybe we find somebody that likes exotic pets.” His head swam with visions of a shiny, gilded cage containing a little feathered imp that wore sequins and hissed at anything that got too close. He stabbed at the butter. “I don’t want this either, alright?”

“But you went along with having it anyway, and with me, you wanted-” She cut herself off and drummed her fingers against her bicep. “This is your fuck-up, I’m just saying don’t drag me into it.”

“Very reassuring, thank you,” Blitzo muttered, sarcasm thick enough to gore like it was a pig. "We have any coffee?"

"I finished it the other night. We can go to that place on Sixth before work." Loona snatched her own toast as it popped up too quickly to actually have toasted any and stuffed it in her mouth plain, tearing off a bite and chewing in a way that was reminiscent of thoughtful. “I don’t think he’d be nice enough to let you die when it pops out, and you screw up all the time and haven’t completely ruined your life yet. You can figure shit out from there. Maybe we can sell them on the black market and move out of this fucking dump, or you can flutter your eyelashes and get him to change his mind. Worst comes to worst, it's sharing your room.”

“Thanks, Loonie,” Blitzo mumbled around a mouthful of bread. “Always know how to cheer me up.”

The phone buzzed, and he was about to ignore it again until he saw that it was from Millie.

“Still at Stolas’s or coming in to work today Blitz? Moxx and I miss you :)’

Blitzo wiped crumbs on his pants and groaned before typing back.

‘yeh im coimin back’

He added extra jam to the bread before shoving the rest in his mouth, and the kid kicked his bladder hard enough that he almost pissed himself right at the table.

Today was gonna be fuckin’ peachy.

#lotsa little headcanon-y sprinklings throughout here #shadow writes stuff #one time #helluva mpreg #helluva boss #mpreg #daddy blitzo #tagging the main tag because why not

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theriverpersonshadow · 3 years

Text

Lamia Drama Part 10

DND PLANNING IS HERE AT LAST. >:D

I don’t think there’s anything impenetrable to non-DnD fans here... But here’s some basics on the classes anyways:

Monks are fast and good at fist to fist fighting, barbarians are tanky berserkers, sorcerers have inborn magic, druids have nature magic, clerics have god-granted magic, warlocks make pacts with patrons, fighters just got good with weapons and standard melee fighting.

Again, I’ll tag and link properly later, gotta go get foooood. But nothing majorly angsty anyways.

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Keith took a deep breath as everyone settled around the table, hands stuffed firmly in his pockets. A mixture of excitement and nerves were bunched up inside his soul and he hoped Alex couldn’t feel it, though she seemed genuinely clueless so far. Either that, or a far better roleplayer than he anticipated. The tip of his tail was sweeping back and forth on the floor as he scratched lightly at the insides of his pockets, desperate to find some way to dissipate some of his energy. Still, he wasn’t going to start until everyone was settled in.

It was a round table, easy to see everyone. Keith had offered Alex a spot on his left. Oozy was sitting on her left, then Nikolai, then Liam, then Hux, then Keith. Trousle had claimed the middle of the table.

Most had already gotten their drinks ready, but Hux was buying some chips from the vending machine… Or rather, he was convincing Nikolai to buy him chips from the vending machine, given that he was the one who actually had a paycheck. Alex had bought herself a tea from the vending machine and Liam had prepared his “Health Potion” which was really just an extra-sour red cherry slushy. Also…

“I’ve brought you all some snacks, no need to thank me,” Liam said, plopping a Tupperware full of chocolate and peanut butter no-bake cookies on the table. He crossed his arms and smirked, head held high.

Alex did a double-take, looking at her bag, “When did you…?!”

Keith stifled a laugh, “Liam, no.” He was pretty sure Alex intended to share those anyways, and his own mouth was already watering, but still.

“Liam yes!” Liam said, cackling dramatically.

Hux already had a cookie in his mouth.

Nikolai lightly swatted him, “Ask first…”

“What,” Hux said through a mouthful of cookie. “They’re to share.”

“I mean, yes… Go ahead, but not gonna lie, I’ll probably eat way too many by myself,” Alex said, grabbing a cookie.

“See?” Hux said.

Nikolai rolled his eyes and politely took one – he didn’t care much for sweets, but wouldn’t turn it down. He gave one of the smaller globs to Trousle, and Keith took that as a go-ahead. It practically melted in his mouth, cocoa and peanut butter melting into a sweet cream as the oats gave it just enough weight to count as solid matter. It was deliciously rich, not over-sweet, but still very much a dessert. He was tempted to reach for another, but maybe he should hold back…

Well Alex has already gotten a plate and taken four, so no reason he can’t have another…

“How did you do that by the way? I didn’t even hear the zipper,” Alex said, looking to Liam.

“A great hunter never reveals his secrets~”

“He’s sneaky, you have to watch out for him,” Nikolai said. “But speaking of which, I was actually thinking of trying out a rogue…”

“Daaaang. Playing against type?” Hux said. “Ain’t like you to be anything but a healer.”

Nikolai shrugged, “I figured I’d give it a try.”

“Respect,” Hux said. “That said, I’m making a Totem Barbarian.”

Trousle rolled his eyes, “You never play anything else!”

“It works, don’t it?”

“It’s boring!”

“I have to agree,” Liam said. “It’s like you’re just playing the same person every time…”

Keith decided to cut in before this could get ugly, “Let him play what he wants.” If Hux wanted to play the same character with a name change, then let him. It’s a game, might as well have fun with it.

“Thank you,” Hux said.

“Alex, what’re you thinking?” Keith said.

“I mean, I’ve got a lot of characters I could maybe use? Do you have a setting in mind, or…?”

“Go nuts dude,” Keith said. “As long as it ain’t completely broken, I’m down for most things.”

Alex’s face lit up. “In that case… Gimme a minute here.” She pulled a notebook from her bag and started scribbling furiously, making little bullet points, rambling in words, all sorts of things. It was a chaotic, disorganized mess, and Keith could absolutely feel the excitement pouring off of her, making it even harder to sit still. Apparently she felt the same, her foot was shaking a mile a minute, and any time she wasn’t writing, her pencil tapped against the page.

Trousle slithered over, peaking at her notes, and Liam leaned over smiling like a cat with a canary. They were probably happy to have another roleplayer at the table.

Hux, however, was glaring at Alex’s foot, “Can… can you not? Like, that’s kinda distracting.”

“Hmm?” Alex said. “Ah… sorry. Which part?”

“Stop shaking your damn foot.”

Alex nodded, crossing her legs. Keith bit his tongue – it was a reasonable request, but he was tempted to hiss at Hux. He dug his claws into the insides of his hoodie instead, feeing the fabric catch and finding the little hole he’d worn in his left pocket. It didn’t feel like enough, he wanted to move, wanted to do something to let out some of this pent up energy – since when did he have this much anyways?

Alex started rocking in her chair, making it clack as it hit the floor – it was off balance – and some of his anxiousness subsided as he listened to the steady rhythm of clacking.

“… dude,” Hux said. “That’s not any better! That’s actively worse!”

Keith was tempted to tell him to shove it up his ass, but thankfully Nikolai spoke first, “Just let her. No one else is bothered, are you?”

“Nope,” Keith said.

Trousle and Liam shook their heads.

“Fine…”

“Do you want me to do this somewhere else?” Alex said.

“Yer fine,” Keith said. “Whatcha thinking about anyways?” Change the topic…

She perked up a little at that, looking over her notes, “I was thinking maybe a warlock contracted out by the Fey? That seems kinda obvious though, so I figured, why does it have to be a warlock? I’ve already made a lot of those anyways.

“So, like… Here’s another idea. Maybe my character got traded away as a kid? Like a changeling sort of thing! They’ve lived with the fey for a lot of their life, but didn’t have the magic they did since they’re just a normal human. But they’ve had some opportunity to learn since, y’know, they’ve lived in fae realms. I’m thinking maybe the magic infected them somehow and they ended up a wild magic sorcerer? Or maybe got CURSED and ended up a sorcerer! And maybe they’ll meet the person who replaced them one day, and they’re used to contracts and stuff, and, uh…

“It’s still kind of rough. I put this together in, like, five minutes guys.”

“I think I can work with this…” Liam purred. “I want to play the changeling that replaced her character in the mortal realm.”

“OH THAT’S REALLY COOL!” Alex squealed, bouncing in her seat.

“Dude, you can’t have all the fae abilities, y’know that, right?” Keith said. He tended towards rule of fun, but there still had to be SOME boundaries…

“I’d be disappointed if you did! At least, not right off the bat. My character’s been raised as human and only knows of the mortal realm. Perhaps a fighter… With shades of sorcerer. We can work it out.”

“I like it! I might change my class though, is that okay?” Alex said. “I’m not really sure which to use for this…”

“Can I be a fairy companion? Maybe I was sent to watch over Liam’s character and that’s how he started finding out about his heritage? Or to protect him? Maybe he’s important!” Trousle said. “I can take healer and support! Maybe a cleric? Or a druid! Yeah! A druid!”

Keith grinned, these guys were putting it all together themselves! “Y’know what, go for it!” This was practically writing itself…

“In this case… I think I’ll play a rogue who specializes in shady political dealings. Particularly fey contracts,” Nikolai said.

“Sounds perfect to me.”

“I, uh… I work for Nikolai’s dude. Contracted barbarian, I guess,” Hux said. Roleplay was never his strong suit.

Keith nodded, “I’ll get to drafting stuff…. And Oozy?”

… Oozy yawned, waking up from a half-doze. “Hmm? Oh… sorry. Yeah, I made one while you guys were talking.” He slid a character sheet over.

Keith raised the ridge of his eye-socket, “A gnome monk?”

“Yep. It’s gonna be terrible.” He grinned, a twinkle in his eyes. “Or more accurately… A G’nome G’ninja.”

“Pffft. Perfect,” Keith said.

Looks like they had a campaign.

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jacks-wylan · 3 years

Text

The townsfolk indeed call for another Witcher. For all Jaskier knows, the baker's wife put a contract in a notice board in the nearest town – Corvo Bianco is small, and it's a bit farther away from any main roads – and, surprisingly, someone has arrived.

It's the innkeeper, that Jaskier meets at the well as he goes to collect water, that says that to him. “It's a Witcher I've never met before,” he says, gruffly, while he weights up two buckets full of water, “He came here this morning, flashed a strange grin when he asked us to take his things, payed a room and went to hell, probably.”

Jaskier is almost afraid to ask, “What is he like?”

The Witcher is obviously not Geralt, because the innkeeper would have known him in that case. Jaskier is scared to hope anyway – he wants him to be Eskel, or Lambert. He needs a familiar face, someone he can talk about and understand his words. A shoulder he can cry on. A friend he can ask to keep an eye on Geralt, because he can't anymore.

“He's, uh, strange. Has scars, pale skin, two swords.”

“Like any Witcher.” Jaskier almost laughs. He can be anyone, really. He doesn't dare to hope.

“Dunno if he'll come back, but he has a room in my inn. You might meet him.”

Jaskier takes a deep breath, “I might.”

He does, that same evening. Jaskier doesn't even know why, after all, if the Witcher is Eskel or Lambert, they know where he lives – and if they already know about Geralt and his break up and they don't want to see him anymore, Jaskier surely doesn't want to impose his presence to someone who doesn't want it. He can be annoying, and most of the time he ignores when a person is annoyed by him, but he can take very well that kind of hint.

But curiosity's got the best of him, and won against the disappointment that is already stinging in his chest, while he walks, slowly, the small roads of Corvo Bianco. The past years, he has taken the same roads so many times that he's lost count, to reach the tavern down the village so he could perform for a, yes, a small crowd, but a very welcoming crowd. A crowd that Jaskier always adored, especially when they warmed up towards an amazed Geralt – still not used to the generosity, kindness and gentleness of this people.

He enters inside the inn and he's greeted by the innkeeper's wife. After a bit of small talks, she immediately points him a table in the center of the common room, where a man dressed of a light, leather armor is eating voraciously, not looking up as the innkeeper's wife tells him, “He's the Witcher!”, even though Jaskier is pretty sure that he's heard them very clearly.

Jaskier doesn't know what he was expecting. Not Geralt, but when his eyes lay on the Witcher's hair, he feels nonetheless a pang of disappointment when he notices that the colour is wrong, it's a too dark shade, not even close at the white strands Jaskier is so fond of. It's not even the brownish, gentle colour of Eskel's, and that is definitely not the chaotic head of Lambert. And he's never met Vesemir, but by the stories he heard, the Witcher is definitely not Geralt's mentor.

He blinks frenetically, but his eyes remain dry. He has half a mind to just turn around and forget about the unknown Witcher – right now, it's not strong enough to deal with the mess of another Witcher – but, the other half... the other half is curious. He wants to know who he is. He's been so lonely lately...

“I'll pay for what he eats.” he says then, to the woman in front of him, “Bring him another bowl of broth.”

“Want some, dear?”

Jaskier shakes his head, “I've already eaten, thank you.” he tells her, as he walks towards the Witcher that now is looking straight at him with a confused stare. He fidgets with a hem of his doublet, feeling a bit intimidated under the Witcher's unnerving eyes.

When Jaskier sits finally in front of him, he notices his medallion. The animal it represents is definitely not a wolf. “You're welcome.” he says, because he doesn't really know how to break the ice.

It works, somehow. The Witcher laughs, with a half seductive smile. “You must be the bard that lives here. There's this little girl that this morning talked my ear off about you, while showing me the way to the inn. She said you're funny and have a funny voice.”

Jaskier laughs. She must be the baker's daughter, the split image of her mother. “That must be me, yes.” The innkeeper's wife comes to them with two steaming bowls of broth, and ignores Jaskier splutters when one of the bowls is settled in front of him. She just looks at him, deadpanned, and makes a tactless remark about the weight he has lost lately, before turning back at her chores. “You're here for that child's parent's contract about a wolf.”

“That girl thinks it's a werewolf. And she's godsdamn right about that, at least.” the Witcher eyes at him through long, thick lashes. His eyes are of a strong yellow, they almost glow in the timid light of the torches. There is smudged kohl decorating his lids, it makes them bigger and more feline. They are like a black cat's. “She's wrong about you, you don't seem funny at all. You have no instruments with you, and I am not hearing a single song danced in miles. You're boring,” he grimaces, then, “And depressed. You're depressing me.”

Jaskier doesn't touch the broth, that's going cold under his nose. And really, as much as he's trying to be better, he can't deny those words. “Sorry for that. I... forgot my lute back at home.” he lies easily. His lute has remained untouched since Rinde, and now it's collecting dust inside his case under the bed. “My name is Jaskier, by the way. I was hoping–” what? What was he hoping to obtain? There is a Witcher in front of him and it's not from the Wolf's school. It's all a waste of time. “Nevermind. You're a Cat Witcher, and, I'll be honest, I haven't heard anything good about Cats. People say that you're cunning, and cruel. I, obviously, don't think it's true, because people say those things to all kind of Witcher, really,” he doesn't say that most of those things was Geralt that told him, “But I thank you for your services. If there's really a werewolf around here, it's... bad. It's a very bad... situation. Rarely we've had this kind of problem, here.”

“You know quite a lot 'bout Witchers, uh.” the Witcher pushes his empty bowl to the side, without lowering his gaze from Jaskier's face, “Name's Aiden. I'm a Cat Witcher, and I am usually cruel, if needed.”

Jaskier tries a smile, “Hopefully, we won't need it. I just wanted to tell you that here, you'll be... treated well. Not as a mutant, that is. They are used to Witchers, so no one will charge you more than needed for food and such, and they will pay you what is owed.”

The Witcher – Aiden – passes a hand against his lips, wiping the grease away with a swift move, “Good. I like when I'm payed fair and well. Now, this has been awkward enough so, if the master bard will permit it, I will head to bed. I spent all the day in the woods and found nothing, so if y'all are so cordial as you're saying, now I deserve a very good rest.” he says, standing up and stretching his long limbs. He's more lean and slender than the Witchers Jaskier knows, with less muscles and more agility, he guesses. I bet his cock is still smaller than Geralt's, Jaskier thinks, then, immediately after, he feels the urge to bang his head against the table.

Jaskier doesn't answer him, too occupied in try not to maim himself. But then, Aiden stop in his track and turns around enough to look at him again, contemplating something that Jaskier cannot read in his expression, “Now that I think 'bout it, I have another contract. Considering that I have to wait the next full moon to do anything with the werewolf, better get done with that too.”

Jaskier shrugs. It's not really his concern, after all. For a second, he has the impulse of telling him that, if only he needs it, he has some witchery potions back at his house. Just in case he hasn't enough supplies with him for both the contracts. After all, Geralt won't use them ever again. But, but something stops him to propose that: fuck, they're Geralt's, regardless of everything.

He won't give Geralt's things to anyone for any reason at all.

“The little girl hired me,” Aiden continues, with a grin. “She said that your house is haunted, because every night all the village hears wails coming from.”

Jaskier blinks, “That's... that's untrue.”

“She said that everyone is just ignoring that. Oh, it must be a very scared– correction, scaring creature living into your house.”

“There is no creature in my house! And no one wails in the night!” Jaskier snaps, incredulous. Whatever the fuck? “Well, I would know if there is something like that in my own house, I live there! There is nothing apart from me!”

Aiden raises an eyebrow.

Suddenly, hot shame creeps up Jaskier's chest, coloring his cheeks in an ugly red. “It's not me, Witcher.”

It's impossible. He doesn't cry since the day the townsfolk sent the pie to him. And during the night he, Gods, he just sleeps. He doesn't have nightmares, he has no reason to wail.

“Oh, I don't know. But worry not, bard, I am the monster hunter here, so I'll soon find out what lurks in your shadows, for very little compensation. See ya later, then!”

“Later?” Jaskier repeats, stunned. All he receives for an answer is the Witcher retreated back, and nothing else. He's totally been ignored, damn it. “Fucking hell.” he softly murmurs, even if all he wants to do is screaming for the terrible fate that has fallen upon his head.

He doesn't want another Witcher in his life. One – three, he lost them all – is enough, and he has already stomped on his poor, fragile heart, surely there's no need for another one to push his finger into the still fresh wound. Aiden will notices the evident presence – late presence – of a Witcher, from Geralt's old armors and weapons hanging on the wall, to the countless potions in the storage, and there will be questions, so many question that Jaskier still doesn't want to answer. And if he, indeed, is the one wailing during the night, he'll want to know the reason, and– and he doesn't want to explain himself. He feels so tired.

Dazed, he leaves a couple of coins on the table, next to the untouched, cold bowl of broth and gets out into the fresh evening air. He blinks while walking, not really acknowledging where he's going but pretty sure that his own feet are taking him home.

He thought he was feeling better. He thought that after a couple of months, he's made peace with what happened in Rinde, considering that it was no one's fault, considering that now Geralt is safer that he'll ever be with him, considering that all he wants is Geralt's happiness even if it's not with him. Sure, Jaskier's always been selfish, and he's always wanted everything despite it all, but– but he thought that with Geralt was different, that he was – is – more important than his foolish humanly desires.

And yet, Gods. And yet, here he is, sad and depressed, still waiting for Geralt to come home.

----------------------------------------------------

read the rest on ao3!

#okay this is almost 30k of a self indulgent nonsense #geraskier #geraskier fic #jaskier/aiden #jaskier/aiden/lambert #the witcher fic #mine:fyccina #the link is under the cut obv #lambden #aiden x lambert #lambert/aiden #jaskier x geralt #jaskier x aiden #lambden fic

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ciggylungz · 4 years

Text

Summer bummer pt.2

y/n x harry pairing

summary- y/n and Harry are part of a cast of a reality show called ‘summer bummer’ that’s a uk version of the jersey shore and things are chaotic

pnot proofread, not sure if its any good pt.2

_3.9k words

Waking up smooshed between a warm body and a hard wooden wall was what Y/n was currently experiencing, but soon the pounding headache and nausea took the front seat in her brain as she let out a low groan shifting in the hold of the man beside her as she sat up rubbing her eyes, mascara from the night before flaking onto her fist getting another irritated groan to bubble in her throat.

“quiet, try’n sleep here” Harry mumbled and turned over as she climbed out of his bed yawning and stumbling to the bathroom, peeing and taking off her messy makeup from the night before, taking a quick shower and going back upstairs to her shared room to change into some comfy shorts and a big sweatshirt pulling the hood over her damp hair to help block the brightness that’s making her head pound like a drum.

Y/n made her way into the confessional room, sitting on the couch in front of the green screen and turning on the camera the producers had there for them to do their periodic self interviews.

“so it’s like noon, I just woke up and I realized ‘holy shit, im in bed with Harry’…” she made a point to tilt her head and widen her eyes at the camera showing her bit of shock at the situation. “I was blackout wasted last night, the last thing I remember was dancing and making out with him so I’m gonna wait till he’s up to ask if we did the deed or not because I don’t remember, god first day in the house and I’m already blacking out.” She paused to laugh at herself a little before continuing, “ugh, we’ll see. My moms gonna kill me when she see this episode_- fuck_”

She sighed as she turned off the camera and went back out into the living room where some of her roommates were, all of them sleepy and hungover chatting to themselves but Y/n raised an eyebrow when she noticed Tommy give her a side eye and stop talking when she walked into the room, the camera men that were in the house filming panning their cameras between the two young adults.

“what? Why are you looking at me like that?” she didn’t waste any time in brining attention to his behavior, not in the mood for the pricks little attitude problem getting a scoff and a snarky little turn of his lips as he waved her off like a dog, and Y/n was having none of it. She stood up straighter, squaring her shoulders and pointing at the man. “Obviously you have a fucking problem so say it, fuck are you acting like a little bitch for? Thought you were a fucking tough guy.” She wasn’t scared of that guy In the slightest, he had the most punch worthy face she’s ever seen and god was he making the urge more prominent with every move of his ugly face.

“shut the fuck up bitch, you talk too fucking much. You talked shit about me at the club last night, probably just mad because I was making out with other girls and not giving your ugly ass any fucking attention you stupid bitch.” He glared at her giving her a disrespectful little smile and every other person in the room was now staring at the pair, engaged and waiting on the edge of their seats for what was gonna happen next.

Y/n couldn’t stop the laugh that came from her mouth, looking at Tommy like he was the stupidest person on the planet, because right now he sure did fit the description. “You’re joking right? I was saying how I felt sorry for those girls because you’re such a piece of shit wanker. You hit on me from the moment I walked in this house and pouty like a fucking baby when I told you to fuck off after dinner, it was on camera you prick. I’m perfectly content having you and your non existent lips far away from me.”

She was annoyed, but also amused. This guy had no fucking clue how much everyone already hated him and she loved it. He stayed silent for a minute and she took the chance to get closer to him pointing her finger right in his face, making eye contact with him, “watch who the fuck you call a bitch around here Tommy because I’ll punch you right in your smug fucking mouth, lets see how much of a tough guy you are when you get your teeth knocked in by a fucking girl.”

At this point Ryan was up off the couch and making his way between the two when he saw both of them getting even more agitated, Tom standing up and Y/n refusing to back down as he tried to intimidate her.

“alright guys, chill out. Drop it, it’s not a big deal don’t fight over stupid shit like this.” Ryan stuck his arm between them Tommy trying to push it away while Y/n started to tie up her hair yelling back and fourth with him as Ryan tried to keep them apart. “what you gonna fucking hit me Tom? Huh? You gonna hit a girl? Makes sense, you’re a pussy and act so tough till you’re throwing a tantrum when you don’t get your way. Gonna go cry to mommy because I didn’t want anything to do with you or your 2 inch dick?”

This comment of course got the reaction she was hoping, his face grew red and his body tensed just making her smirk more. “the fuck did you just say to me?” he was pissed, and Y/n was loving how she got him so mad over her comment, that’s how she knew she struck a nerve because it was definitely true. She even got some laughs from the roommates who were sitting around watching the show. Ryan turned so his left arm and part of his body was between them, looking at Tommy raising an eyebrow at him. “Watch it mate, you’re on thin ice. Lay a hand on a female in this house and you’ll never get to walk this earth again.”

Tommy clenched his jaw flickering his eyes between Ryan and Y/n like an angry child who didn’t get their way, and god was Y/n loving how he’s embarrassing himself and he doesn’t even realize it.

The pair continued to argue back and fourth, him trying to insult her and her pushing his buttons – (because lets face it, he was too damn easy)- and in the midst of it Harry decided to emerge from his room, hair a mess and all sleepy. His tattoos were on full display as his shirtless body started advancing towards the arguing duo. Y/n gasped when Harry pushed her back a bit to get right in Toms face using his large body to completely cover Y/n’s as he looked down at Tommy with stone cold eyes.

“Mate I suggest you fucking keep it moving because I’m not gonna put up with you being disrespectful to anyone in this house, let alone a younger girl who didn’t do anything to you. I won’t let her fight you, but I sure as hell have no problem pounding your face in. Step off before I make you, I promise you that you don’t want that.”

Harry’s tone was serious, his muscles were taunt and flexed as he towered over the other man. Tommy of course tried to play it off and muttered a ‘whatever asshole’ as he sulked off to his room, but everyone in there knew he was almost shitting his pants from how afraid he was of Harry.

Everyone took a second to take everything in before they really spoke. Ryan gave Harry a pat on the back, “Thanks mate, dudes a proper prick. And Y/n, you’re a bad ass fuckin’ girl, that was crazy!” he chuckled and shook his head, plopping down on the couch again as Harry turned to the girl raising and eyebrow as he looked down at her. “try to not get yourself involved in any more trouble, at least until I’ve had some fucking coffee. Was sleeping love, bit rude to wake me up for a brawl.”

Y/n laughed a little and pushed his chest, “Hey! I didn’t wake you up, I could have taken him I didn’t need you to jump in.” she put her hands on her hips and gave him a sassy little face, the man laughing in return. “ ‘m sure you could have, babbled last night about how you’re brothers taught you boxing growing up, but if that kid was to try to fight you I’d go down for a murder charge. Me mum taught me to respect women and women beaters aren’t in my good graces. Now you, miss thang need to keep your ass out of problems.”

Harry gave her the stern bossy eyes and she caved, nodding her head and pouting a little as he went into the kitchen and grabbed himself a Gatorade and some crackers nodding his head to the deck door, “ ‘cmere rocky, need to talk to you.” Harry teased her with the name, getting laughs from everyone including her as she walked out on the deck with him sitting down on one of the couches as he fed himself.

“need to talk to you about last night.” He mumbled through a mouthful of sports drink getting a nod from Y/n as she tried her best to ignore the camera getting a little too close for comfort. “Wanted to ask you about it too, was waiting till you got up..i’m just gonna ask, did we bang?” she twisted her stray hairs around her pointer finger as she asked, slightly nervous for the answer.

Harry shook his head laughing a little bit to himself. “Nope, told you I wasn’t gonna do anything when you were drunk unless I talked to sober you about it first. Plus, love if we would have fucked you would still feel me. wouldn’t have to ask because your trouble walking would answer that question for you sweetheart.” Harry wore a slight smirk on his lips as he said it, watching the younger girl roll her eyes and lick over her lips. “god you’re such a boy.”

“No, sweetheart. I’m a man, a gentlemen actually. Not like the little boys where you’re from, I’m a grown man love and I’m cocky because I know I have the skills to back it up. Maybe you’ll get lucky to experience that yourself sometimes little girl.”

Y/n was a bit in shock. She was turned on, overwhelmed and a little bit offended by his attitude but god if she wasn’t turned on. “Oh my god. I can’t, guys are too much for me right now. I might have to take up Selena’s offer and become a lesbian over summer because you guys are stressing me out!”

Y/n smacked his arm playfully and Harry grabbed her wrist, pulling her hand to his mouth and kissing her knuckled. “Yea, let’s see how long that lasts since last night you were almost In tears any time I broke the kiss to open the damn door. You’ll be knocking at my door by the end of the week guarantee it.”

“Ok mister confidence, shut up.” Y/n covered her face with her hands to hide her smile and growing blush, both of them just talking about the night before until the camera crew left for a while before they were going to go out that night.

“hey Harry?” Y/n stood in his doorway, calling out his name as he rummaged through his suitcase to find whatever he was looking for. “Whatsup love?” he peered at her for a second to let her know he was listening before going back to what he was doing “about what you said, sober me says if neither of us come home with someone we can fool around a bit, you have my permission. Just know I fully plan on bringing someone home tonight and I already called the spare room. I wanna start my summer off with good booze and an orgasm.”

Harry let out a little snort, pulling the brush he was looking for out of his bag and turning to Y/n, “I’ll keep that in mind, good luck with your plans tonight, I hope you get your wish and don’t end up with some dude who doesn’t know where the clit is.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, “Don’t speak that into existence asshole, if he fails me I’ll just do it the old fashion way.” This got the mans attention and his eyes to meet hers, “Old fashion way?” he rubbed his stubbly chin a bit, moving the brush between his right and left hand, “yea, just masturbate in the shower or whatever. I brought some tools that could lend a helping hand in that. I’ll make do.”

Harry had to stop himself from groaning. His mind flashed with images of her in the shower using toys on herself, biting a wash cloth to keep quiet since everyone’s here. He was able to collect himself after a few seconds and give her a playful smile nodding “sounds like a plan love, now get out of here it’s time to get ready.”

The music was blaring and the booze running through Y/n’s system made it ten times better, she was dancing- not caring about anything as she danced on this nice looking guy she met and who she decided she was gonna bring back that night and occupy the spare room she’d already called. He was tall, dark hair, tan just a typical good looking guy and the vodka helped make him look more attractive. She just hoped that he could give her what she so desperately needed. A good fucking.

“ ‘cmon, lets go now so we have extra time before my roommates get back, I wanna play.”

Little else was said between the two as they darted out of the club and back to the shared house, clothes coming off quickly as they got up the steps and now she’s panting, groping her tits while the stranger who she can’t remember the name of is tongue deep in her cunt. He’s average at giving head, but she’s desperate and so horny she doesn’t care.

Her hips rock against his mouth as he brings her right to the edge before stopping, Y/n let out a loud protest at this feeling the coil that was forming in her stomach and about to come undone fade.

“what the hell?!” she was pissed, and between her legs was aching at this point from needing attention. “I’m sorry, mouth got tired and I wanna fuck you now..” the man slipped his shirt off while Y/n laid under him, irritated but hopeful his cock can give her the relief she really needs.

But just her luck, it doesn’t. He lasts 5 minutes before he’s cumming into the condom and panting leaving Y/n angry and horribly deprived, and so she wasted no time in kicking him out and storming into her room, grabbing her black vibrator she had brought and marching to the bathroom turning the shower on getting it nice and arm before she stepped in.

Y/n had her head resting against the tile as she sat on the shower floor, legs spread and vibrator rubbing up and down her needy slit while her free hand was plunging 2 fingers in and out of herself. She always loved being fingered, but she wishes her fingers were just a bit longer as she worked herself letting herself be loud since no one else was in the house, but she just couldn’t reach the spot she needed to. It was so close yet so far, and she was so upset she was almost close to tears.

She was in the middle of a fit of cursing everyone in existence when a knock on the bathroom door made her jump, her heart almost burst from surprise and now she was wondering how long she’s been in here since her roommates weren’t coming back till at least 6 am.

“Can I come in? it gotta pee” the voice on the other side of the door asked loudly so she could hear them over the water, and when she realized it was Harry she yelled out an agreement, as soon as he opened the door she peaked her head around from behind the curtain to look at him while still shielding her body.

Harry chuckled a little bit and gave her a funny look, “Can I take a leak in private please?”. Y/n groaned and stomped her foot on the shower floor like a child. “Fine! Please pee and then get in the shower with me, I’m so horny it literally hurts and that guy lasted 5 minutes and I swear to god if I don’t get to cum I’m going to cry please!”

Harry stared at her for a moment, letting her words sink in pushing his hair off his face and shrugging. “what do you want me to do love?” he could see just how desperate she was, eyes close to tears, lip stuck between her teeth and he felt both bad for her but also so fucking turned on.

“Anything, please finger me? play with me? please I need it my fingers aren’t long enough and you said you’d play with me, I’m not even that drunk please Harry.”

Y/n didn’t care about the cameras in the hall that were probably picking up the audio, or how desperate and crazy she sounded, she needed his touch.

“Okay..Okay doll relax, let me do what I need to do and then I’ll join you alright?”

Y/n nodded and moved back behind the curtain, she took her original place sitting on the cool tile floor of spacious shower as he went to the bathroom before stripping down to his boxers and pulling the curtain back seeing the younger girl naked, legs spread a bit giving him a glimpse of how swollen and flushed between her legs was letting him know she was probably a bit too rough on herself when she got frustrated, which only made her problem worse.

Her tits sat perky on her chest, her nipples pebbled with water droplets running down over them before dripping off onto her thighs. Harry let out a low groan at the sight, “Have m’ boxers on just because I’m not gonna fuck ya’ , honestly don’t think I even can because I got whiskey dick right now. Need to lay off the booze so I can take care of you properly next time. Cmon, stand up sweetheart.”

Harry held his hand out to the girl who took it, standing on wobbly legs as he stepped in the shower with her, skin tight black boxers covering his goods which disappointed her a bit but she couldn’t care too much since there was so much else going on.

His big hands ran up and down her back, thumbs digging into the dimples right at the base of her spine as he pulled her closer to him, kissing down her neck, mumbling into her skin about how pretty she is, and promising he’s going to make her feel better.

“Pussy is all swollen doll, gotta be careful. Don’t want you to hurt yourself just ‘cause you get frustrated, that’s no fun…” His voice was deep, slow and made her stomach tense from how it vibrated through her getting a whimper and tug on his wet matted locks.

“Talk to me darling..tell me what you want, tell me what you need baby” his fingers were trailing downward, squeezing her ass and brushing his finger tips on the backs on her thighs. “need you to touch me, please put your fingers in me I need it”

Her voice was pathetic and she knew it, she was needy to the highest capacity and almost let a ‘daddy’ slip through her lips but she managed to bite her tongue just in time. Harry hummed as he brough his right hand around her front, moving it between her thighs and coaxing them open wider while he brushed two digits up and down her slit, mouthing at her neck while he gets a feel for her exterior, taking the vibrator from her hand and setting it down on the rack holding their shampoos and soaps while he tapped the pad of his middle finger against her entrance before sinking it in.

Her reaction was immediate. She dropped her head onto his shoulder, a long relieved moan falling from her plush lips as he slipped a second one in with ease from how eager her body was. “Got t’ give me a minute to find tha’ special spot love, deep breaths don’t need ya’ passing out on me.” Harry was on a mission to find that spongey spot inside her that would have her cumming in no time, and Y/n was practically riding his fingers as she stood in his grip, her body going rigid when he pressed against the spot she needed the most attention on, mumbling a low “found it” as he pressed on it again, rubbing over it as he fucked his fingers in and out of the younger girl who was holding onto him for dear life as he massaged her G-spot with vigor.

“There you go, that’s a good girl Y/n you’re doin’ so good love, know you’re close can cum whenever you feel it. Know you need it baby, let go.”

Y/n could barely hear him as her body started to tingle, everything was muffled and her mind was hyper focused on the pleasure pulsing through her core. She was gearing up for a strong one, she hasn’t had one quite this big since the winter when she had a 4 week dry spell and finally got some action the day after Christmas, she soaked through the poor dudes sheets that night.

Her moans and gasps picked up, frequent bursts of pleasured moans passed her lips as she started to pant her nails digging into his tattooed shoulders while her held her to him so she didn’t fall.

“Doing so well, almost there huh? Almost there…” his fingers moved with purpose and unfaltering speed as he massaged her special spot faster, her legs becoming jelly as she started to cum. She couldn’t help the loud moan that shot out of her throat, Harry quickly grabbing the wash cloth and stuffing it in her mouth since he knew Ryan was here. He cooed in the girls ear, talking to her the entire time she was cumming feeling her cunt squeezing his digits while her own juices dribbled down his wrist.

She was dizzy, tired, spent and completely drained. She finally got what she needed and was now dead weight clinging to Harry who peppered her face with kisses as he withdrew his hand from her cunt rinsing her off down there and kissing her lips a few times.

“That was fucking amazing… god Harry you’re gonna make me fall in love with you with fingers like those…”

He only chuckled at her dazed comment before shutting the water off, wrapping the girl in a towel and sitting her down on the counter

“Lucky for you, you have all summer to do so, I might just be up for it too.”

#harry styles angst #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles au #harry styles series #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfic #harry styles concept #harry styles writing

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thejudgingtrash · 4 years

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@aph-usa-is-my-dad Thank you, thank you! 🙇🏽‍♀️

Alright lads, looks like it’s time for hot takes part III!

Here’s Part 1//Here‘s Part 2

Apollo won’t get Zeus position. Why is everyone wishing for that? And why should he? All of you really want to romanticize/project yourself onto him, huh?

Casual Reyna >>> praetor Reyna

Grover has the fattest ass in the Riordanverse, I don’t make the rules

People lack of basic reading skills part III

The fact that adults in New Rome let kids rule the fucking place is still mindblowing

Rick apologists are lame. People calling out shit isn’t an attack on you. Stop defending a product‘s/public figure‘s honor. Defending Rick Riordan is the equivalent of you defending the honor of a snickers bar. Dude doesn’t know you and dude doesn’t give a fuck about you. You are a walking dollar bill at best

Romans are still fucking wacky and despite Camp Jupiter being superior allegedly it’s a whole damn chaotic mess. Where are the supposed civilized Romans because I don’t see them?

Camp Half-Blood >>>> Camp Jupiter, especially when Percy trains in his summer vacations and beats praetor Jason’s goddamn ass who’s been training for 12 years

Why did Riordan even try to make Jason appear to come close to Percy’s level? The imbalance of power is so abundantly clear and makes Jason seem even smaller in that regard. Riordan is truly Percy’s biggest hater

The fact that CHB also glamorizes child soldiers in a more fun and relaxed way. Yikes

Nico is a white™ (again, he is European)

Rachel was annoying but didn’t deserve the blatant hate.

Annabeth should’ve had another possible love interest to spark some pissed Percy. Luke doesn’t count. Percy’s jealously revolves around (the possibility of) her not being around him (e.g. the hunters), not him ”losing“ her to someone else romantically speaking

Silena is the OG Aphrodite kid, fuck the rest

Amazons >> hunters by a slight margin. They’re also an awful bunch

The execution of the hunters is so bad omg, just let me revamp them, Ricardo

If a different take on a headcanon/characters really offends you/paint that much of a different picture of op, then I’m not sorry (only exception if the headcanon is based on discriminatory means. Someone saying they don’t like A and someone using slurs and being a douche are two different things)

The entire Aphrodite cabin is pan FYI

Team demigods who receive periods would probably be extra fucked when it comes to monsters and stuff. Let’s address this

Why exactly couldn’t the gods handle their own shit? Hunting monsters in your area makes sense as a demigod job. But stuff like retrieving Hermes‘ staff (especially when the dude is the speedy traveler guy) makes no goddamn sense

Let’s face it: Annabeth is the only good female character that Riordan pulled off. Also wasn’t she based off his wife? If so, that’s why.

The lack of irl examples for his POC and other women is abundantly clear as he can’t lure everyone from his environment into the stories especially because he has no irl connection to minorities. So he fabricated stuff/did his 5 mins of wiki and got it severely wrong. Clock that tea!

Camp Half-Blood t-shirts belong to the trash. Orange is Yellow‘s cousin and both are ugly to the max. Let’s just switch colors of both camps. Let the Romans deal with the hideous shit

Chiron and Paul are Riordan‘s self-inserts

Tbh giving Hazel super mist powers and tying Frank to Poseidon was stupid

Skater!Percy is pretty much canon but I just can’t envision it? The thought of it is cute and so 2000s but my brain goes fjfldlsöwlwbvd (and tbh gymnast!/dancer!/Parcours!Percy >>>>> skater!basketball!Percy)

People are forgetting that Percy is the unpopular kid both in the mortal realm and at camp and partially chose to be so? Let me remind you of the truth real quick

Beckendorf and Silena are the horny bastards of the Camp Half-Blood. Issa fact

The gods not really immortalizing Chiron and simply saying that he’ll live as long as he’s needed turned him into the cryptic fuck we all know. That’s why he barely helps out (On that note a tiny Chiron essay)

A headcanon, regardless of how popular it is, isn’t factual/reality. So fighting over different takes of the exact same issue is rather pointless but you do you. Some popular blog having an opinion with a large following doesn’t automatically negate your sentiment

Piper being ”unconventional“ as in hating make-up and being dressed up is in itself more than fine but the execution was lacking and her coming off as pretentious and annoying was the result

Piper also has no taste in men if she thinks that amnesia brick boy Grace > Percy. Just no. Lesbians claim haaa

If I see another Amandla or Zendaya or another biracial/lightskinned face claim for Hazel I will lose it

Everyone and their mother having a crush on Percy fuels them Gary Stu feelings, just saying

The fact that Riordan casually drops the abuse that Percy has suffered from like some fucking tic tacs just to never be spoken about should be a reason enough to whoop his ass

Not maturing and darkening HOO (there were good thoughts but also many whacky executions) was the biggest mistake Riordan had made. He should’ve went the Rowling route and transitioned from kids books to YA

The whole fire stick thing that Riordan ripped off from Meleager and slapped onto Frank was terribly executed

A lot of you people should open up more to jokes and not take everything all too seriously

The fact that people seriously ship/ped Reyna x Apollo is proof enough that this fandom should burn

Why do Luke discussions at this point still exist? You’re essentially glossing over the same four things

Hyping up fanfics to the max is a terrible idea. Also don’t shy away from giving writers constructive criticism

Stoner headcanons are here to stay and slay!

On one hand seeing discussions from the science side of PJO talking about the biology, physics etc. is super interesting but on the other hand getting heated over the illogical basis of ”magic“ is pretty much a waste of time

Riordan‘s world building is truly awful

Frazel is a crime against humanity

If you don’t get someone‘s post actually look op up and read the tags? No need to spam the exact question to everything

Fat Frank stays. I get it, Greek gods are hot, they are conceited and choose to fuck people that they perceive as attractive, so their offspring also has some higher levels in the beauty realm. But why not explore the opposite? Why does every character need a makeover or a blessing that gives them enhanced looks?

Clarisse‘s thigh can break ya neck

Also Riordan is Annabeth’s biggest hater. Let’s throw all of her most important possessions away to proof that the smart one can survive without any of it. Sure, but the emotional attachment to the stuff still remains especially when everyone else is walking out of Annabeth’s life

Making Leo another horny bastard was an accurate portrayal of your casual 16 year old boy. Annoying, but realistic

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