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#but i do remember it took place back in the house i lived in during high school
kingkonoha · 2 months
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𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊!
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♡ — 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: your first time having sex & becoming friends with benefits with the jjk men — nanami, geto, & gojo.
♡ — 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓: 18+ ONLY // MDNI — smut, penetration, unprotected, oral, geto is mean, jealousy, masturbation, reader gets walked in on, 69 position, brief spanking, fem reader, reader wears a skirt.
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𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈
Eating out his old classmate wasn’t something Kento had ever imagined himself doing.
He had grown up with you, a fellow sorcerer whom he met as a first-year eleven years ago. You did everything together back then — fought curses, shared lunches, trained until your bodies ached from exhaustion — so, perhaps, it was only natural that you would both end up sleeping together now.
Nanami had invited you over to his spacious house one starry night. The plan was to go over the tedious details regarding your next mission as first-grade sorcerers, and after a while of sitting at his dining table and discussing battle plans, it was time to take a break.
Expensive wine was poured into two glasses. After a couple of sips — and moving from his dining room to his living room couch, wanting a change of scenery — you smiled at your long-time friend.
“Remember when you used to dress like an emo kid?” Chuckling softly, you sat your glass of wine down on his coffee table.
“Don’t remind me,” Kento smiled a bit, taking a sip of his beverage as he tossed his arm over the back of the couch. “Why’d you bring that up?”
“I was just thinking about how much you’ve changed. You’re all buff and attractive now. It’s impressive.”
Kento’s eyes darted down to your legs. Your skirt had risen more than you had intended, and while Kento was a gentleman who would have pretended not to notice, he wasn’t in the mood to be on his best behavior right now.
Blame the alcohol.
Those brown eyes of his scanned your legs and thighs.
He leaned forward and placed his glass of wine on a nearby coaster.
“So, legs are your weakness, huh?”
Your bold words caught him by surprise.
When he made eye contact with you, you flickered your seductive gaze down to his noticeable bulge.
The stretched cloth of his nice pants had told you just how badly he wanted to leave wet kisses over those gorgeous legs of yours and mark your thighs with hickeys that would peek out from underneath your short skirt.
“I guess they are,” Kento softly bit his lip for a brief second. “I don’t think I’ll be able to concentrate on our work with this . . . problem of mine.”
“I can fix it, then.”
Despite your words, Kento didn’t wait for you to make the first move. He was a patient man when it came to being put on hold during business calls or waiting in line at the grocery store, but not when it came to fucking you.
Kento lifted you off of the couch, his hands gripping your ass as you giggled a bit, and he took you to his bedroom.
Your old classmate tossed you onto his bed and lowered his head between your thighs.
With his hands, he held your legs open, and his callused fingertips rubbed your soft skin as he kissed your clit through your underwear.
Your little gasp was all the encouragement he needed. Pushing your underwear to the side, Kento sucked and rapidly licked at your delicious clit, moaning softly as he did so.
All he wanted was for you to cum in his mouth. He had to taste it on his tongue and cherish the flavor of you.
And when your juices flooded his mouth, he felt like a fool for waiting this long to taste his best friend.
𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎
You were angry with him — that’s how the fucking started.
After a frustrating trip to the grocery store, you stepped into your apartment with Suguru following closely behind. He sat down the three bags of groceries on your kitchen island, and shut your front door.
“I can’t believe you, Suguru.” You turned to face him, frowning up at the dark-haired man. “You’re not my fucking boyfriend, alright? You had no right to scare off that guy I was talking to.”
Suguru’s eyes darted down to your pouty lips.
You were right.
He wasn’t your boyfriend.
But he couldn’t stand the sight of that guy making you laugh, and Suguru could tell that the stranger was building up the courage to ask you for your phone number.
So, Suguru approached you. Your best friend calmly cupped your face and pressed his lips against yours. It wasn’t a public-friendly kiss, either. It was a steamy one. He moaned softly, swirling his tongue around yours, and he didn’t pull away until the man walked off, stammering out some sort of awkward apology.
You were stunned, to say the least.
After all, the most physical contact that ever occurred between you and Suguru was a brief hug now and then.
But, even so, your best friend managed to dampen your panties, and he could easily tell.
“I’m not about to argue with you,” Suguru replied calmly. He walked away from you and stepped into the kitchen, opening a bag as he started to put your groceries away.
“Don’t just walk away. Your little prank or whatever scared off someone who might have been interested in me. I can’t believe you’d do something like that and think it’s okay,” you paused, as he was completely unbothered until you muttered something under your breath: “You’re such an asshole.”
Suguru instantly froze. He put your butter in the fridge, closed it, and looked at you.
“Come here, Y/N.”
That tone. Your legs were moving as if they had a mind of their own — despite how badly you wanted to ignore him and have an attitude.
Suddenly, Suguru grabbed your waist, turned you around, and leaned you over the kitchen island. When he pressed his hard bulge against your ass, you gasped softly.
Suguru leaned across your back, pressing his lips against your ear.
“Don’t speak to me like that again. I’ll scare off whoever I need to because you’re mine. Think you can tease me with your slutty outfits for years and then find some other guy?”
A small yelp erupted from your throat when Suguru suddenly slapped your ass — and he did it twice.
“Suguru,” you whined pathetically. “Just fuck me already.”
“Nuh-uh, don’t rush me.”
You whined once again, and Suguru grinned.
Slowly, moving at a painfully teasing pace, he unbuckled his belt.
Then, he lifted your skirt.
He massaged your ass.
He ran his fingers over your pussy.
For a while, he did everything except fuck you.
And when he finally gave in — his rock-hard cock becoming much too painful to continue without some sort of relief — he moved your panties to the side and slid into your awaiting hole.
He roughly pushed you over the kitchen island even more until your feet couldn’t touch the ground, knocking over some groceries as he did so.
Thrusting in and out of you at a quick pace, he moaned over the feeling of your tight pussy.
“Suguru!” You shouted, the feeling of his cock stuffing your pussy was starting to drive you crazy.
“Shut up,” Suguru gripped your hips. “I don’t wanna hear anything from you. Just shut up and take my cock.”
It was only a matter of time before you came all over his dick. He continued to fuck your creamy cunt until his own cum shot out of him and poured inside of you, and he moaned your name like it was a sinful prayer.
He pulled out of you slowly. You got off the island and faced him.
“I’m a great friend, aren’t I?” He asked, but giving you no time to respond, he kissed you deeply once again, moaning into your mouth.
𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎
Satoru Gojo has wanted to fuck you since the moment he first saw you.
For five years straight, he had to pacify his desires by jerking his cock to whatever scenarios his imagination could cook up, but it wasn’t enough. As he came into his fist, he wished that he could cum inside of your tight hole instead.
But, little did he know, you felt the same way.
In fact, you had simply forgotten that your dear friend was coming over to hang out with you one day.
Being as Satoru had his own set of keys to your home, he walked into your apartment without announcing himself.
That was when he heard the soft moans.
He approached your bedroom cautiously, and with your door wide open, you saw him instantly and froze.
Your legs were spread apart with your hand in your panties. And, along with that, he saw your phone screen, which displayed a shirtless photo of him.
You took that picture yourself when you both went to the beach a few months ago.
“Don’t stop on my account, you little pervert,” he teased, unable to fight off the urge to grin.
“I-“
“Ya know,” Satoru interrupted, stepping into your room and getting on your bed. “You’ve been getting off to a picture of me instead of just fucking me in real life, and that kinda ticks me off.”
“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, unable to hide your embarrassment. “This is so . . .”
“Don’t be embarrassed.” Satoru eyed your hand, which was still inside of your underwear. “Why don’t you sit on my face to make it up to me?”
It was a daring request, and your shocked facial expression made Satoru smirk a bit.
He didn’t just want to eat your pussy, he wanted to be smothered by it.
And he was sick of waiting.
When you slowly lowered yourself over his face, your cautiousness frustrating him, he grabbed you and shoved you down onto his mouth.
Instantly, his tongue started to lap at your pussy.
He was already in heaven, close to cumming untouched based on the taste of your pussy and the sound of your moans alone, but when you suddenly leaned over and pulled his cock out of his pants, he had to fight the urge to cum into your mouth right then.
He swirled his tongue around your clit, and you circled yours around his tip.
But you wouldn’t fully take him down your throat just yet. How could you treat a friend that way?
Satoru started to squirm around — wrapping his hands around your thighs so you couldn’t lift yourself off of his face — and he tried to buck his hips and thrust himself into your mouth.
You got the hint, but teasing him was fun.
At least, it was until he stopped licking your clit, and instead started to swirl his tongue around it, purposely missing your sensitive button.
You whined, and finally, you sucked your friend’s big cock properly.
He moaned against your clit before attaching his lips to it and sucking on it, eager to taste you.
As friends, you and Satoru often had unofficial competitions with each other.
It was an unspoken conversation, but you and Satoru knew well that you were both trying to see who could make the other person cum first.
He ate you out more messily, holding on to your ass cheeks as he dragged his tongue across every inch of your sweet pussy.
You started to bop your head faster, massaging your tongue against his veins.
However, you couldn’t fight against the pleasure starting to overwhelm you, and you came first.
He shot his load into your mouth shortly after, but you could feel him grinning in victory as he slurped down your juices.
He didn’t let you off of his face until he was finished cleaning you up.
Defeatedly, you raised yourself off of him.
“You cheated,” you said jokingly.
“I won fair and square, baby.” Satoru looked up at you, and he said, “Since I won, why don’t you be a good friend and ride my cock?”
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🏷️: @sad-darksoul
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m0nsterqzzz · 19 days
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Happy Wife Happy Life
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pairing: Clarisse La Rue x fem!reader
summary: being Clarisse's "wife" will always have it's perks
a/n: honestly don't know how to feel about this but I'm tired. anyway, kinda hate the ending. and my writing lol.
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Love is the greatest thing.
At least, in your eyes it is.
It can bring the strongest people to their knees, risking their lives or others lives just so that they can keep their person happy. It's always been amazing to you.
Not so much in your best friend Clarisse's. She'd much rather have the glory of being the strongest kid in school, or be feared by your classmates. "Love is stupid." She always tells you while she watches you study under the willow tree she likes climbing.
"No, it's not. It's powerful. You like powerful things don't you?" You'd say back with an airy laugh, then forcing her to come back down from the branches so you can help her with her math homework.
She's heard lots about the emotion called jealousy, but she'd never truly felt it until she saw Holly Bracken kiss your cheek during recess one day. The tightening of the chest, the way her throat went dry and she clenched her fist by her side from the other end of the black top and tried to stop herself from throwing the basketball in her hands towards the blonde girl's head. It wasn't a feeling Clarisse liked, and the feeling only went away when you were laying in her arms under the tree after school that day.
That warm afternoon, she'd asked you to marry her with a paper ring, one that you cherished for a whole week until it got caught in something and broke. You'd obviously said yes, the fact that you had a huge crush on her not exactly helping as you forced yourself to remember she was obviously kidding. Sealing the marriage with I do and then placing a chaste kiss on the back of your hand like she'd seen done in the romantic movies her mother likes watching, you were officially hers. As long as you were her wife, Holly Bracken could no longer kiss your cheek with that ugly smug smile.
She went on to make sure of that, introducing you as her wife to anyone and everyone that was willingly to listen. You two were young, and nobody took it quite seriously until she saved up almost a full year's allowance money to buy you a nice looking- but still cheap- promise ring from the jewelry store downtown. It was a silent promise, one that she eventually voiced as you were sleeping over at her house.
"I'll be with you forever." She'd whispered in your ear, and you foolishly believed her.
She was gone three weeks later.
You didn't get a phone call, an email, or even a letter. She just....disappeared.
Her family stopped answering the door for you, seemingly purposefully avoiding you in town. It was months before you finally gave up, and it was obvious to anyone that looked hard enough you were slowly becoming a shell of yourself without her. Without your girl.
-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-
The only thing in your life that is weirder than Clarisse's mysterious disappearance, was the fact that a boy just told you you're a child of one of the Greek gods. You couldn't believe him. You'd learned about the gods in school, but there was no fudging way they were real. You'd only finally agreed to go to some place called Camp Half Blood when he rolled up one of his pant legs to reveal furry goat legs. Nothing will ever be weirder than that.
Just in time too, because right after you left the school building and started sprinting towards the forest across from the place, some giant winged creature that no one else seemed to see crashed through a window and started flying towards you.
Your protector, someone you learned is a satyr named Joey, lead you to camp with minimal death, which you learned is very rare when it comes to leading a demi-god to camp. It didn't help with the newly installed fear inside you, but you just simply nodded along with what he was saying as your eyes scanned the crowds of campers that are doing their own thing below the hill you stand on.
The moment you step past what Joey calls Thalia's tree, all eyes are on you. A new camper means special events so they feel welcome which means more fun for the campers and the drama of figuring out who their godly parent is. 
You don’t have any belongings other than the clothes on your skin and the school pencil that’s brought you a strange sense of comfort on your long trip. A female camper with blonde hair and gray eyes comes up and introduces herself as Annabeth, helping you to the “Hermes” cabin to give you a camp t-shirt and new pants. She explains all the new campers go there, at least until they get claimed, which means the kids in there are either children of Hermes, unclaimed, or new just like you. 
Since everyone is gone doing daily activities, you decide to just change in the cabin. It’s peaceful, the sound of campers laughter, birds in the trees.
Your blissful silence is broken when someone tightly wraps their arms around you from behind you and lifts you up in the air with a squeal, your hands flying to cover your bra-covered chest. “What the hell?!” You scream, but the profanities you were going to yell out die down in your throat when the person sets you down and you turn around to see Clarisse.
She doesn’t look much different, her hair a little bit grown out and her band t-shirts and jeans have been replaced by camouflage pants and an orange camp half blood shirt similar to the one you’re trying to put on. You’re so starstruck that you just stare, her arms still loosely wrapped around your waist as you stand there in only a bra and jeans. “Clar?” She nods, grinning brightly as she pulls you into yet another hug.
You’re much more aware this time, pushing her away harshly as you hurry to put on the shirt and then leave the cabin with a quick roll of your eyes. The curly haired girl is hot on your tail, attempting to grab your wrist to stop you before you pull it away as if she’s burned you. Her face is full of hurt, but your voice shows the same amount as you ask, “Why didn’t….why didn’t you call? Or email? Or-or send me a fucking letter? Just to let me know you were okay? That you came here.”
She sighs, eyes full of regret as they fall to look at her doc martens so she doesn’t have to see your sadness. “I couldn’t call you because a phone call is like sending a message out to any monsters that could be listening and find out where we are. Email, I don’t have any electronics cuz of the whole call thing.”
“And letter? I bet monsters don’t know how to read Clar.” The girl is silent for a minute, and as the silence continues is when you realize she doesn’t have an answer for you. You scoff, beginning to walk to who knows where again before she runs to catch up with you.
“I’m sorry, okay? I was scared. Gods, I was scared.” The worlds tumble out of her mouth before she can stop them, and the campers around you fall silent as they stare with mouths agape in shock.
“Scared? What’s there to be scared of? It’s just me.” She nods, wordlessly reaching out to hold your hand. You let her this time and she feels relief flood through her. “Scared. I was scared….scared that you would hate me for leaving. I mean, what kind of woman leaves her wife?” She attempts a small laugh, and she takes it as a win that the corners of your mouth twitch upwards in the start of a smile. “I promised you forever and then left without another word. You had been looking at me through rose colored glasses our entire lives, I was scared those glasses were shattered. It’s not an excuse though. I should’ve sent you a letter, told you I was okay and told you how much I missed you.”
A small smile works its way onto your face, but she can still see the sadness in your eyes and she hates it. She hates it when you're sad. “Come here angel.” The girl hesitantly pulls you into her arms, almost crying when you relax into her hold and hug her back before she remembers where you guys are and how many campers are staring in shock at how sweet she’s acting.
“You have to understand that I’m still mad Clar. Even if you were scared, I spent years living in fear you were dead.” You mumble against her shoulder as you grip onto her like she’s going to disappear again if you let go.
The girl nods in agreement, cradling your head to her chest as she glares at the campers in an attempt to get them to leave you two alone. They do it.
-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-
Clarisse brings you to her cabin, cuddling with you in her bed as she tells you anything and everything that has happened over the past. She’s a child of Ares, and you spend several minutes that it makes sense after the amount of times she threatened other kids by saying she should hang them from the top of the flagpole. 
By dinner time, it’s like no time has passed, and everyone’s eyes are on you as you two walk in with her arm casually placed on your around the back of your waist as she leads you to her table where her siblings are trying not to make fun of her. After a lot of begging and threats, Chiron agreed to let you sit at the Ares table for your first week at camp. “Hey guys.” Her happy tone is a rare one around her by the look on their faces, the smile even rarer as she sits you down next to her spot on the bench. “This is my wife.”
The whole room goes silent, all eyes trained on you as your eyes dart up to stare at her. “What are you-” She cuts you off with amusement dancing in her brown eyes.
“What do you want to eat, honey?” Clarisse asks you, and a son of Ares you know as Mark scoffs before he says, “The last time I asked you to get me food, you poured your drink in my lap and told me it wasn’t your job.”
The smile falls from your friend's face as she glares at him. “That’s because it isn’t my job.”
“Then why are you getting her food?” 
“Because a happy wife equals a happy life alright? Now shut the fuck up.”
The smile is back as she turns to face you again, taking your order before she leaves to get that and her own food. 
The rest of the campers go back to their meals, though they’re clearly gossiping about Clarisse’s supposed wife as they eat. It doesn’t make you feel very happy, but all the doubt is gone as your girl comes back and sits down next to you, setting the food down before her hand falls to hold your hand under the table the way she used to during lunch at school.
-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-
A little bit later, you finish eating and join in the group of campers leaving the dining hall towards the campfire with Clarisse walking beside you. “My legs hurt.” You mumble while leaning closer to her. She doesn’t miss a beat as she picks you up bridal style, casually carrying you to the bonfire like you weigh absolutely nothing. Smiling at the sound of your laughter, she sets you down on one of the logs surrounding the fire. “What was that for? I could’ve walked.” You say as she sits down next to you before pulling you into her lap.
“What kind of wife would I be if I let you walk around while in pain?” She grins before leaning her head on your shoulder. She seems happy, and you recently learned she hasn’t felt that way in a very long time so you simply smile before leaving a kiss on her forehead. Her fingers lace with yours, her thumb caressing the back of your hand as she talks to her brother. It’s like no time has passed. Although you’re still upset, it’s nice to have her again.
Clarisse makes you guys some smores, a few people coming up every once and a while to introduce themselves and your friend introduces you the same way every time; “This is my wife.” By the time you’re making your way to the Hermes cabin with her walking by your side like a bodyguard, everyone in camp is aware of the “marriage”.
“I wish you could come stay in the Ares cabin.” She mumbles into the crook of your neck on the porch of Hermes cabin, and you chuckle while rubbing circles on her back. “I think you annoyed Chiron enough for one day.”
The daughter of Ares sighs, reluctantly nodding as she gives you a gentle squeeze before walking away. You watch her walk to her cabin for a few seconds, a permanent smile on your face before you walk inside your crowded cabin.
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The next morning, it’s time for you to join in the routine of chores and training. It seems tiring, but Clarisse is by your side to help you with anything and everything so it’s okay.
“You’re getting better, hon.” She repeats for the 100th time in an hour, and your trust in her words is slowly fading as you sling the sword in your hands awkwardly towards the dummy covered in greek armor in front of you. The girl seems to notice your mood dropping, so she sighs and then stands up and walks towards you. You think she’s going to tell you to take the armor off just stop trying, but you shouldn't have. Clarisse was never one to tell you to give up on something. Instead, she places her hands on your hips, brown eyes straying from your face as she gently moves your body until you're standing in the correct way. You feel like clay under her grip, simply allowing her to position you as your face scans her features. 
It’s like something pulling you to lean in, and it’s only when you're inches away from her face do you realize she is leaning in too. As if realizing where you are and what you guys are doing, she clears her throat and backs away, her hands following to rest at her sides. “There. Try again.” She begins to awkwardly walk away, her confidence gone as she almost trips over some armor left on the floor by another camper.
You nervously laugh, taking a deep breath before you slash the sword forward again. The sword feels much more natural in your hand, and it’s almost like an instinct as you angle it so it hits the unprotected parts so it cuts open the material. 
Your friend cheers, rushing over to you and easily lifting you off the ground like you just won the olympics. Clarisse has always been that way, proud of every thing  you could ever do. With a small laugh, you thank her and finally get her to set you down. “Well done wifey.” The words flow out of Clarisse’s mouth like they’re the most natural thing, and you fake an annoyed sigh.
“You know I’m not your wife right?” You say with a laugh, but she clearly doesn’t find it very funny.
“Then what's this?” Her hand moves to grab your hand, holding it up in front of your face and you try to ignore the way butterflies explode in your stomach from the touch as her eyes lock on yours. With rose colored cheeks- you decide to blame it on the heat and not the feeling of her hand in yours- you finally take notice of what she’s talking about; the ring she bought you when you were kids, snuggly placed on your left hand ring finger. It was a bit too big when you guys were younger, but it fits basically perfectly now.
“It’s a promise ring.” You mumble, walking away to take off the armor and put away the sword. “It’s the closest thing to a wedding ring I could get. And besides, red is my favorite color, the jem is red. It’s basically me, in a ring.” “I didn’t understand a single thing you just said.”
Clarisse sighs, wrapping her arms around your waist from behind the same way she did your first day at camp- though this time she doesn’t lift you up. “Sorry. Let me summarize. You’re my wife, and that is your ring.” You chuckle, turning around in her arms and trying not to think about the way you’re so close you can feel her warm breath on your face. “Fine. I’m your wife.” She takes the win, leaving a chaste kiss on your cheek before she makes her way out of the training grounds to go wash up for lunch.
This girl is gonna be the death of you.
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That night, Clarisse sneaks into the Hermes cabin. She’s used to sneaking out, but she’s never had a reason to sneak into this specific cabin and she almost bursts out laughing when she gets through the window and almost steps on a kid laying on a sleeping bag on the floor. 
She easily manages her way through the sleeping kids to get to your bunk in the corner, cringing every once and a while when floor boards creek. You’re awake, staring at the wall and you reach under your pillow to grab a dagger Annabeth gave you when someone puts a hand on your shoulder and tries to shake you away so you can hold it up against their neck.
“Why the hell do you have a knife to my throat?” Clarisse quietly squeaks out, and you sigh in relief before putting the weapon back under your pillow for safe keeping. “I just…I’m sorry.” You think about telling her about the nightmare you were having not even ten minutes ago, but it looks like she’s already aware of it as she sends you knowing eyes.
“You can make it up to me by following me.” One look into her pleading eyes is all you need to reluctantly agree, and she helps you out of the window and then onto her back so she can carry you to the surprise she set up in the forest.
The sight makes you want to grin and cry at the same time; it’s a picnic set on the cliff overlooking the waterfall you told her was your favorite part of camp, all your favorite foods from the outside world placed accordingly on the blanket. There are little lanterns placed all over, lighting up this specific part of the woods. You can clearly see the stars, one of your favorite things, and the cozy feeling of the date-like setting goes against the summer breeze of the night.
“So? What do you think?” Clarisse nervously asks as you look around in awe. “I….I love it Clar.” You reply, pulling her into a tight hug. “How’d you get all these foods?” You quest with a grin. She innocently shrugs, but she’s got a mischievous look in her eyes that only appears when she does something bad. She won’t tell you that she snuck out of camp the same way she snuck out of her cabin to go to the mortal world, sneaking back in a throwing herself into a bush when Mr. D almost caught her.
She sits down on the blanket, patting the spot next to her and then pulling you into her lap when you sit down. “This is so nice….but why?” “Why?” “Why’d you do it?”
Clarisse chuckles; “Because my wife deserves best.” There it is again, the phrase that brings a blush to your face no matter how many times you hear it. “Well, thank you.” She nods, grabbing a chocolate covered strawberry and taking a hesitant bite before humming in satisfaction. “That’s really good.”
You two spend the rest of the night talking and giggling as you cuddle up to her and eat the delicious foods, and by the end of the night you’re lying with your head in her lap as she runs her fingers through your hair. “One day,” She starts, leaning down to kiss your forehead before she continues speaking; “I’m gonna marry you for real.”
With a small laugh, you nod, staring into her brown eyes as you sigh. “I’m okay with that.” You whisper, and for a second it seems like she’s leaning down again. It’s proven she is when her lips connect with yours. Her lips are slightly chapped since she always forgets to put on chapstick before she leaves the cabin, but that doesn’t matter as she’s kissing you like she’s been starved for years. Technically, she has been.
She pulls away, watching with a nervous smile as you attempt to catch your breath and stare up at her in awe. “Was that-was that okay?” You slowly nod, sitting up and then turning to face her before you grab her face in your hands and kiss her once again. She seems surprised, but she quickly adapts as her hands move to your hips and firmly grip them.
“I’ve been wanting to do that since the day you agreed to be my wife.” She whispers as she pulls away and leans her forehead on your own. You giggle, giving her a quick kiss in between love sick giggles. “Me too.”
She begins to talk again, but the sound of hooves galloping near and a loud voice calling out, “Who's there?!” makes her panic. Chiron. You panic as well, and you both messily pick up the empty plates and blanket, shoving it all in the basket and taking your hand in the one that isn't holding the basket.
The galloping is getting closer, and you both begin to run back into the forest- on the way back to camp but still in the opposite direction of Chiron.
You both begin to laugh as you almost trip over a branch, and you have to bite your lip and hold a hand over Clarrise's mouth so Chiron won't hear. 
You eventually make it back to the cabins, and you both slow down to a light jog as you near the Hermes cabin. She brings you back to the still open window, and helps lift you up into the slightly cold room. You take off your shoes, and are about to wish her a goodnight and go to bed when you turn around to see her lips playfully puckered. 
You chuckle, walking back to the window and giving her a small peck on the lips. “Goodnight Clar. and thank you for a wonderful night.” She smiles. “It was only wonderful because you were there. Goodnight angel.” With that, she leaves towards her own cabin, and you're left staring at her leave with a love sick smile and look in your eyes.
At the edge of the forest, Chiron watches the sweet goodnight with a small smile. “Well I'll be damned….Clarisse La Rue is a softy.” He begins walking to his own cabin with a content sigh. “But they better not sneak out again.”
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lacollectionneuse1967 · 4 months
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remembering you
Theseus Scamander x Reader
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summary: the year is 1916 and you live with your family near the western front in france. after a chance encounter with a wizard soldier during the war, you don't think you'll ever see him again, although you're sure you'll always remember him.
nine years later, you find that the man not only works with you at the ministry, but he also happens to be the annoying auror who keeps accidentally sending interdepartmental memos to your desk. you develop a friendly, albeit anonymous, banter through sending each other notes, but the question remains--does he know who you are? and, if he does, does he remember you?
fem!reader. theseus scamander x reader.
category: office romance. smut with plot.
warnings: 18+ smut scene. unprotected penetration. oral sex (fem receiving). dirty talk. mdom/femsub. fyi he begs for it.
author's note: i am not an expert on the wizarding world nor am i an expert on wwi / world history! with respect, i do not claim to be. this is a work of fanfiction.
1916, Northern France
How strange it was, being at home when it no longer felt like home.
Your memories from childhood were precious and few, almost unreal. It was uncanny to be back with your father at that small, unchanging farmhouse on the far outskirts of Verdun. Your school waited until the last possible minute to send its students home, as they would have been sending many students home to die.
The perpetual afternoon, summery quiet of the countryside that you were so used to took on a disconcerting edge, an unspoken terror. This was the silence of a stalemate, of a breath being held. Not far from here lay the trenches and, beyond that, the Germans.
The flat, low-slung lines of Meuse were an additional shock to you. You'd spent the last five years of your life in the high, rocky mountains of the Pyrenees, at Beauxbatons Academy of Magic.
The river-run grasslands around you now had a vacant, exposed quality to them, the trees bare of birds, the squat buildings in town possessing the hollowed-out feel of an abandoned amusement park.
Even before the soldiers came you'd felt like a sitting duck.
Your sister's scream was the first noise to break the deadlock silence of the night.
You run from the windowsill without looking back. Smoke smell pricks your nostrils.
Your front door is swinging frenetically on its squealing hinges, left open, gapingly and awfully so. There are three uniformed men in boots, heavy gear, standing in your living room, looking around your small, low-ceilinged house with barely concealed reproach on their faces.
The wooden floors creak weakly underfoot. Through the doorframe you can make out some distant fires burning, you can't see them but you can smell them.
The sharp, whistling sound of war planes tears through the air.
"Parlez-vous anglais?" One of the men says in mangled French. He's redheaded, maybe in his early forties. There's black soot on his face which makes his irises look so light blue they're nearly white. "English. Anyone speak English?"
Your younger sister cowers at the booming cadence of his voice, she doesn't speak English. One of her bare feet takes a step back.
So they're English soldiers at least, but you don't recognize their uniforms. The redheaded one is brandishing a wand. But that can't be...
"[Your sister's name]," your father is too sick to rise from his chair, but he beckons to your sister, feebly, calling her away from the door in French. "Please, darling. It's okay, he's a soldier."
"There are no wizard soldiers," you step forward, placing yourself between the men and your family members. They look to you in plain surprise. Your English is unaccented. "The British and French Ministries of Magic abandoned us, forbade any wizard from involvement in-"
"I'm here, aren't I?"
Your gaze shoots to the man who spoke.
He looks young. He has a long face and short-cut, curly brown hair. Handsome but not roguishly, not like a soldier ought to be. Handsome in an upright, gentlemanly way, the kind of face that exudes goodness and inspires trust. He almost seems out of place in his uniform, dressed for combat.
"What do you want?" you ask warily.
The third, sunken-eyed man gawks and lets out an incredulous sneer.
"Ungrateful little-"
"Quiet, it's fine," the brown-haired man says, silencing his comrade before turning to you. "We're here to evacuate all magical families in the area. We've received prophetic intel that invasion is imminent, the battle will begin moments from now and will span months. Hundreds of thousands will die. Pack your family's things."
Your brother lets out a noise of trepidation, turning to your father.
Your father--paler every day, made older by his illness, slumped over in his chair. He could not even make it out to the front garden, nevertheless survive an evacuation. His eyes are twinkling acutely, buried like gems in his wrinkled, ruined face.
"Come on!" Says the redheaded man in frustration. His blackened, ash-covered face is frightening to your siblings, as is his anger.
He pulls the man standing in the back towards him roughly by the shoulder to hiss in his ear.
"I'd understand if it was an estate that had been in their family for centuries, some of the pure-blood families that we…" For a moment his whispers are unintelligible, but you make out the last words well enough. "But this little farm?"
"Little farm?!" You step forward again, bristling. "This is our home. Can't you understand wanting the dignity of dying in your own home?"
The handsome one looks sharply to your father in his chair then. It is like he is seeing him clearly for the first time, you can see it click in his mind.
"Your father is a Muggle..." he says sympathetically.
"And he is sick. He won't survive apparition. Besides," you protest. "The Germans haven't broken the line since the Battle of the Marne."
The other two soldiers are stilled in shock, aghast at the fact of you, a young girl, arguing with them at all.
"Please," you entreat them. "There's been no movement. This is trench warfare, sir. They won't-"
"They will," the redheaded soldier's voice is grave, uncompromising. "Tonight, tomorrow. I don't know when, but the Germans intend to bleed the French white. They will break the line at Verdun. It is certain."
If what they said was true, if there was a prophecy....
Your hope sinks away from you, you feel your palms go limp and bloodless.
For a moment no one speaks. The silence of the night returns from wherever it fled to, creeps and settles around you.
When you find it again, your voice sounds heartless to your ears.
"Take my siblings," you say.
[Your brother's name] shouts in objection, your little sister cries out.
"No! Y/N, you can't-"
"Not another word!" You order. The words burn you to say. "You will go with these men, I won't hear anything about it."
The redheaded man grabs your sister by the forearm swiftly, and the sullen one extends a hand to your brother. They apparate away in a solitary whoosh. You feel the last remnants of your heart tear away and leave with them.
When the last man, the handsome one, steps towards you, you shake your head and retreat, backing up against the wall.
"I'm not going, sir."
You speak firmly, but the man scoffs anyway.
The front door is still erratically swinging on its hinges like a weather vane. Your father's neck has drooped forward, his chin buried in his chest. He falls in and out of sleep like this lately. He grows worse every day.
The lone soldier purses his lips, his eyes gleam testily. You think he might grab you then, and it sends a tingle down your spine.
"I'm a war nurse, you know?" Your hands are trembling suddenly. No one to pretend to be brave for now that your siblings are gone. Your courage takes on a raw, desperate quality. "Or I want to be. I know enough to help."
"Miss," the man speaks sincerely. Unlike his comrades, he really looks at you when he talks, looks you dead in the eyes. It should be unnerving, but it isn't. You can't name what it does to you.
"I vow to take full responsibility for your father's health and safety. Home or not, he won't be better off here. I will personally care for and protect him, I promise you."
You swallow and nod. He's about to grab your hand when you speak again.
"And them?" You say. "The Muggle soldiers? Who protects them? You can take my father, but I will stay."
He makes a noise of gentle surprise.
"Miss, we're here to minimize the global wizarding community's losses. No magical blood needs to be spi-"
"I don't care about all that," your voice is sharper than you intended. It appears to have cut him to the core. 'Magical blood,' he'd said. But you've never been ashamed of being a half-blood. You've never been ashamed of being your father's daughter.
He frowns in contemplation, more to himself than at you.
"You want to stay so badly. Why?"
"I told you, I'm a nurse."
"You're a child."
"I'm sixteen," you bite back.
"Like I said," his rebuttal is delivered with a sly smile. You amuse him, though you're not sure why. "A child. Not even old enough for Muggle conscription."
"I'm no Muggle."
"No, you're... You're something else."
You bite your lip. Your words are braver than your feelings now.
"If what you say is true, the Muggles--the Allied soldiers--will need medical attention. A woman in town has been training me as a nurse. I've been to the front, I can help. I couldn't live with myself if I didn't."
His eyes don't leave your face, some silent assessment taking place within him. You're already thinking of what else you can say to him, how else to convince him.
"Okay," he says, unflinchingly. "You can stay." He'll turn a blind eye.
Your shoulders slump in relief.
He walks towards your father, who is still sagged over in a worrisome-looking unconsciousness, too deep to be sleep.
'No,' you think. 'Don't go yet.'
Mindlessly, senselessly, you feel a blooming alarm. Some death rattle, some dying burst of life.
"Wait!" You call out to him, stepping away from the wall.
The man turns. "The handsome one," you'd called him in your head, fancifully, maybe even teasingly. Nothing about it seems funny now. It never had to mean anything to you, people being handsome or beautiful. It didn't have to be about you. But this, it feels serious, personal.
You don't know what overcomes you, how you could act so boldly. He'll probably think you deranged, hysterical.
But you can't imagine he'll deny you.
You've seen enough soldiers these last two years of war to know what they want from women and girls, what they all inescapably hunger for.
"Kiss me," you say, and then add, "Please. Please kiss me."
He halts completely. When his brows knit together your heart shutters closed, meekly.
"Why?"
"I..." It's hard to admit, even now, the world burning around you. "I've never been kissed. I want to be kissed, just once, before I die. In case I do..."
You're losing your breath as you speak, your stamina sputters out.
You know how he must see you--naive, insane, maybe even pathetic. You can bear the rejection, but, suddenly, can't bear to face him anymore.
You don't hear his footsteps. His touch is so gentle you barely feel it, are still turning away when you notice his fingertips resting on your wrist.
When you look up at his face it's so unexpectedly close that you gasp. His eyes are blue, a deep and true blue. You were a fool to think him anything like the other soldiers you'd encountered. No, his expression was achingly kind and perceptive. Devastatingly handsome.
He smells like engine smoke and soap and spearmint. He smells like a man. It's intoxicating. It makes you shudder.
You close your eyes tight and hold your breath. There is the smell of fire and the echoes of distant warfare around you, but your entire body drones that out, pauses and prepares for this moment, readies itself to be kissed.
The man rests a hand on the side of your face, that alone is as intimate as any kiss, the warmth of his palm. He hesitates.
His lips on your forehead are not what you expect, but your body thrills anyway when you feel them press there.
But you are sixteen and you want a real kiss.
You don't even care who from. You want just this one selfish, childish thing in a warring world where no one is afforded childhood.
You stare at him in unhappy perplexity when he pulls back.
You might cry, you realize, and the swelling tears in your vision, they stun you.
"Live," he says, softly. Insistently. "You'll live to be kissed."
He turns to leave, but stops midway. Your siblings gone, soon your father too. The Germans invading. Your whole life taken in one fell swoop, one night. The last trace of your girlhood will be the sight of this soldier's back as he walks out the door of your childhood home. This, you know.
The man looks back at your face and asks you a question no soldier has ever bothered to ask you, not when they burst into your home, not even when you were cleaning their wounds and saving their lives at the front.
"What is your name?" he says.
"What's yours?"
"Theseus Scamander," he doesn't miss a beat. He's an open book. "Do you not want to tell me your name?"
"It won't matter soon enough..."
"Do you so badly not want to live?"
"No, I do. I am just no longer afraid of death."
The look in his eyes is so tender and considerate, it's almost painful.
"I don't need a name to remember you," he's smiling again, it's so strange and out of place and, you admit, heartening. "Good luck. Goodbye."
Theseus Scamander leaves with your father in tow, closing the violently fluctuating door, at last, on his way out.
----
1925, London, Nine Years Later
'It can't be,' you think to yourself. 'Improbable.'
It's just too soon. You've hardly sat down at your new desk when you receive the interdepartmental memo. It unfolds from its airplane shape mid-air and sways delicately, falling in a rocking motion until it's flat on your desk.
A memo already?
You have just been moved to the Department of Magical Games and Sports from the Department of Mysteries. The man who sat there before you was moved to a bigger, better office, had been some hunching, Quidditch-loving Old Boy who wore long socks and smelled of moth-eaten cotton. Allegedly his name was Mr. Byrne.
A real success story in his department, or, rather, your host department, as you'd been appointed Interdepartmental Liaison for the Department of Mysteries. A new position. In fact, the only "above ground" position in your department, which was, expectedly, shrouded in mystery and sunken deep within the depths of the British Ministry of Magic.
In truth, you were also here on a mission. There had been rumors of conspiracy, political mutiny. Grindelwald supporters who had infiltrated the British Ministry of Magic. And the top suspect was the Head of the Department you'd been moved to. You'd been instructed to investigate, discern the truth of the rumors.
This would usually be a job for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but they had also been compromised. Or so you'd been told...
Your new position meant that you were to be kept in the dark more often than not, but it also meant having a desk above ground and being around other people. Luxuries.
No more time travel experiments, thought experiments, or, thankfully, demented blood purity experiments that always made your half-blood boil. You could live without all of that.
Still, none of that explained you receiving an interdepartmental memo before you'd even settled in.
You lift it from your desk in annoyance.
You do a double-take at the words, blinking hard at them.
"Holy hell," the memo reads. "When I told you I wanted to investigate some cursed Gobstones I didn't mean I wanted you to send them to my office, fuck's sake. Next after-work pint is on you, my friend."
You scoff.
It must have been misaddressed. The unfortunate writer must not know about Mr. Byrne's relocation.
It's beneath you, and childish, but you can't help but write back.
It's the sort of enchanted parchment that you can just write your responding message on. The ink disappears into the scrap of paper and appears wherever your mystery correspondent may be.
For your own amusement, you try to picture their reaction the best that you can.
"First of all, 'Holy hell'? 'Fuck's sake'? How dare you," you write. "Second of all, I'm not your friend and I most certainly will not be paying for an 'after-hours' pint. If I'm not clocked in, I'll have nothing to do with the Ministry."
It takes him so long to write back you nearly forget about it, have already gotten to unpacking all your silver nibs and ink pots and lining them up in the drawer like little soldiers, just how you like.
"Who is this?" Comes the message.
It's so dry, the response, so worried and perfunctory, that you nearly laugh out loud.
But something about the formality and genuine concern in your mystery messenger's script compels you to reply with mercy.
"Relax. Mr. Byrne's desk has been moved. If you want to write him, he has the big office on level seven with the view of the Atrium now. Lucky bastard. I'm at his old desk. Was just kidding about being offended. You can say 'fuck' and 'hell' all you want to me."
His reply comes quickly this time.
"Oh, good. Fucking hell, I was scared for a moment there."
You smile in bemusement. Who knew anyone at the Ministry could have a sense of humor? You'd thought you were the only one. You can't help but write back eagerly.
"Damn, I should have lied and said I was the Minister for Magic."
"Have mercy. I think I honest to God would have cried."
"So, no after-work pint for me then?"
"Forgive me, where are my manners? Today. The White Horse. Not sure who you are, but pint is on me, sir."
"*Miss!!" You correct. "And I was only joking. I really meant what I said before about not wanting anything to do with the Ministry unless I'm at work and being paid for my time."
"How very patriotic."
There's nothing in his writing to indicate sarcasm, but it practically drips off the page. This person is cheeky, you realize. Sarcastic. And a little annoying.
You like it.
The Department of Magical Games and Sports is a sleepy, uneventful affair compared to the work you'd been engaged in for the Department of Mysteries when you were "below ground." You look around at your colleagues, your dreary officemates. They were relatively sedentary outside of Quidditch season. Sleepy, slow-moving creatures.
As interdepartmental liaison for the Department of Mysteries, a fabricated position, really, you were already bored out of your mind.
Maybe that's why you write back with unfounded enthusiasm.
"Mystery boy: Tell me something about you. Tell me something true."
----
London hadn't been kind to you.
It seemed you had a hard time of everything: finding a flat with your sister as two unmarried, unchaperoned women, making friends outside of work, making sure to look the right way when crossing the street to avoid getting hit by a bus ('They drive on the left side, Y/N. Get it together'). All these things had proved to be excessively difficult. Especially the not-getting-hit-by-a-bus part.
During the war, while you served as an underaged combat nurse on the frontlines, your father died, but your siblings lived.
They told you the soldier from that night, the one who denied you your first kiss, had kept his word. He'd done the best he could to care for your father and, more importantly, he'd stayed with him until the very end.
Your brother was still in France, working with magical aquatic beasts around les Calanques de Cassis, but your sister was here with you. She worked in some Muggle field you didn't quite understand.
Her, your brother, and, now, the mystery man you'd been writing to every day were the only real people in your life. The only people who really talked to and knew you.
Day by day you'd grown closer to the mystery man. What had started out as vaguely funny, sometimes hostile banter had developed into something more. You'd both genuinely warmed to each other.
"Morning, sunshine!"
You were so accustomed to reading his greeting with your morning coffee that you reached for it automatically, as soon as you arrived, hand sweeping wide over the expanse of your desk to pick it up.
"Hope you caught some bad guys today. Or at least got to enforce a law or two. Bye-bye, idiot." You sign at the end of most days. Or some other joking farewell.
It's a constant correspondence between the two of you, scrawled-in between assignments and research. On your desk there is your inbox, your outbox, the stack of parchment (whatever you happen to be working on), and, just to the side of that, the discreet piece of paper you use to correspond with the mystery man.
However, you do try to mitigate the sharing of identifying information. Even when he learns you're an "Unspeakable," or someone working for the Department of Mysteries, it does little to deter him.
"Keep your department's secrets," he writes. "I just want yours."
He volunteers information about himself, his initials ("TS") and even his department (Magical Law Enforcement), in the hopes that you'll reciprocate.
You do, but you offer unimportant, silly facts about yourself. Nothing that will help him identify you, though he's insistent that he'd know you anyway if you ran into each other.
"I'm an Auror. I fought in the war," he reveals one day. "Your turn now."
"Fine: I never learned how to swim. So if you want to kill me you should probably drown me."
"I'm considering it. I'll bring a bottle of water when I finally see you. Why won't you tell me something more about yourself?!"
"What do you want to know? Can't a girl working for the Department of Mysteries be mysterious once in a while?"
"It gets old."
"You're a liar. You love me."
"True on both counts. But one of these days I'm just going to show up at your desk. I know where it is, you know... Mu-ha-ha."
You write back dismissively. "Why show up? So I can berate you in person?"
Your heart pounds stupidly as you watch the message sink away. You don't want to encourage him.
It's been one whole month of your daily exchanging of magical notes.
You know his biggest stressors at work, you know what he finds irritating, what he finds funny. Know his hopes and dreams.
You hate to admit it, but you'd be completely adrift without it, without him. Even when you're back at your flat with your sister you find your hands moving to write whenever something weird or funny happens, just to tell him, instinctually. You find yourself missing him.
It makes you shudder, the thought.
You don't want anything more... You're both comfortable and satisfied with how things are now. It's really only him who jokes about meeting up sometimes. But you? You're afraid meeting him in person would ruin that.
Maybe it's easier to have a close relationship with him across the merciful distance of anonymity.
"Night night." He writes at the end of the day. He seems to get to work earlier than you and leave later, but he's learned to say goodbye right at 6:00pm, when you usually leave.
For some reason, the words don't disappear from the page, even when you write back beneath them. His boyish script stays put.
"'Night night?'" you write back. "Ouch. I'm not a grandmother, I do intend to go out for dinner after work. Why the bedtime message?"
His words fade in and your heart swells.
"I wrote it so you can put it in your pocket and save it for tonight. I get to say goodbye to you, and good morning, but not goodnight. Just trying to cover all my bases."
You smile and tear off the message, putting it in your pocket. On the remaining paper, you cast a spell for the same, lingering text that he'd gifted you.
"Okay. You can save and reuse this message: Goodnight then, T. Sleep well, I'll talk to you tomorrow, and tomorrow. And the day after that, too."
----
You're prone to daydreaming, you'll admit to that.
"You live in a world of your own!" your favorite professor at Beauxbatons would say fondly.
"Ditzy girl, that one!" your least favorite professor would scowl within earshot of you.
But it's so easy to slip away, especially when you have something, someone, to dream about.
You watch your feet sweep across the dark green tiled floors of the Atrium, but hardly pay attention to anything else as you make your way to the elevators.
You're chuckling to yourself, remembering something your mystery correspondent wrote yesterday. It was some outrageous story, so ridiculous you wouldn't have believed it if it came from anyone but him, who was honest to a fault.
It was about a disastrous trip he took with his younger brother and involved camping on a storm-logged beach, an angry Graphorn, and frantically singing some maritime folk song they'd been misinformed would calm the beast.
You're still smiling at the floor when you step into the elevator, or, more correctly, step directly into a tall man in a three-piece suit. You crash into him with a crushing momentum.
"Oof!" you redden immediately, try to catch your breath and sputter out an apology at the same time. "I'm so sorry, forgive me!"
But the man is engaged in a conversation with two other men in the elevator, laughing.
He doesn't look over to you, he just stills you with an attractive casualness, steadies your frame with a firm hand on your shoulder. You know you hit him hard, his nonchalance is for your benefit.
"S'alright. Sorry, miss," he says with a half-glance, before turning back to his conversation.
A half-glance is all you need.
The profile of his face in the elevator light. His exact height and the feeling of being next to him. His voice, for Christ's sake!
You go stiff, your face wan.
It was him. Unmistakably. The English soldier from that night at your father's house in France. From the last time you saw your father, the last time you felt like a girl...
You couldn't speak if you wanted to. You feel something like seasickness come over you, you don't dare open your mouth.
"Theseus Scamander," his colleague is joking. "I mean it when I say well done! We should've known our young war hero would make the best Auror in the department!"
"Really, really spectacular job, son!" The other man claps a hand over Theseus's back in agreement. They're both older, sort of brash men, they don't seem to sense Theseus's discomfort at being complimented.
Theseus is grinning bashfully.
"Just doing my job," he delivers with charm, shrugging.
"Nonsense! Tonight, we celebrate. I'm not taking no for an answer. I've actually felt somewhat of a mentor to you, when you first started out-"
"We ought to invite Mr. Byrne out with us!" The third man exclaims with revelatory fervor. "How has the old chap been? Do you still go down to the pub with him, Theseus?"
It is the second, overlapping wave of nausea that really does you in, digs in its claws and drags downwards. You feel your feet physically sink into the floor. You can't bring yourself to move at all, you drone out the rest of what they're saying. It's white noise, the buzz of flies.
Mr. Byrne.
War hero.
Auror.
Initials T.S.
God, how stupid could you be? No, that's not fair.
The chances of seeing him again were slim. The chances of the two of you working together were even slimmer. The chances of him, the soldier from that night, Theseus Scamander, being your mystery correspondent these last weeks.... It should've been impossible.
When the elevator doors ding open at level seven, you step past the men quickly, rudely, afraid they'll turn to say something to you. Even a belated greeting or perfunctory farewell you couldn't bear.
You don't know why you feel so shaken.
'It's not a big deal,' you tell yourself consolingly once at your desk. 'You were sixteen. So what if you asked him to kiss you?'
But deep within your core, in a space beyond words or reason, you know that it was more than that. You weren't embarrassed about a stupid non-kiss. No, you haven't been able to shake that night, to shake him.
You'd connected. Or, rather, he'd seen you. Something about his gaze and his words had cut through the fat of life, of circumstance, and he'd seen you for who you really are.
And he'd promised to remember you.
It's gutting, harrowing almost. Realizing he'd been writing to you all this time, unaware. Some sick joke from the universe with no punchline--because you decided then and there to stop writing to him, immediately.
Theseus realizes long before the end of the day.
After you crumple his unanswered "good morning" memo and push it to the far corner of your desk, another flies in.
"URGENT: Is it just me or is Mr. Byrne particularly dapper today? The magenta top hat I can forgive, even the monocle is pardonable, but the polkadot bowtie? Inexcusable. Unbecoming of the Ministry. Need your thoughts immediately."
You had seen Mr. Byrne's polkadot bowtie today. You still found the magenta top hat more scandalizing. You wanted to laugh, but felt too much like crying to give way to the urge.
Then:
"I'm dying. Dark wizard lead in Suffolk but I can't be bothered. Tell me some funny story about you telling the professors off in school. I'm relying on tales of your genius to boost my morale. The fate of the Aurors Office depends on you alone. T."
It's three hours before the next memo comes flapping around the corner like some wounded bird.
"Have I done something wrong?" Shortly after, "More importantly--Are you alright?"
You don't know why you can't leave them be, why you keep reading them with no intention of responding.
"Scaring me here, mystery girl. Write back and I'll stop harassing you, write anything at all. Even a little drawing or scribble will suffice."
"You're not liaising very well, Liaison... Sorry, that was a joke. Ha-ha. I know the Department of Mysteries isn't expected to answer to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement but I'd always hoped you'd still answer to me..."
You throw yourself into your work with rigor.
Even your Department of Magical Games and Sports officemates comment on it, commendably. They don't realize you're just trying to occupy your brain, distract yourself from the sizable pile of memos lying formidably on your desk until you can go home.
The last one comes late in the day: "Really--Are you alright?"
Your heart aches weakly.
But no, you know how persistent and how persistently optimistic the mystery man ('Theseus,' you correct yourself) could be. If you wrote back he'd want an explanation, which he'd inevitably refute, and, besides, you weren't ready to tell him the truth or to face him again.
Your head is a jumbled mess of half-formed truths and complicated emotions.
It's a few minutes before 6:00pm, but you click off your desk lamp anxiously and begin to organize your things.
The nature of your position for the Department of Mysteries required you to lock your work up before you left. It involves two spells and four charmed latches and bolts, and it takes some time. You sit back in your chair with a sigh, waiting for the process to finish. The soft, mechanical whirring and clicking noises are a comfort to you.
The frosted glass door to the office swings open thunderously, with the unnecessary force of someone unfamiliar with the delicate door.
You sit up straight in your chair, startled. A few of the workers behind you even look over in alarm, heads shooting up from their desks.
No. Fucking. Way.
Theseus's chest is heaving softly. He's looking right at you, purposefully.
He actually showed up to your desk like he always joked about doing. You want to feel angry, indignant that he'd betray your trust, but all you feel is a numbing shock.
The sight of his face alone would've been a shock. Blue eyes. High cheekbones. Wavy, dark hair. Handsome as the day he left you.
He seems genuinely rendered speechless. The open part of his lips suggests that he had come with some speech prepared for you when he first burst in, although now he is, evidently, lost.
His eyes keep flitting up and down your form, lingering especially on your lips. It makes you flush. Yes, he gets a good look at your face, and at the small pile of his opened memos shoved to the far corner of your desk.
Whatever he expected to find, expected you to look like, this clearly wasn't it.
"Mr. Scamander!"
Your officemate Ana's voice from behind you makes you jolt again.
She walks over and places a hand on your shoulder tenderly. She seems to be completely unaware of any tension between the two of you, speaking to Theseus with ease.
"I'm sorry to steal Y/N from you, but I have to talk to her about an interdepartmental issue before she leaves. Can't wait!"
You wince at the mention of your name, but you're standing, bag clutched like a shield, and Ana is already whisking you past Theseus and through the frosted glass double doors.
"Y/N..." you hear Theseus echo, dreamily, as you pass, just before the doors close in his face and sever you from him completely.
-----
The next day you see him at a far distance.
You feel less shaken about things after having screamed to your little sister about it all last night. But she'd said something stupid about some "string of fate" that irritated you so much that you'd ultimately resorted to screaming into your pillow.
Regardless, you feel more secure. Less unsettled.
Still, the sight of Theseus's open expression in the Atrium, looking back at you in recognition across the crowds of businessmen and women just as the doors to the elevator you're in close--it's a bit haunting.
You gulp once in the safety of the elevator.
He saw you.
His eyes had drifted up and down your form, unreadably, before settling on your face. You didn't have time to react, and he was too far away besides.
Later, later than usual, a small memo floats onto your desk.
You don't hesitate, reaching for it, but the words aren't what you expect. No "good morning," not even anything referencing what had happened yesterday.
The words are so unexpected that his handwriting is the only indication that it's from him.
"You were so beautiful in that skirt this morning. So fucking beautiful. You look so enchanting in blue."
You flush deeply. So, that was what his look this morning had meant.
The relief comes delayed, second to your shyness at his flattery.
"Oh, thank God," you think.
He'd seen you, twice now, and hadn't recognized you.
He didn't remember. Or maybe he just didn't recognize you, it'd been nine years after all and you were no longer a scrawny, scrappy sixteen-year-old. But it was more likely that he just didn't remember.
You decide his not referencing your awkward encounter yesterday either is another mercy, so you go along pretending nothing happened.
"Are you flirting with me, sir?"
It's a comfort to be writing to him again.
"No," he writes back. Then, "Yes."
You laugh aloud at his candor.
"Y/N, I apologize for my outburst yesterday. I shouldn't have sprung on you like that, unannounced. Uninvited. I wish I could say I was afraid something had happened to you, but really I was just afraid you had stopped writing me for good. But then I just stood there like an absolute idiot, you probably had no idea who I was."
You huff at that.
"I knew who you were. I'm no Auror but 'Department of Magical Law Enforcement,' 'war hero,' and 'initials T.S.' aren't exactly subtle hints."
"Hey! I mentioned the war but never called myself 'hero.' I have a strong sense of propriety and I pride myself on it."
"How British..." you write back mockingly, unthinkingly.
"Are you not?"
Fuck. Well, you've already met.
"I live here now, and have for years, but I'm French."
The ink feels seared into the paper, how black your scrawl is, how you can't take it back. You don't know what you want from him. You wish he'd go away. You wish he'd never stop writing.
You wish he'd remember you on his own.
"Hmm..." he writes back.
Your heart is pounding. When he writes again your anxiety dissolves but your heart continues its steady, heavy drum.
"You're beautiful."
Your head is a scattered, overstimulated mess. You can't think straight.
He's still writing. The words fade in one by one.
"Why didn't you tell me you were beautiful? God, I didn't expect it, it took any coherent thought or word right out of me yesterday when you looked up at me with those eyes. And this morning, that skirt. Y/N, you should've warned me."
You laugh at the words on the paper, but your body's reaction to the thought of him writing them, thinking them, thinking of you, is anything but funny.
It feels overly warm in the office suddenly, and you are agitated. You stand and pace around your desk, fanning yourself with your hands.
Your fingers are shaking around the quill when you bend over your desktop to write back.
"Don't be dramatic, you'll live."
You worry you sound cruel so you add.
"And thank you. I don't think anyone has called me beautiful in a very long time."
He writes back: "Any time. And I highly doubt that. Y/N, I'm sure you've been beautiful your whole life. I can tell just by looking at you."
You don't know what possesses you when you write the next words:
"Can I come see you?"
There's a few, atypical beats before he writes back. It's excruciating.
"What, you mean at lunch?"
You look down at the small, oval face of your wristwatch.
Lunch is too far away. The bundle of nerves and anticipation you feel about Theseus, that swarming anxiety, is too unbearable to wait for lunch. You need to get him out of your system now, get him over with, and then you can move on and focus on your work.
"I mean now. In your office." You write back.
'Am I being presumptuous?' The thought makes you furrow your brow and bite your fingernail in worry. But then you remind yourself, 'Beautiful. He called you beautiful.'
It takes so long for him to reply that you almost write again to tell him never mind. But then his words come, like the sweet relief of rain:
"Yes, please. Level two, the very back left office."
You leave at once, smoothing down your skirt and brushing your hair back out of your face.
The anxiety ebbs and peaks at random. On the elevator ride you feel like you're dying. You recollect your confidence while walking to the wooden door of the Aurors Office only to feel another stab of panic as you make your way down the curved hall.
You feel so frazzled and worked up, too distracted to work or even ponder work. But you don't understand why until you push open Theseus's door, not bothering to knock. Until you're alone in the room with him, just the two of you behind closed doors.
He stands quickly upon your entrance, like a soldier.
For a moment the two of you just stare.
'Oh, God,' you realize with mounting dread. 'I am attracted to him. I am like this because I'm attracted to him.'
It feels terrible, awful, that sapping loss of power, that weakness in the knees. You haven't had a crush in your adult life, it's a trampling blow, the realization.
Theseus looks just as handsome as he always has, the crinkle of his eyes when he smiles, the sharp curve of his jaw.
He laughs and it breaks the spell of silence.
"Hello, you," his tone is fond but he still hasn't walked over to you, which is confusing and makes you shuffle aimlessly in place.
"Hi," you say, stupidly.
"Hi is all I get?" he jokes. "You know you've become something like my best friend in the office this last month. Actually, you probably know me better than my entire department."
You laugh bleakly, and you hope it dissipates the electrified energy between the two of you. That live-wire tension.
"I could say the same about you, actually."
He makes a strange, indecipherable expression then. It's both wry and lamenting.
"I don't want anything to change that, Y/N."
You frown.
"Why would anything change that?"
He doesn't answer you, changing the subject and turning his attention to the cup of quills on his desk, fiddling with the feathers.
"I... I didn't expect to react the way I did to seeing you for the first time yesterday. I've never reacted that way to anyone, anyone. When you told me you wanted to come see me here today, I panicked. I almost said no."
That hurts your feelings. "Why?"
He looks up from his desk. Your face burns at the sincerity of his expression.
"Because I knew it'd be harder for me to control myself if we were alone together. Harder to be a good friend and... behave."
He says the last word carefully. If he is calculated, delicate, you are anything but.
"I don't want you to behave," you whisper.
You step up to him, boldly. The tension is unbearable now.
"Y/N," he says warningly, disapprovingly. But the look in his eyes is agony.
"Kiss me," you say. The words come to you from far away, a train at the end of the tunnel, you pull them from that night in Verdun, from nine years ago. You need him just the same as you did then.
Theseus smiles reluctantly. The sideways tilt to his mouth is so captivating, it makes you want it more. God, he's attractive. Even more so now that you know him, are his friend.
"I can't," he says, pitifully.
But the look on his face, the way he's standing steadfastly behind his desk like having it between you will protect him, the way his eyes are flitting from yours down to your lips and back up again and again, that isn't saying no.
"Okay, have it your way. But I won't ask you again," you warn.
You want to admit that this isn't the first time he's denied you. He promised you'd live to be kissed, you've come back to haunt him for it now.
You would not ask him a third time.
Theseus groans loudly and puts his head in his hands. When you laugh he looks up at you disparagingly.
"You think that's funny, do you?"
You do. You find it cute. Maybe you don't realize the extent of his distress.
You reach forward to pinch his cheek, jokingly. He bats your hand away with an unwilling smile.
Then you're falling into him, losing your balance. He grasps both your hands in his to keep you from toppling over, the both of you laughing.
"Get off!" you shout gleefully.
"You get off," he retorts jokingly.
Pushing and pulling and touching, it's something like play-fighting the way you're both falling into and catching each other.
At last, he wrangles you onto his desk, so you're sitting there at the edge.
Your head is spinning. He grabs both your wrists, holding them together in a single, large hand.
"Hands to yourself, Y/N," is his gentle reprimand.
But you know, know from the soft pant of his breathing, the undone look on his face, lips half parted, that you've already won.
He doesn't cave into your will so much as collapse altogether, soundlessly, undetectably.
You don't blink, big, innocuous look in your eyes, staring up at him. Even when you're raised up, sitting on his desk while he stands, he's so tall that you have to look up at him.
"Please," Theseus says, and it's so attractive, his broken whisper. "I'm begging you, Y/N."
He drops down to his knees, one leg at a time with the heavy, hypnotized motions of a man defeated.
You gasp softly when his warm palms grip your kneecaps, rubbing gingerly over the sheer material of your tights, reverently.
A man on his knees, his curly head between your thighs. Your stomach plummets, burning low in desire.
You want him bad. Mind-numbingly bad, your whole body tingling underneath and keening to his touch. But it's too addictively sweet, him begging for it like this. You want to draw it out.
"Hm," you sigh, not responding, but you let your legs fall open under the guidance of his hands.
He moans at the sight. When he speaks again his voice is weak and ruined. Rough and pleading.
"Please, I'll do anything. Let me touch you. You're killing me, please."
It's almost a whine.
You can see that the fabric of his pants is stretched taut across his crotch--he's already hard.
His chest is rising and falling softly. There's a needy, trancelike glint in his eyes. He wants it bad, it's plain on his face. It's different from impatience, it's anguish.
"Kiss me," you say again. It's a demand this time. He gives in without a fight, rising up and capturing your open mouth in his.
It's a deep, languishing kiss. He kisses you like he wants to taste you, like he can't get enough of it. He grips your head by the jaw to kiss you better, deeper. When his tongue presses into your mouth you moan into his.
His hand sweeps blindly across his desk, clearing it with a crash. You jump at the sound but he grabs your face again, turning it back to his roughly.
"No," he murmurs. "C'mere."
And he's kissing you again, humming in approval when you tentatively push back against his tongue with your own.
With effort, you pull back to look at him. His pupils are blown out with desire, the collar of his dress shirt pulled open, revealing a collarbone.
"Theseus," you say, your whole body tingling with warmth. You say his name just to say it.
You're too shy to tell him that this is your first kiss, that you'd waited all this time.
It's startling, how quickly the tables turned. How deftly he took control of the situation once he had your permission to.
His hands pull down your skirt, worshipfully, that blue skirt he loves so much. He sets it aside, you're just in your sheer black tights now.
You understand why he cleared his desk now. You fall back with a moan when he flattens his massive hand across your crotch, spreads his fingers. It covers the entire expanse between your legs easily. It feels so lewd for him to touch you there now, but then he drags his hand up, sliding it over your stomach, the middle of your chest, up your neck.
"You'll let me touch you like this?" he asks.
You nod, quickly.
"Only me?" he inquires, sounding pleased. Maybe amused.
"Yes," you say, nodding again with urgency. "Only you. Nobody else."
"Fuck," he curses. He pulls open your blouse then, and disposes of that as well. You half sit up to help him with your bra. Whereas his movements are devout, seeming to worship every part of you, yours are frantic, crazed.
It's not just that you're in his office, at work, but it's that you want him badly. So very badly. It feels like the only thing that can make it better.
Once you have your bra off he pushes you back on the desk again. Places open-mouth kisses your neck, drags his teeth over the skin there then moves down. You gasp when he puts his mouth on your breast, circling your nipple with his tongue. He pinches your other nipple with his hand, rolling it gently between his rough fingertips.
"Hngh," you can't help but moan, writhe, throw your head back against the wood.
You almost want to cry out in disbelief when his head leaves your chest, sinking lower. He's on his knees again, pulling down your tights. You don't understand.
"Theseus, what-" you start, but you are silenced, the breath stolen from your chest, at the sensation of his mouth on your clit.
The moan that leaves your mouth this time is recklessly loud, carelessly so.
Theseus doesn't seem to mind.
"You taste so fucking good," he pulls back to say, his voice is ragged.
You're shy. The idea of him tasting and licking you, putting his mouth there makes you shy. But the pleasure that rocks through your entire body is too strong to deny. You'd never ask him to stop. You weren't capable of it.
Your hands go to his head, fingers wind through his hair automatically.
"Fuck," you say, involuntarily.
He's sucking your clit so well, you hardly notice when he brings up a hand, finger tracing the line of your wet slit, prodding in and out of your tight hole just barely, just to the knuckle. Kitten-fucking you with it.
He stops sucking to lick you up and down with his tongue, again and again in quick, steady rhythm, flicking the firm tip of it against your clit until you have to bite the back of your hand to keep from crying out. When he sinks his two fingers into your pussy fully, stuffing them in forcefully despite the restrictive tightness, still licking, that's all it takes for your orgasm to overtake you in pulses of unbelievable, unknown pleasure.
He removes his fingers and rises. His plush lips are slick with your arousal. He has a dreamy, dazed look in his eyes. The ravaged, destroyed look on your face seems to do something awful to him.
"Let me fuck you," Theseus says. It makes your stomach flip.
He doesn't ask, didn't say 'do you want to,' or 'can we.' He wants to take it from you.
"Yes," you mutter, spreading your legs again without thinking, head still laid back on his desk. Your orgasm made your limbs feel loose, compliant. Anything he wants. Anything at all.
Even the clinking sound of him undoing his belt buckle makes you swoon with yearning, makes your mouth water. He doesn't bother to take off his pants, just pulls his dick out, still staring into your eyes.
'God. Mercy,' you think. Even in his hand it looks huge. It's pretty.
He smiles crookedly at the widening of your eyes.
"You like my cock, baby?"
"Yes," you whisper. "Please. I want it."
He leans over you to kiss your forehead. You don't have the chance to reminisce, for it to remind you of anything, because then he is pushing into your wet warmth. He slides in so snugly, so smoothly, fits like a glove despite the stretch. The feeling of being so overfull is lewd and perfect.
He presses a hand to your lower stomach. He can feel himself inside of you there.
You gasp at the applied pressure.
He keeps his hand pressed there as he angles his hips back and then begins to fuck you. He wants to feel it underhand, how he's moving inside of you.
"Fuuuuucckkkk," you're incoherent, you know. But you can't help but swear, your whole body is vibrating with ecstasy as he drives his dick in and out of you.
"You're beautiful," he groans, throwing his head back. His entire world narrows down to this, fucking you, pumping his dick into your tightness and feeling you flutter and flex around him.
"Wait, Theseus I-" your second orgasm takes you by surprise. Your back arches off the desk, it hits you like a train, it's like an out-of-body experience.
"Fuck," He grips the back of your thighs to the point of pain. But you hardly notice that, you only feel his dick grow achingly hard. He pulls out at the last moment, coming into his hand. It spills out and between his fingertips anyway.
He makes a face of sore regret at the mess. You knew how badly he wanted to come inside of you, you could feel it, but you are grateful he didn't.
You have the strangest urge to get up and lick his fingers, but realistically you're too wrecked to move.
It takes a solid two minutes before either of you return to breathing normally and regain your bearings.
'What did we just do?' you think as you put your clothes back on.
You glance over to Theseus, he's fixing his tie in the small mirror next to the closed door of his office.
It was like you were a woman possessed. You can hardly believe your actions. But, strangely, you don't feel guilty or regretful. And your feelings for Theseus are stronger than ever. Consummated. You feel safe with him. Overjoyed, really.
He catches you looking at him in the mirror and turns. The look on his face is one of total contentment.
He comes over to you, runs his fingers through your hair gently. There's nothing but adoration in his eyes as he beholds you.
"I don't know how I'm expected to just sit back down and continue to do work on my desk now, after that. I'm gonna go insane, just knowing you're only a few levels away."
You laugh. It's an airy, light-hearted sound.
"I like you so much," he admits, brazenly, before you can even respond to him.
Your head is still a muddled mess, but this here is easy to admit. He could probably see it on your face anyway. Read you like a book.
"I like you too," you say. "I miss you already. Keep writing to me."
"I promise."
-----
part two here
author's note: what will happen when the truth of their past comes to light?? part two incoming!!! please leave feedback :)
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ariachaos · 1 month
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nagi older sister headcanons pls <3
ah, yes. we love our lazy ass genius <3
reader is fem! reader
ⁿᵃᵍⁱ'ˢ ᵇⁱᵍ ˢⁱˢ ʰᶜˢ
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being seishiro's big sis includes...
considering how unproblematic sei's laziness makes him, i don't think it'll take a lot to take care of him. however, it also he might be the one person keeping you busy the most because he's too lazy to eat, shower, take basic care of himself to the point you've worried that he was depressed.
he's not depressed... just chronically lazy.
somehow passes all of his exams???? you don't even need to tutor him, he's already passing everything, and his teachers haven't been complaining about him other than the fact that all he does is sleep.
he has a hard time showing emotions too, so you can't really tell if there's something bothering him or not. the one thing you do know is that he likes it when you coddle him, so you try to give him a lot of attention when you're not busy,
despite the fact he's built like a mountain, seishiro is a major cuddle bug when it comes to you. he's always been like that since he was a kid, even more so when he was a baby.
he'd cling onto you and throw a tantrum when someone, even his parents, tried to take him away.
will never, and i mean never, disrespect you or hurt you on purpose. if he does happen to hurt you on accident, he'll apologize countless times and spoil you like you do for him until you forgive him.
if anyone else does it, they're literally asking him to destroy them because no one gets to disrespect you and get away with it. not even reo.
the first time reo came to his house, he accidentally thought you were a maid and bossed you around, and you kind of just took it because you assumed he had a habit of doing so.
seishiro didn't take that kindly and broke his unbothered attitude going off on reo and who he thought he was bossing around his sister like that.
threatened to not go to soccer practice from then on if reo didn't apologize, and you bet your ass reo learned his lesson. treats you with utmost respect ever since then.
after seishiro went into blue lock, he kept remembering you weren't there to look after him anymore, so he was pretty sad because he's known you his whole life, and this was the first time he lived for more than a few hours without you.
reo was there to keep him company, yes, but reo isn't you. he doesn't treat seishiro the same way you treat him, and it really annoys him that reo is nagging him in your place.
forgot that you gave reo permission to do so because you weren't able to go due to the lack of soccer in your life.
when you show up to the u-19 game, however, seishiro is more than happy to show off what he learned. when his teammates asked what was up with him, reo was laughing his butt off and pointed to the stands where you were.
"his big sister's here to see him! of course, he's going to show off."
i forgot to mention seishiro is a person pleaser, and that person pleaser is none other than his big sis.
doesn't break a sweat doing all sorts of tricks and annoying the hell out of his opponents, all he cares is that you're watching him and cheering him on.
during the two-week break from blue lock, seishiro is glued to your hip. refuses to let you go to work because he missed you too much and doesn't want to go back to blue lock.
he actually took you to meet his friends because he wanted to go see them, but he didn't want to leave you home alone so he just... took you with him.
considering his height, anyone would've thought you were the younger one, yet it shocks everyone when seishiro is the one yelling "onee-chan" across the entire arcade because you went to check out a different game.
he runs on 1/2 a brain cell without you around, pls help him.
his friends were scared, shocked, had their minds blown with how not blunt seishiro was with you.
he actually watches his words???? he's holding your jacket for you??? pulls out chairs for you???? walks behind you so you don't get lost???? who is this and what have you done to their seishiro???
and yes, reo is again having the time of his life watching their reactions.
he can understand that seishiro treats you completely differently than he treats others, but considering how you pretty much raised seishiro, he can't blame the guy.
not to mention the fact seishiro nearly started a fight because oliver fucking aiku tried to flirt with you. i say tried because this guy breathed one syllable in your direction and seishiro was watching him like a hawk.
stood up with the most offended expression ever and went, "you're too ugly for my sister."
if that didn't wreck oliver's ego, i don't know what would.
seishiro has no regrets no matter how many times you scold him for being rude because he did his job right.
just sits there with the :x face and takes your scolding because if he says he's not wrong, then you're probably going to end up in a coma from shock.
nicknames for seishiro: sei, shiro, shiro-kun, big otouto, koala, big kaoala, mountain koala, baby sei, sei-tan, sei-chan, seishiro fucking nagi (when you're mad), baby otouto. baby man, little genius, and spoiled genius.
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nevertheless-moving · 2 months
Text
unable to stop dwelling on the discworld trouser leg of time where, in the penultimate fight scene in Nightwatch, Carcer manages to kill teenage Sam Vimes.
Which means that the future that Duke Vimes came from can no longer exist, which means he can’t go home. Meanwhile you’ve got a bunch of history monks with stored up temporal energy, a prepared space outside of time, and the need to do some desperate damage control before the Auditors get involved. Death shows up, reality is unweaving, Sam is reading Carcer his discworld miranda rights because what else is he supposed to do.
and finally, with little other option, the monks de-age Sam so he fits the time period and send him back out into the fray.
(they didn't call it deageing of course. His memory is hazy, splintered during that terrible in between moment, They....took the time out of him? Sanded away the edges of his self for a terrible, workable fit? It...wasn't a good feeling.)
Just—damn. Sam Vimes having to live his whole crapsack life over again, but this time as his disillusioned-reillusioned, unwillingly-character-developed, noir-epic, Duke of Ankh, Commander Sir Samuel Vimes self. 
Younger (Older? He's never felt so Old, His steps so Childlike, reality twisting in his gut like one of Dibbler's pies) Sam Vimes walking around in a haze after the revolution. Desperate to go home, knowing he can’t. Wanting to drink. Knowing he can’t.
The whole precinct feels pity, he really took Keel’s death hard, hardly speaks except to do his job. Eventually he has to grit his teeth and start being present, because what else is there to do?
Resists the urge to drink until Colon takes the whole watch out to celebrate because -he’s going to be a father!
Come on Sammy, one drink won’t kill you— and after the first drink he’s cracking jokes and after the second hes smiling and after the third hes honestly the life of the party and sometime after that he’s crying about how he was going to be a father and my wife would be ashamed if she saw me drinking like this and— 
Oh shit, Did anyone else know he had a wife?? A PREGNANT wife??? What—aren’t you like 12—no you're 17 now aren't you but when did—
You guys n’ver met ’er—oh gods none if you ev’n know ‘er, is jus’ me...
What—when did you lose—
I lost her the same damn day I los’ ev’rythin else, whadya think...bleeding Carcer...the fuckin revolution...
So! That! Sam only vaguely remembers the night, but rumors travel faster than light on the disc, so by the next day the whole damn city knows about poor Sam brung low by the loss of his poor, tragic, pregnant wife, so young to be a widower, and the Seamstresses nod because they already knew, don’t ask them how, somethings you just have to know in that trade.
And his mother—I don’t know, sue me, I’m a time travel fiend but there’s something deeply intriguing about a man meeting his dead parent, who is somewhat younger than him, and stepping into the old relationship like a badly fitting thing that's supposed to fit well. She would know, right? How would she deal with her son’s impossible grief? Maybe she wouldn’t know—he spent most of the time out of the house, running with different street gangs, maybe he avoids her until she dies and lives with the guilt twice over. God, we don’t even know her name. There’s just so much narrative and emotional potential that I don’t even know where to start.
When he’s on duty, which is most time - it’s agonizing because at first he remembers cases, saves lives that would have been lost. But the more time passes, the hazier his memory because in the original timeline he was becoming an alcoholic. Fuck! A kid dies and he could have saved her if he hadn’t been such a drunk, if he had just remembered where the asshole lived, but it’s all a haze, and he wants to drown out his guilt, but that’s what caused this in the first place.
Good young Sammy, who spends his rare off-time in dusty libraries (and yes, the irony that he’s apparently Carrot now is not lost on him) reading gods-only-know.
It’s not like he can ask the wizards for help, cutthroat and vicious as they are now in the not-so-distant-past.
Good young Sam, who...talks to the Broken Drum’s pet Bouncer like he’s a real person and not a dumb rock? That’s a bit weird, but he’s a bit of a funny guy.
Good old Sam, who believed the testimony of the dwarf who said the humans were trying to rob him and let the dwarf go??
the PROBLEMS this man would cause, good grief. Can you imagine a moderately progressive middle aged man with some degree of begrudging diversity and equity training that he did, for all his sins, pay attention to, suddenly going back to like, 1990, going back just 30 years, and going...oh damn this is kind of fucked up, no man you can’t say that, holy shit.
Except Sam’s lived through even more rapidly shifting social moroes! There’s no seamstress guild, there’s no women allowed inside the university, there’s no black ribboner’s society. People hunted trolls for their teeth! But Sam can’t just unlearn everything, and he can’t shut up, and he has no real luck and anyway he would absolutely get himself (temporarily) fired.
FUCK. Sam has no idea what to do with that. None. Zero clue. Wanders around in a haze until that dwarf he saved from police brutality finds him and insists on repaying the debt. No, he insists, do you have any idea what debt means to a dwarf?
“Sort-of?” he replies hesitantly, and that honest admission of incomplete knowledge shows a hell of a lot more respect and understanding than any self proclaimed dwarf-expert ever did.
Gets a job as a surface man, hauling rocks into the city. It’s backbreaking work, but, in true Discworld fashion, it’s also one hell of a workout (again the irony of being Carrot is not lost him. he freezes for a minute while hauling a rock cart, when he remembers he's technically Lost Nobility too, in a strict sense, but someone curses at him in the street and he's comfortingly grounded)
And here is where this au slides into a SPECTACULAR romantic comedy, BEAR WITH ME. Because in his time on the Watch he’s already done noir, action adventure, war story, detective who dunnit, psychological horror, but guards guards only allowed him to be a romance protagonist in an extremely limited context.
Give me righteous, twenty-something-looking, can’t-say-he-doesn’t-have-style, young Sam Vimes, not an alcoholic,  being fed three square meals a day by his dwarven forced found family, hauling rocks. He is startled to find him bumping his head on a low hanging bar that he doesn’t think used to be there, eventually realizing that he’s an inch or two taller than he remembers. Huh. Guess all that bearhuggers really did stunt his growth.
Still doesn’t get what some of the looks from women he’s getting are about, sure, he’s dirty but so is everyone else. Fine, he took his shirt off, but it’s hot out, there’s far wrinklier than him hauling heavy loads, get a life. 
Happens to glance in the Ankh one day when it’s particularly slow and shiny and is startled to realize that he might be turning heads for a different reason. Oh. Right, not that he was ever a heartbreaker, but he did alright for himself... when he was a younger and his face hadn’t been broken so many times. Which...it isn't now.
Is mildly disturbed by the revelation.
Especially once things blow over at the precinct and what with high mortality rates, he ends up with getting hired again. The boys are delighted to have him back, nevermind that he’s an odd one, noone is ever quite in your corner like Vimsey, absence makes the heart fonder, no one else works that hard, and he’s not even competition for promotion. All around great guy, we should set him up with somebody and just, no.
It just keeps getting worse! He’s literate! He’s a feminist! He believes abuse victims! He’s got a tragic backstory! He’s unreasonably good in a fistfight! He’s kind to animals! Word gets around that there’s a good man on the watch and he’s just waiting for a good woman to come snap him up. The widower excuse doesn’t hold people off completely, and for some it’s its own sort-of appeal. 
Things REALLY become stressful after he rescues that carriage full of noblewoman.
What’s he supposed to do? Let them get robbed? Or worse? Chasing down and beating up 10 goons is as easy as beating up one, when they’re that stupid, getting separated like that, drunk and distracted, and he knows these streets better than anyone, really it’s nothing. And oh lord he’s Modest too.
I mean, they were genuinely greatful, as genuine as people like that are capable of being, the skill having grown rusty. And then there is something...magnetic about the man. An air of command.
So, soon enough you get Lady Marigold of Marigrave calling on Treckle Road for that gallant young officer who rescued them, she really needs to thank him. And Viscountess Elanor Thitzferal specifically requesting that he guard her at her next soiree. And Baroness Julieta van Shoeholten insisting that he come to her home while her husband’s away, for... manly protection.
Aaaah just zero sympathy from the guys. None. 'It’s become a competition, they’re just trying to see who can get me into bed first, it’s like I’m a piece of meat, you can’t send me sir, the Marquess greeted me in a nightee last time you made me go to—' and 'small gods Vimes are you even listening to yourself, shut the hell up'.
Simultaneous to this, (again this is several years into the timeline) swamp dragon accessories come into style. Which means abandoned swamp dragons scrounging on the street. Vimes takes one back to his apartment, blows his paycheck on dragon medicine, and eventually, heart in his chest, brings it to the Ramkin estate. The sunshine orphanage doesn’t even exist yet and he’s just standing outside the gates like an idiot, what is he thinking. Turns around, but her carriage is pulling up and—
well. they meet. it's cute. he's never felt so young. he's never felt so old, too old for her, too poor—
and certainly her thoughts linger too long on the awkward, kindly, handsome young commoner, but is it any wonder she doesn't quite connect it to the stern, dangerous, sexy young guard the ladies seem to be in some quiet, cuthroat competition over?
i have this gorgeous, absurd scene in my head in which Vimes is strong armed into standing guard at some high society soiree and one of the pushiest ladies insists he dance with here, or, if he prefers, if he's not confident about his skills, he can dance with her in-private at her home and he’s like [grinding teeth, looking for a way out, seeinf one] “I would be honored to dance with you.”
Steps right into some ultra-complex dance with multiple partner swaps (she never thought he'd pick this one, devilishly intimidating to one not strictly trained, and you barely spend anytime with your first partner).
But he does alright. Better than alright, for a common man, sometimes misstepping but his hands and feet always end up where they need to be. Raises several eyebrows part way into the song because he's throuwing in some slightly scandalous, no innovative, extra lifts and twirls that wouldn't become fashionable for another decade or two. Who even is that guy? Some out of towner? No, no he's in a guards uniform...how very strange.
Gets to Sybll and she's used to embarrassment during these dances, she tries to get out of them when she can... but can't always. Men awkwardly skipping the lifts, or worse, trying and failing. But him — oh it's him, the one who helped little Erold, and looked at her like—like—well like she was someone beautiful. And he's doing it again, and he's strong and there's a quiet moment where she's in the air, they lock eyes, and the rest of the room melts away.
And then the partners change again, the moment ended.
Just...living throught it all again. To the left, a dance he almost knows the steps to, throwing others off balance with erratic moves , honest mistakes, and delibrate stepping on toes. Improvising. Ruining. Improving. Getting far, far too much attention.
Hes almost excited when the first assassains start coming after him. It's like a hobby.
Everyone tells him he should get a hobby.
Interactions with young vetinari...I don't have the energy to write it all down, the slow circling in on each other, both burning with the need to fix the city, save it, their city.
needless to say he ends up fired again, life under real threat after offending some high lord.
Conveniently enough he has an employment opportunity- bodyguard to fucking Vetinari on his 'grand sneer.' The bastard knows vimes isn't what he seems, though sam is pretty sure that he doesnt know the exacts.
Vetinari hypothesis:(the ghost of keel? Keels son, with some hereditary curse? Or a larger spirit of justice possessing a string of unrelated souls? He knows things he shouldn't- mind reader? Fortune teller? Havelock once arranged for a wizard to bump into him on the street, the magical fool gave an odd double look and then muttered something about destiny looping in on itself giving him a headache. Destiny? Lost noble? And hes far too familiar with sybyl, one of the few bearable noblewomen in this city. And his thoughts on guilds, when havelock can trip him into speaking... Most of all, if hes reading him at all correctly (for all the mystery hes not that hard to read, unless thats a very clever cover) then it seems that behind those dark haunted eyes is Respect. Loyalty. For vetinari. What an interesting man. A puzzling asset. An intriguing threat. )
Did I mention the timeline is changing, healing slowly around the place where it was torn? Healing enough around scars to perhaps get some flexibility back, with some painful stretches and...massaging of said scar tissue?
And hes heading to unresting uberwald, a place where a werewolf pack still hunts humans and, truely unrelated but perhaps equally exhausting, an eldritch spirit of vengeance just might be looking to stretch its legs in a hapless vessel?
Opening drabble Vimes Vetinari Meta (Unwell)
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megxplryxb · 2 years
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Lockdown Lovers
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Living with your best friend during lockdown sounded like such a great idea until you remembered how hot and horny he was.
Disclaimer: I do not own this gif and take no credit for it. Not my best work but might do a part two out of lockdown at some stage. :)))
Sleeping with your best friend had never really been on your agenda. Sure, you’d thought about the what if’s late at night when you couldn’t sleep and random musings would enter your mind to deter your slumber even more. You’d by lying if you said you hadn’t thought about what it would be like, he was hot and you were only human after all. But the reality was, Colby Brock was your best friend and nothing more.
That was however, until the world pretty much stopped turning and you were living in the middle of a worldwide pandemic. Being on lockdown wasn’t too bad though. It was like being a kid on summer break again, having nothing to do only hang out with your friends and watch the time go by.
You and Kat pretty much lived in Sam and Colby’s house during the pandemic. Only going home when necessary or when Kat and Sam needed some alone time and Colby would beg to go with you because he’d much rather chill with you than listen to his friends getting it on. Colby loved your place because it felt like a home and he knew he could treat it as his own like you did to his house. You’d wrap yourself around Colby on the couch watching movies because with him, it wasn’t weird, it was easy. His fingers running through your hair while you lay on his chest playing with the strings of his many xplr hoodies, eating popcorn, pizza, teaching him how to cook, finding new music, helping him out with new song lyrics and content for his youtube channel. Those were the best of times, times you knew you’d miss when the world eventually got back to “normal”.
Weeks passed however, and the lockdown was no closer to being lifted. Boredom was finally starting to set in, among other things. It felt like an eternity since you had felt the weight of someone on top of you, someone inside of you and you were frustrated as hell. You needed a distraction from the aching feeling between your legs, so when Kat and Sam left to go to Kat’s apartment for the night, Colby suggested getting completely hammered with him and you happily obliged not having anything better to do. Both of you ending up in the pool for a late night swim and having conversations that wouldn’t dare take place in the brightness of the day.
Sitting shoulder to shoulder, skin touching skin, in the hot tub with Colby, sharing a couple of white claws, talk turned to sex or lack thereof. Colby admitting he was “so fucking horny all the time” and jerking off just wasn’t the same. You confessed that masturbation only did so much after a while and that you also longed for more than your own fingers and sex toys. Colby’s eyes widened hearing you talk about pleasuring yourself and he revealed to hearing you touch yourself in your room several nights prior. Your face turned red, mortified by his revelation until he whispered in your ear how hot it was and that he couldn’t help but get himself off along with you. You immediately felt a funny sensation in your stomach noting the change in Colby’s eyes as he looked at you, the friendly sparkle replaced with a fiery wickedness that you hadn’t seen before. He was your friend, he wasn’t supposed to look at you like that, think of you that way. But here you were, heat radiating between your legs, heart racing, sinful images of Colby running through your mind while he mentally undressed you with his piercing blue eyes.
“You have no idea how much strength it took not to come in to your room and offer to finish you off.”
The words lustfully fell from Colby’s mouth before he even realised he had said them. His head lowered feeling he had said the wrong thing. You contemplated removing yourself from the situation knowing that you and your best friend were heading down a slippery slope but in the moment you didn’t care. Everything was telling you to walk away but your body wasn’t moving and that told you enough. You needed this as much as Colby did. Maybe even more.
“Does that offer still stand?”
You questioned biting your lip playing with the thin string on your bikini.
“Fuck yeah it does.” Colby exhaled, pulling you on to his lap, mouth on yours before you had time to settle yourself.
In all of the years that you had known Colby Brock, you had never made out. Not even for a game of truth or dare. You always said it would feel weird, wrong, but in reality it was because you feared what would happen to your friendship if you crossed that line. Luckily for you, you were both too drunk to consider anything other than how quick you could undress each other as Colby dragged you from the hot tub inside to the house and to his bedroom, quickly disposing of your bikini.
Neither of you lasted too long, not that that had surprised you as you were both full of alcohol and extremely worked up. From what you could remember of the night, it was messy, a little clumsy, falling over each other, bodies pushed up against walls and fighting for dominance between the sheets. What you knew for sure? You had just fucked your best friend for the first time. Neither of you spoke straight away after as you panted heavily beside each other, pulling the sheets over your body as realisation began to set in that you were in bed and naked with Colby.
“Wow. So ugh, we never did that before.” Colby joked trying to break the awkward silence that had fallen between you as you both began to sober up.
“Yeah, no, that was…new.” You chuckled going red again as you both sat up in the bed.
“Um, are you ok? I mean, are we?” Colby began to ask as you interrupted quickly. You knew how Colby was, he had more than his fair share of one night stands and you weren’t expecting anything out of what had just happened between you. He didn’t have to give you the talk he gave every other girl once they were done. It was just sex.
“Oh yeah, I’m good, we’re good. This was just… two friends helping each other out, right?” You questioned as Colby grinned nodding in agreement.
“Right.”
“And we were drunk and it won’t happen again so we don’t need to talk about it.” You asserted wrapping Colby’s sheet around you as you stood up, leaving him completely naked on the bed. “I’m going to go back to my room and take a shower, you can take your sheet back when I’m in the bathroom.” You smiled playfully throwing a pillow at your friend to block the view you were receiving because it didn’t look like Colby was in any rush to cover himself.
Once you were back in your room, you closed the door, leaving the bedsheet on the arm chair so Colby could grab it when you were in the shower. The water was a welcomed touch on your skin as the hot soapy beads ran down your body. Closing your eyes, all you could think about was what had just taken place with Colby moments ago in his bedroom. Your heart was still racing from the adrenaline running through your body, hands tracing the parts of you where he had kissed and sucked at, noticing light bite marks on your breasts and inner thighs, evidence that you hadn’t been dreaming . You wondered what Colby was thinking, would he regret it? Would he tell Sam? Would it change your friendship and how he felt about you? That last thought sent your mind in to a panic.
A knock came to the bathroom door, pulling you from your thoughts. “Hey, can I come in?, I need to ask you something.” Colby spoke gently.
“I’m in the shower!” You yelled so he could hear you above the sound of the water.
“So?” He replied, unbothered about your current lack of clothing.
“So, I’m naked!”
“Are you serious? I literally saw you naked five minutes ago.” He yelled back as your face flushed with embarrassment.
“That was different!”
“Why because we were fucking?”
“Colby!”
“Ok I’m coming in…”
“Don’t you dare come in here!” You shrieked watching the door knob turn before Colby stood in front of the shower screen in nothing but a towel around his waist. You shook your head trying to cover your body as the water to hit off of the tiles.
“Okay Brock, what was so important that it couldn’t wait until I was dressed?” You questioned raising your brow towards him, only a screen door between you.
“Why can’t it happen again?”
“What?”
“Back in my room, you said this won’t happen again.”
“It won’t.”
“But what if I want it to happen again?” Colby stood silently waiting for his answer as you shook your head in disbelief. Part of you thought Colby might regret what happened with you but saying he wanted it to happen again was not what you expected to hear at all.
“Colby we.” Is all you could manage to say before he slid the shower door open, leaving nothing but hot air between you.
“Look, I’m not saying this has to be an official thing, you know I don’t do relationships but fuck, that was fun.” He grinned as you rolled your eyes and laughed at his confession.
“What exactly are you getting at?” You questioned folding your arms still standing in the shower.
“I’m suggesting that while we’re on lockdown, you and I make a little arrangement…” Colby paused for a moment to try and read the expression on your face and when he noticed you didn’t automatically have a horrified look on your face he continued. “I mean, we’re both single adults and let’s be honest, we both have needs that the other can fulfil…so I’m suggesting that until the world gets back to normal we…”
“You want to be fuck buddies?” You asked cutting him off as he nodded a yes. You bit your lip trying to consider the pros and cons of what he was proposing, not taking notice of the nervous look on Colby’s face in front of you.
“I’ve completely freaked you out haven’t I? I’m sorry, I never should have suggested it, I’m an idiot.” He cursed himself turning to leave you alone again as he suddenly felt a small tug on the towel around his waist preventing him from moving any further. Colby turned back to face you, watching with excitement as you gently pulled the towel from his waist and to the ground.
“Close the door, it's getting cold in here.” You whispered, a smile creeping on to Colby’s face as he slid the screen door shut, joining you in the shower. It didn’t take long until the space between you was closed once again as your lips met his in a warm embrace and you fucked your best friend for the second time that night.
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brainrotranch · 2 months
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A little bit of magical ranchers for you. Jimmy lives in his own little world until a strange man with no memories falls into his lap.
It was, for all intent, quite a nice day. They’d always been, and always would, but there was something different about that day. An unexpected warmth in the eternally lazy breeze that made the light so much nicer to soak up during afternoon sunning. It was welcome, but it was… odd. And it didn’t take long for the reason to reveal itself.
Jimmy stared down at the still form that lay in his grasslands, eyebrows knit with concern and disbelief. The golden gates that towered above squealed closed until they became one with the blue skies once more. His wings fluttered in yearning, but Jimmy ignored them. 
He focused on the newcomer instead. Poor sod. With a black leather vest and flaming hair, his appearance was certainly that of the sort of eccentric that Jimmy might expect to be his first visitor in… a while. He seemed like he might have been interesting to talk to. Too bad he was dead.
The corpse twitched. 
Oh, he did survive.
Jimmy crouched down, placing a hand on the stranger’s shoulder as he groaned to life like a zombie. He stretched out his ears and Listened closely to bones and blood under his fingers. Ah, carbon monoxide poisoning. Of course it was. His body seemed to be recovering at a remarkable pace, though, now that he was here. The flames, maybe?
“Are you alright, mate?” Jimmy finally decides to ask.
The stranger finally pushes himself up onto his knees. His red eyes were glazed over, even as he took in his surroundings. “Whu- where am I?”
“My home.” Jimmy said, a wing stretching out to the scenery. “I’m not sure how you got here, though.”
He scratched at his neck as he looked around. “I… don’t remember.” 
“Well, that’s unfortunate.” Jimmy huffed.
“Yeah…”
Jimmy worried his bottom lip. The man was clearly out of it. It had been so long since Jimmy interacted with another person, what was he supposed to do now? 
He glanced around, looking for something- anything. Between the grasses he caught sight of a sweetberry bush. Good enough. He launched himself up and glided over to the thorny shrub, collecting two handfuls of the little red berries, then flew back.
By then the stranger was sat on his butt in the grass, just taking in his surroundings. When Jimmy held out his hand he didn’t hesitate. In seconds the berries were gone completely. “Pretty good, thanks stranger!” He grinned. 
Jimmy’s wings flapped in pleasure as he smiled back. “My name’s Jimmy.” He offered. Perhaps too readily, but it was in his nature to offer.
“Jimmy, huh?” The stranger looked him up and down, then laughed. “Well, Jimjam, the name’s Tango, and you got some sweetberry still on you.”
Jimmy’s poor white shirt was indeed now stained with red juice. Oh, that was going to be a pain to get out. Not as much of a pain as the chance he had just missed thanks to his slow wit, but still…
His ears started to ring. Tango stood up, but his injuries got the better of him, and began to collapse.
Jimmy panicked and reached out, snapping his grip around Tango’s wrist just as he began to push off the ground. “You shouldn’t stand quite yet.” He warned the man. 
Tango gave him a curious look, but it faded quickly into a content smile and shrug. “Smart, my head hurts like nothing else.”
He really listened to Jimmy? Just like that? Yellow feathers vibrated happily as the world quieted.
“So, where do you live exactly?” Tango asked as he glanced around the fields.
“Here.”
“Yeah but… where here?”
Wings tilted back. Where here? He glanced around, observing the nearby horizon. “Everywhere?”
Tango laughed. “But where’s your house?”
“I… have a nest. I think.” He was not so good at construction, for all he knew it had fallen apart since he last saw it weeks ago. Or was it years?
“You just… live out here?” Tango asked, utterly baffled. Jimmy self-consciously picked at the sweetberry stains in his shirt. “Really?”
“I don’t plan to be here for very long, you see. So, there was no reason to make one.”
“… How long have you been here?”
“Only quite long.”
“Ah… And how long do you suppose I’ll be stuck here?”
“Maybe rather long.”
Tango hummed. “How long is rather long?”
Jimmy held out his fingers, counting in his head. “About a quarter of forever, I would say.”
“I see. Well, if it’s only a quarter…” He suddenly tumbled back, slapping the earth. “No! That's too long! I have a life to get back to, a mission to complete!”
The canary’s eyes widened. Was his guest important? “A mission? What was your mission?”
“I…” Tango wavered, letting out a sound like a deflating balloon. “I’ll get back to you on that one when my head stops hurting. But I had one!”
“I see.” Perhaps he hit his head harder than it looked on his way in. The poor soul. Lovely, but poor. Jimmy’s wings perked up. “Well, would you like to stay with me? I can make you comfortable.”
Tango went quiet. Jimmy waited. He was used to waiting eternities by now. Or so he thought he was, but the longer the silence stretched the tighter Jimmy’s chest became. His ears twitched, Listening to the world whisper awful words to his guest, never heard but desperate to tease – threaten – the canary with the thought that it might be.
When they grew a little too loud Jimmy reached out, grabbing hold of Tango’s head and covering his ears. A yelp escaped Tango as he was yanked forward. Their eyes locked. Even when a blush began to creep onto Tango’s face Jimmy continued to stare, try to convey the correct answer. Surely it would be more powerful to a creature of sight than the whispers. “Would you?” Jimmy mouthed more than he spoke.
Eventually, a sigh escaped Tango. “Yeah, sure. I’ll be your guest. Don’t really have much of a choice, do I?”
He couldn’t help it. Jimmy let out the happiest trill of his life and pulled Tango into a hug. He could hear the world grumble, the game no longer fun when it did not win. But it could deal with it. He was Jimmy’s friend now.
Jimmy shot up onto his feet, holding his hands out to help Tango up. “Your headache is fine now. I’ll show you around.”
There was a moment of hesitation, confusion, as Tango put his palm to his head. But then he laughed and took his hands. “Yeah, sure. Lead the way.”
The trill returned to his throat. Jimmy spun them around in time to step onto the path the grasses parted to show. He tugged at his friend’s arm, guiding him forward when he seemed too busy with awe to follow on his own.
After the initial awe and wonder wears off Tango is quick to insist a proper home be built. Actually, Jimmy saw the exact moment the proverbial switch flipped. It was when he found the remaining scattered straw that was Jimmy’s forgotten nest.
Jimmy wasn’t sure why it was so important. It wasn’t like there would be any rain or cold nights anytime soon. Night was a difficult thing to catch, anyways, when the sun and moon only ran perpetual circles on the horizon. One might say it never arrived. Another might insist it never left. Jimmy was partial to simply sleeping when and where the rare bout of exhaustion hit him.
But Tango was new, burdened with habits formed in a world Jimmy at times forgot existed. He’d get over them, probably. Until then, Tango was adamant, and Jimmy was inclined to indulge his precious company.
So, Tango built a house. Jimmy adored it. Tango called it an ugly foot. Out of spite the world sided with Tango, and it burst into flames with one brush of a misplaced candle.
At least the world was kind enough to leave behind reimbursement. Jimmy plucked through the wreckage for the pinecones with the bucket he used to put out the last flames while Tango hissed and smoldered. Quite literally, his hair in a war dance despite no enemy to burn. Not one that could be, anyways.
“I wasn’t anywhere near the walls!” Tango grumbled when Jimmy sat down beside him. 
He patted Tango’s shoulder, using his wing to pull him into a half-hug. “There, there, my friend.” He wished he could say it was not the man’s fault.
A kettle-ish sigh escaped Tango as he slouched into the comfort. “Maybe it was for the better, with how ugly it was. I’m not good at this.”
“Don’t say that!” Jimmy insisted. 
Tango seemed not to understand though, muttering under his breath words that had no need to be heard. Gleeful hysterics danced on the wind. He grabbed Tango’s shoulder’s, reorienting the man, before cupping his face, leaving gaps around his ears pointed towards Jimmy so no other mischievous voices might be heard. “It was a lovely home. It was young and full of character, and I loved it. Say you loved it too?”
Once he had gotten over the embarrassment, Tango’s face fell. “It was a foot tower, Jim. Do you really want to live in a foot tower?”
“If you made it, then absolutely!” He snapped. He felt the cold shiver of regret tickle his spine as the laughter grew louder. No, it was not a lie, but Tango didn’t deserve this. 
Luckily, Tango made it irrelevant, “Well thank you, but I think I’m done trying.” He buried his face into Jimmy’s shoulder, ears red when Jimmy’s hands moved away from them.
“I can build it!” He quickly assured. He would make his friend the loveliest house in this world. To prove his words, he ran back over to the rotting remains of Tango’s foot tower, tearing out a plank that had yet to be entirely consumed by moss or burrowing beetles. 
He sat down beside Tango once more, who leaned in curiously, allowing Jimmy to reach into his breast pocket and pluck out a pencil. He started to scratch up a sign. “We will have a home, the two of us. See, this is the first plank! Home of …” He hesitated and turned sheepishly to Tango with the widest eyes he could muster. “Oh, could I have your name again?” He asked, wings vibrating out so no one else might hear.
Tango raised an eyebrow, then burst into laughter. “Oh! Oh, my void. little buddy. If you forgot my name you could have just asked, I get it. I forget people’s names all the time. Here.” Jimmy whined as the plank was stolen from him, then the pen. Tango printed out the sign himself, sketching out his name, before handing it back to Jimmy. “I’m sure you’ll make a perfect home.” 
It looked like chicken scratch, but there it was, the most beautiful thing Jimmy had seen in a long time. Jimmy thought his heart might leap into his throat from the excitement and hugged the board close to his chest.
It wasn’t until Jimmy was painting the details in with the nicest paint brush he didn’t own that he realized the outline said ‘Tagno’ instead. The world laughed, and he nearly cried.
He put it up anyways, right beside the door of their perfect home. Small, but cozy, and vastly beyond Jimmy’s capabilities. Tango was still his, even if the first home burnt down, even if temporarily. That cheered him up, if only a bit.
When Tango complained of having porridge for the seventh something in a row they agreed to make a barn as well. After it was built, and Jimmy had shaved off the toe-like edges of the roof, Tango went one direction and Jimmy went the other. Tango returned with a basket full of colourful chicken eggs ready to hatch that day, and Jimmy brought back a quartet of cow eggs that hatched the next day. 
Life went on. They wake just as the sun was in the same place it always was, make a lovely breakfast, play with the animals, replant the garden, put together some ridiculous idea of Tango’s, and laugh together when the world tore it apart in a tantrum. When Tango decided it was time for bed, because even if it took him longer to remember to do them each time he refused to let his habits slip , they would curl up in their nest together and cuddle until at least one fell asleep. 
Jimmy could not remember being so happy. He wasn’t sure he ever had been. Tango was his for at least a quarter of forever, and he would relish every moment of it.
Of course, though, he was not the one who got to decide how long forever was, and after all. Tango was only a guest, as he said.
“I think I was searching for something.” Tango whispered one day, matching the whispers around them.
Jimmy felt his wings tense to his back, dropping the daisy crown he’d been weaving for the new goats. “Is that so?”
“Yeah, I was looking for something special, something important that I needed.”
“Did you find it?” It was too hopeful, one that was squashed immediately by the knitting of Tango’s brows.
“I’m not sure. I hope so.”
That was enough. The world stopped teasing Jimmy, satisfied with the shake in his hands. Jimmy took the reprieve to grasp Tango’s hands in his own and pull them close to his chest. “Tango, I’ve forgotten again, could you give me your name?”
Tango snorted, eyebrow now raised. He made so many funny and wonderful expressions. “Jimmy, you just said it.”
“Right. Sorry.” His voice came out shakier than intended as he dropped his hands. The world laughed.
Silence fell again. Then, “I wonder if my old home is still there.”
No. “Oh?”
“I don’t remember it totally, but I remember little things. The broom sweeping the halls, the stone arches, the hideous carpet that refused to sit still, the big iron cauldron of who-knows-what making whatever-it-was.”
“It sounds nice.” No, it didn’t. It sounded like a place Jimmy couldn’t be.
“Yeah. It was. I miss it.” Tango sighed. There was a pause, Jimmy watching with terror tearing his heart out of his chest as Tango opened his mouth.
No.
“I hope...” His voice cracked, and he shook his head.
Don’t say it, please.
“I wish I was back-”
“No, you don’t!”
Jimmy’s hands snapped onto Tango’s arms, knuckles as white as his face. 
Tango’s eyes grew wide, staring back into Jimmy’s desperate gaze. It was too late, the words had been spoken, and the world was all too happy to make Jimmy aware. Golden bars split through the clouds, becoming painfully visible in the sky above. Jimmy couldn’t look at them, even as Tango did. A choked sob tore from his throat.
“What…” Tango stammered, yanking himself out of Jimmy’s slumped grip. “What’s that? That-”
The wind told him before Jimmy could put together some excuse, some argument of why they should be ignored. It was the door. Unlatched, ready to let one of them leave whenever he wanted, now that the key had been used.
Tango turned back to Jimmy. “Did you know?”
“Yes.” He wasn’t clever enough to create a convenient truth.
“Whu- We could leave at any time? Why didn’t you say anything?” Tango jumped up, already looking for how to reach the gold that stood in contrast to the colourless grey clouds collecting around it. What was kept out had already begun to flood back in, a series of revelations and memories flowing through the world back to their owner.
“You don’t have to go.” Jimmy insisted, following Tango up to reach out for him once more. “Let’s head back. What do you want for supper?”
Tango shook his head. “I don’t want supper. I want to go home!”
“Home?” A wing pointed hopefully back towards the ranch, whose bricks were already crumbling, wood splintering, shingles rattling.
“No!” A strike of thunder rolled past, raising his voice to the heavens. “My real home! I want to finish my mission, I want to see my ravagers, I want to lea-”
“Don’t say that!”
Tango finally paused, caught between indignation and confusion. It softened only slightly, when Jimmy felt the first plop of rain hit his cheek. He wrapped his own hands around Jimmy’s wrists, taking his hands into Tango’s own. “Jimmy, let’s just go.”
“I can’t!” He cried, voice warbling. Rain beat down, turning the fields to mud. A crack rang out behind Jimmy, and he couldn’t look but he watched the ranch house crumble to the earth in the reflection of Tango’s eyes. He swallowed the lump in his throat, wondering if the world had decided to fill it with frogs again as a cruel joke, just when he needed his words the most. 
“What?”
“I can’t leave.” He tried to explain, raising his drenched wings. “This is my world. I can’t leave.”
Cages weren’t meant to let birds out whenever they pleased. The world was no different.
But Jimmy underestimated how stubborn a man could be. 
Tango looked enraged now, and for a moment Jimmy flinched away before he realized it was not directed towards him. “It was you. I was looking for you.”
“It’s a bit late for flattery.” The frogs in Jimmy’s voice croaked. The world around him roared, the rain nothing more than laughter and jabs to his heart, one for every eternity he’d spent in the world. “No one looks for death. You do everything you can to stay away.”
“I’m not- Jim.” He sighed. Hands cupped his face, gliding over his ears until all Jimmy could hear was Tango’s heartbeat. It was like being blind to a creature like Tango. His mouth began to move, slow, deliberate, like Jimmy’s had that first encounter. They formed five simple words. 
Can I have your name?
This was entirely rude and unfair. “You know it’s Jimmy.” He said petulantly.
It made Tango laugh. Though Jimmy couldn’t hear it, but he could feel the rumble through Tango’s palms and see the scrunch of his eyes and feel the hot air that barely brushed his nose. He could go without his hearing, Jimmy thought for a moment. As long as he had Tango. Jimmy's face was brought a bit closer. Six words formed this time that caused the winds to whip angrily around them in some attempt to whisk them away.
Can I have your true name?
It wouldn’t help, Jimmy was sure. The world had more than just his name, what could a man hope to do with it? Still, Jimmy felt it fall from his lips anyways.
“Solidarity.”
A toothy grin stretched across Tango’s face, as his fingers began to trace something against his temple. His eyes glowed a deep, frosty blue that Jimmy could feel in his bones. Jimmy felt something inside himself pull, and pull, and pull-
I’m leaving.
And snap.
He squawked indignantly as he realized what it was Tango drew out with the runes, but it was too late. Suddenly the sound was back, and the rain stung flesh. It was too loud, too painful, too everything. Foreign heat pulsed deep in their core. Jimmy became dizzy, falling right into Tango’s arms.
Then it all stopped. The air was stagnant, and the only sound was a steady, distant drip. Jimmy felt almost too warm, but cozy, nestled in right where he should be. Or so his soul assured him. Despite this, he couldn’t breathe, or rather, he felt the exertion of holding his breath. There was the thin clatter of metal against metal, and then he was moving.
Jimmy dared pry open his senses for only a moment through the sudden exhaustion he had not felt in a long, long time, and watched as a little golden birdcage on a stone was slowly swallowed by the darkness. He felt himself soon follow.
Jimmy woke up to something slamming into his knee, and tearing a shriek from- not him. This was enough to wake him fully. He was trapped, confined, and even if it felt like home the need to flee filled him. He spread his wings and took off without thinking. He smacked his head into a hanging pot for his troubles.
“Void, Jim, give a guy a warning!” Tango gasped out above him.
Jimmy opened his eyes to an unfamiliar roof of stone and red wood. Everything one could imagine hanging from a ceiling and more dangled on ropes and string and heavy iron chains, rattling from when he had hit them. Tango’s face replaced the sight, his eyes and hair now a matching blue and looking far too large, as he held out his palm. 
Jimmy flipped his tiny body over with a shake of his poor wings. Little orange talon clinked against the wood floorboards, and a confused chirp escaped from his beak. He hopped up into Tango hand, nesting comfortably with no intent to try and fly once more.
Tango laughed. “Look at you, birdy! Just when you thought you couldn’t get cuter.”
His feathers fluffed up around him. Tango laughed again.
They made their way through the room, Tango tripping over several of his own possessions and causing both to squeak in fright and pain each time. There was a tiny little round table in the corner with two matching chairs, upon which were stacks of paper and trinkets that promptly moved to the floor via boot. After some more fumbling an old scarf took up its place.
“Can you, uh, change back yet?” Tango asked, placing Jimmy on the scarf. He lifted an enormous witch’s hat up off the ground and onto his head before joining the bird, by which time Jimmy had prodded the scarf into a nest. Jimmy tilted his head, then shook it. A thought occurred then, though, and he peeped at Tango until he got the picture and put out his  finger for Jimmy to rest his beak to.
Are you there? His own voice rang out in their mind.
Tango smiled. “Yeah, I’m here.”
Excellent.
“Ow!” Tango shrieked, yanking his hand back from the sharper-than-it-looked beak, while Jimmy began twittering away, wings flapping in a huff.
How dare you! How dare you bind me to your soul without asking, you sleazy witch! What do you take me for, an impulsive imp?
Tango winced. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! It worked, though, didn’t it? If we had the same soul then it had to let you leave! And, you know, I get what I came for as a bonus.”
Jimmy whistled indignantly, settling into a fluffy, pouting lump among the colourful wool.
“It worked.”
It did but it’s rude and dangerous! You should ask before you make a fae your familiar!
“Well, I was going to, but then your cage locked out my memories when I opened it and-” Tango sighed, slumping against the table. “I heard there was a powerful fae down in those mines that’d be good for dark magic, but I didn’t think you’d be so much work.”
You shouldn’t complain if you have what you wanted, then. Jimmy turned his beak up.
Tango stuck out his tongue, then giggled. “I could say the same to you, Jimbo.”
The air settled. Jimmy felt his energy leave him once more. He had so little left in him after all that, his magic felt almost atrophied from the cage’s effects. From the way Tango’s eyes drooped and the heaviness of their tied souls he imagined Tango felt the same. He hopped up to Tango, up onto his arm, and buried his face into his chest. 
Thank you. For not leaving without me.
A warm hand cupped the bird closer to Tango’s chest. “Let’s get some sleep, Jim. We have a big week ahead of us.”
Jimmy cooed in agreement. They settled into a single bed shoved inside a tiny closet. With the very last of his strength he knew he would later regret using he took on his human face. Tango seemed surprised only as long as it took Jimmy to bundle him up in his arms and wings. He’d likely lose form before the morning and return to Tango, but for now he cherished his new soulmate.
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genshinluvr · 7 months
Text
Mr. Sweet Talker
Pairings: Various Genshin Men x Isekai'd!Reader (Lyney x Isekai's!Reader)
Summary: Aether and Paimon managed to snag free tickets to the magic show in Fontaine! It's all thanks to a certain famous Fontianian magician. Who knew he could be such a sweet talker?
Note: Since I took a break from posting fanfics last week, this is a mini-fic, so not a lot of men will be talking in this fic since this mini-fic does center around Lyney. If you're wondering if I'm going to add him to the harem or not, the answer is idk. I know, for sure, that I'm not going to be adding Freminet to the harem. I don't mind adding Lyney to the harem, but I have a feeling there are going to be people in my inbox telling me he's a minor— and debating over Genshin character's ages is something I do not want to deal with. Anyway! I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and on AO3 (Aaliah_exo).
Warnings: None that I know of 🤔
Word Count: 3.3k
Your groans fill the living area as you plop on the couch, sprawling across Wriothesley and Pantalone’s lap. The two men glance at each other before looking at you. You roll over on your back and stare up at Wriothesley and Pantalone with a pout.
Pantalone runs his fingers through your hair. “What’s wrong, Butterfly?” Pantalone coos, stroking your cheek with his thumb.
“I thought summer break was going to be fun, but all I did was sleep in! There are a few weeks until school is back in session at the Akademiya. But I don’t want to return to the Akademiya, telling my professors and classmates that all I ever did during the summer was sleep in,” you say, puckering your lips.
“What else did you do during the summer? Aside from being in my arms, of course,” Wriothesley says, running his hands through his hair with a cheeky smile.
No, really. What else did you do during the summer? Summer is a blur at this point, and the only thing you remember was taking many, many naps. In fact, you slept so much during the summer that your sleep schedule is even worse than it already is. You can say you have traveled to many regions in Teyvat. After all, your boyfriends are from different nations, and you sometimes tag along with them while they work. So, you job shadowed your boyfriends sometimes? 
The door to the estate slams open, startling you, Wriothesley, and Pantalone. Aether and Paimon enter the large estate— Paimon looks smug while Aether is wringing the water out of his hair with a grimace. You and Paimon lock gaze before she waves at you with a big smile.
“[Y/N]! Do you want to go to a magic show with us?” Paimon asks, floating over toward you.
You prop yourself up, accidentally digging your elbows into Wriothesley’s thighs. If it did hurt Wriothesley, he didn’t let it show on his face. Instead, the man looks at Paimon and Aether curiously. Magic show? With all of the things that exist on Teyvat, you’re sort of surprised that magic still exists despite there being Archons, dragons, and mythical creatures roaming and inhabiting Teyat.
“Depends! Who is ‘us’ exactly? You and Aether, or everyone in the abode?” you ask, sitting up and getting off Wriothesley and Pantalone. “And where is this magic show going to take place?”
Aether holds his hands up. “Whoa, slow down with the questions there, [Y/N]. The magic show is going to take place in Fontaine,” Aether says.
Your eyes light up. “Fontaine? I’ve always wanted to explore the City of Justice more often! Furina invited me to be a witness at one of the trials, but I wasn’t able to make it,” you say.
Paimon claps her hands, twirling in the air with excitement. “Great! Let’s get ready before the show starts! We know the magician of tonight’s show, and he managed to get us all the best seats in the house!” Paimon says, propping her hands on her hips with a smug smile.
You have no idea what Paimon is implying, but you went along with it anyway. When you were thrown into Teyvat, it was before Sumeru was released. And now, since you’re going to (according to Paimon and Aether) Opera Epiclese, you’re going to assume Fontaine is now released. You have stepped foot in other regions aside from Sumeru, Inazuma, Liyue, and Mondstadt, but it was brief.
You’re not sure what people typically wear to the Opera Epiclese. Since the citizens of Fontaine dress elegantly on a day-to-day basis, you opted to wear something classy. It’s the best thing you can find that isn’t too formal or too underdressed. The trip to Fontaine was fun— aside from the Meks attacking when you and the men accidentally used the wrong waypoint. But it’s fine because no one got hurt, not a single hair is out of place, and everyone’s clothes are spotless and creaseless. While the seating is free (all thanks to Paimon and Aether knowing the magician of the show), you weren’t sure where you wanted to sit. You don’t mind sitting in the first row or the second row. The main issue is the men fighting over who gets to sit next to you.
“I want to sit next to [Y/N] during the show,” Venti huffs, glaring at Albedo.
Albedo sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Well, if [Y/N] sits between us, then we don’t need to argue over who gets to sit next to [Y/N],” replies Albedo.
You plop on the chair, resting your elbow on the armrest while the men around you argue. You don’t care where you sit. The only thing you probably care about is being able to watch the magic show without any interruptions. And you’re also hoping the magician isn’t going to ask for volunteers or randomly pick someone from the audience for one part of the show. You don’t know how you’re going to react if it did happen.
“Oh? What’s going on here?” asks a suave voice. 
The men stop bickering around you and turn toward the direction of the voice. You peek from behind Capitano to see a shorter male, around Xiao’s height, approaching you and your boyfriends. He stops in front of the group, propping his hands on his hips, and adjusts the hat on his head. On his right cheek is a single teardrop, and he has a braid on the left side of his head. His hair is almost the same color as Kazuha’s hair.
Paimon perks up, waving to the male. “Lyney! It’s good to see you!” Paimon cheers.
Lyney smiles at Paimon and graciously bows to Paimon.
“Lyney! Good luck with your performance! We look forward to seeing you perform and wow the audience,” says Neuvillette, smiling at the shorter male before him.
Lyney’s eyes light up, and he smiles widely. “Thank you, Monsieur Neuvillette!” Lyney says.
Lyney looks at the others around him, and his eyes land on you. You’re fixing your shirt, making sure there isn’t any lint sticking to your silk shirt. You tuck your hair behind your ear before continuing to adjust your clothes.
“And who is this? I don’t believe we’ve met,” Lyney speaks up.
You look up to see Lyney standing before you, gazing at you curiously. You blink at the Fontainian magician owlishly and look around at the others, assuming he is talking to the men that aren’t from Fontaine. 
Lyney laughs softly, shaking his head. “I’m talking to you, silly. You’re a fresh face around here, and I want to know my guest’s name before the show starts,” says Lyney.
“Oh! I thought you meant the others that aren’t natives to Fontaine aside from myself,” you laugh shyly, rubbing the back of your neck as you stand up to properly greet the Fontainian magician. “My name’s [Y/N]! It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lyney.” 
You hold your hand out to shake Lyney’s hand. Lyney bows gracefully, grabs your hand, and presses a delicate kiss on your knuckles. You stare at Lyney with wide eyes, heat rushing to your cheeks as you begin to stutter. Scaramouche narrows his eyes at Lyney and is at your side almost immediately, wrapping his arms around your waist and walking away with you.
“I don’t like it when other people show affection toward you,” Scaramouche mutters.
You and Scaramouche end up bumping into someone. Scaramouche looks to see Lyney standing there, his hands propped on his hips as he gazes at you and Scaramouche with a small amused smile. Scaramouche does a double take and turns to where Lyney was standing before he and you bump into the Fontainian magician.
Lyney points at your ear. “You have something in your hair,” Lyney murmurs.
Your eyes widen, and you begin feeling around your hair, searching for the supposed object in your hair Lyney’s referring to. After a few seconds of searching around, you look at Lyney, confused. Lyney smiles and steps toward you, tucking your hair behind your ear. You stare at Lyney with wide eyes.
Lyney glances at you for a second before looking at the side of your head, humming softly. “Oh! I think I found it!” Lyney says. 
You sigh in relief and see Lyney hold out a rose toward you. 
“A rose for someone as beautiful as you. The rainbow rose is beautiful, but it pales in comparison to your beauty,” says Lyney, his cheeks turning bright pink. 
Your eyes widen, and you grab the rose from Lyney’s hand. Lyney smiles and takes a step back, fixing his hat while ignoring the subtle (and some not-so-subtle) glares from the men around you two. You admire the beautiful flower native to Fontaine, lightly rubbing the rose petal between your thumb and index finger.
“Aside from the glaze lily, the rainbow rose is beautiful,” you murmur.
Lyney smiles, places his index and middle finger underneath your chin, and tilts your head up. “Both are beautiful flowers, but they’re not nearly as beautiful as you, my flower,” Lyney says, winking at you.
You gulp and stare at Lyney, cheeks ablaze. Who knew that the Fontainian magician was a sweet talker. Childe lets out a fake laugh as he slowly walks over to you and Lyney, draping his arms over your shoulders while standing tall. Lyney crosses his arms over his chest, looking at the irritated eleventh Harbinger with an amused look.
Childe pats your head. “I don’t know if you’re aware or not, but [Y/N] is my significant other. My snookums is taken,” Childe says, pulling you to his chest while glaring at the Fontainian magician. 
Lyney laughs. “Well, your partner is quite a beauty. You might want to hold onto them tightly, or else someone is going to snatch them up,” Lyney jokes, taking his hat off and twirling them on the tip of his finger. “And Snookums is their nickname? How adorable, but a little bit too common.”
Dainsleif raises his eyebrows at Lyney’s comment while Childe lets out another fake laugh, hugging you to his chest tightly. You pat Childe’s back, trying your best not to let the ginger Harbinger crush you against his chest. You don’t mind it, but at least not in front of Fontaine’s famous magician.
Dainsleif crosses his arms over his chest. “And what nickname would you give them if they were your significant other?” Dainsleif asks.
Itto coughs. “Uh, Dainsleif, my guy, I don’t think we should give the magician guy permission to give our onikabuto booboo bear nicknames…” Itto trails off, tapping his foot on the ground. 
An amused look flashes across Lyney’s face after hearing Itto’s comment. Lyney hums and strokes his chin while gazing at you intently. Your face heats up the more the Fontainian magician stares at you. Childe rests his chin beside your shoulders, glaring at the shorter male. Lyney snickers and shakes his head. 
“Onikabuto booboo bear is certainly an interesting pet name for your significant other. It’s more unique than snookums, that’s for sure. However, it’s too much of a mouthful, and I believe someone as lovely as [Y/N] deserves something sweet and simple,” Lyney says, shrugging his shoulders. 
You look around the Opera Epiclese, searching for a clock. You just want the show to start already. You don’t think you have the patience to deal with multiple people debating over nicknames given to you. 
Ayato crosses his arms over his chest, looking at Lyney curiously. “And what is that?” Ayato asks.
Lyney smiles and grabs your hand, kissing your knuckles again. “Mon amour, have I ever told you how beautiful you look under the lights of the Opera Epiclese?” Lyney purrs, looking up at you through his thick eyelashes. 
“Huh!? Mon amour!? That’s just ‘my love,’ but in another language!” Kaveh exclaims, propping one hand on his hip while leaning on one leg.
Cyno yawns. “And you say the previous nicknames aren’t creative? I would say the same for you,” Cyno mutters nonchalantly.
Lyney releases your hand and sighs softly. “While the nickname is common, I believe it sounds better and more endearing in another language,” Lyney says proudly.
Tighnari huffs and leans to Albedo, whispering, “I find it ironic how he doesn’t like the nicknames Childe and Itto had given [Y/N] when the nickname he gave [Y/N] falls in the same category.”
Albedo chuckles and shakes his head. You sigh and close your eyes, mentally praying to the Hydro Archon to start the magic show already so you don’t have to be caught in the middle of whatever is going on right now. As if the Archon has heard your prayers, the doors to the Opera Epiclese open, and audience members gradually start trickling into the room. Lyney sighs, turning to look at the men around you.
“This is my cue to prepare for the show. I hope you all enjoy the show!” Lyney says, smiling at everyone before turning to look at you. “I hope you’ll cheer for me as I perform, mon amour,” Lyney adds, winking at you before walking to the back of the stage when Lynette gestures for him to get his butt backstage.
You sigh, puffing your cheeks out before sitting down. The men grumble as they begin taking their seats, no longer arguing over who's going to be sitting beside you during the show. The magic show was almost two hours long— the overall show was entertaining, and you could see why Lyney is such a popular magician in Fontaine. He’s charming and witty. He knows how to put people on the edge of their seats, wanting to see more of the magic tricks up his sleeves.
Lights suddenly shine on you, startling you out of your thoughts. You look around cluelessly while the audience stares holes into your body. You clear your throat and look at the stage, only to see that Lynette’s the only person standing on stage while her brother, the star of the show, is nowhere to be seen. 
“Huh?” You look around, searching for the Fontainian magician.
Hands cover your eyes, causing you to place your hands over the person’s hands. You hear shuffling from behind you.
The person whispers, “How much do you trust me?”
You space out. How much do you trust this person behind you? You know it’s Lyney. Who else would it be? You decide to go along with it and see where it goes from there. It’s part of his magic trick, and you wonder what he has in store for you and the audience.
You press your lips into a thin line. “I trust you a decent amount,” you reply.
“Do you trust me?” Lyney asks.
You nod slowly. “Yeah, I trust you,”
Lyney smiles and continues to cover your eyes. “Wonderful! Now, please stand up for me.”
You furrow your eyebrows with confusion but continue to do what he says. You hear more shuffling around you. You didn’t know what you were expecting, but when Lyney pulls his hands away from your eyes and tells you to open your eyes, you find yourself in another room. You’re still in the opera house, but you’re not in the audience.
You look at Lyney. “Where are we?” You ask.
“We’re backstage! However, I would like for you to do something for me,” Lyney says, walking toward the wooden box and gesturing to it.
You point at the box, raising your eyebrows at Lyney. “You want me to go in the box and do what exactly?” You ask. “I’ll have you know, I’m not a magician or an assistant to a magician.”
“It’s a surprise,” Lyney says, winking at you.
You get into the box and watch the other assistants close the box. You press your back against the box, feeling the box getting wheeled away somewhere. You trust Lyney despite meeting him not long ago before the performance. You hear the faint chattering of the audience and Lyney’s muffled voice from outside the box. 
You were so distracted with trying to hear what Lyney was saying to the audience when the box was suddenly airborne. Your heart sinks into your chest, your stomach drops, and you close your eyes, bracing for impact. Whatever trick Lyney has up his sleeves, you trust him. You’re going to be okay, and you’re not going to get hurt. 
Right?
The box opens, and Lyney peeks into the box, gazing at you. You stare at Lyney, confused. Lyney holds his hands out for you to take. You grab his hands and step out of the box. You thought the box was falling from a great distance, but you were wrong. One minute you assume you’re freefalling in a box, and now you find yourself standing on a platform beside Lyney. 
Huh? What just happened?
“Why do you look confused?” Lyney teases, poking your cheeks.
You shake your head. “I have so many questions,” you mutter.
Lyney hands you a rainbow rose from thin air, giving them to you. You grab the flower and look at the audience, still confused about what happened. As much as you wanted to ask Lyney how you went from being in the audience to being on stage beside Lyney as his “volunteer assistant,” you have an inkling feeling Lyney is going to tell you the same thing. “A magician never reveals his secrets.”
Lyney laughs, twirling you around in front of the audience before having you face him. You blink rapidly, feeling the dizziness hit you. Lyney pinches your cheek and waves at the audience as they all begin to leave while the men get up from their seats and start walking over toward the stage. Lyney wraps his arms around your waist and jumps off the platform.
“You didn’t inform me about this stunt, Lyney,” Lynette says, propping her hands on her hips while glaring at her brother.
Lyney releases you, and you fix your clothes, sighing in relief when your feet touch the ground. Lyney rubs the back of his neck, laughing shyly. 
“Lynette, I sometimes bring volunteers to the stage, remember?” Lyney reminds Lynette. “What? Don’t tell me you’re jealous,” Lyney teases, poking his sister’s cheek with a shit-eating grin.
Lynette rolls her eyes and lightly smacks Lyney’s hands from her face. You sit at the edge of the stage, blanking out. You’re not sure if you have brain fog or if Lyney is such a charmer that he can get you in many situations without noticing the warnings. You rub your temples and close your eyes, sighing. Your mind is all over the place— you can’t think straight. Someone stops beside you and sits next to you at the edge of the stage. You look to see Wriothesley and Neuvillette. 
“Did I happen to space out the entire time during the show? I can’t help but feel like I missed out on a lot of things,” you say.
Neuvillette smiles and tucks your hair behind your ears. “Well, Lyney did ask for volunteers for the last part of the show, and you happen to volunteer,” replies Neuvillette.
Well, this is news to you.
You hug your knees to your chest and rest your chin on your knees. “That’s odd. I don’t remember volunteering,” you mumble.
Kaeya laughs from behind you, squatting behind you, and ruffles your hair. “Maybe you didn’t notice because he’s a sweet talker who managed to enchant you with his words,” Kaeya says, pinching your cheeks.
Gorou laughs nervously. “I would be careful if I were you. It seems like his sister isn’t too pleased about him giving you that rainbow rose,” Gorou says, peeking over his shoulders.
You shrug your shoulders and rest your head on Neuvillette’s shoulders, twirling the rainbow rose around by the stem. Unbeknownst to you, Lyney doesn’t plan on stopping wooing you anytime soon. As long as he (and the others) get to see the pretty smile on your face, Lyney doesn’t want to stop sweet talking you.
Note: Not sure how I feel about this mini-fic.... anyway, depending on how high demand Lyney is and if he's an adult (or at least a young adult above the age of 19), I will add him to the harem. Other than that, he and his little brother will make appearances in fics here and there, depending on what the fic is about. Freminet is not going to be added to the harem, in case anyone is wondering. Since there is a hurricane headed toward my state, I don't know how the future of this upcoming fanfic is going to turn out. I'm just hoping the power doesn't go out and that everything will be fine. I just want to write fanfics and post them. Anyway, to all my new and returning readers, keep in mind that I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!
Taglist for my Isekai'd!Reader one-shot series and my overall taglist: @chirikoheina, @yoru-trash, @kaoyamamegami, @deartoru, @toobytub, @ins4nebish, @bokuto-kinnie, @jadedist, @mompt2, @thelost-in-time, @ventisweetheart, @hispasian-otaku, @juuuuuj101010, @samarill, @testsubject0012, @irisxiel, @kazuhaprnt, @lunarapple, @emilymikado, @vinnie-w, @n8mareee, @heyimkay, @eliciana, @blesstosuisen, @goldeneclipsedragon, @jjvr4yxc, @sovermike-21-blog, @vox34, @skyyyyackerman, @undecidingfate, @nightlysunn, @faeryminnyx, @simpcreator, @lucifarts-boxers, @thelovebuggs, @urlocalheizousimp, @sunlightstarr, @asoulsreverie, @thedarkwinterrose, @soobinsgirlfriend, @inapileofbooke
Read more of my works on my Masterlist / Masterlist 2 | Maybe support me by tipping me on Ko-Fi or by reblogging my fanfics! ^^ I will also be posting exclusive fanfics on Ko-Fi as well very soon! I might post all of my stories on there too, but who knows. You can also tip me on Tumblr if you'd like as a way to show support! ^^
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mizukiramman · 3 months
Text
—lace panties (caitlyn kiramman)
CLICK HERE FIRST, FREE PALESTINE!!!
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pairing: mean!dom!caitlyn x maid!reader
summary: it's been two years since you were hired as the maid of the kiramman household. it's also been two years since you've had a crush on their only daughter. what could ever happen if she found you playing with her favorite lace panties?
warning: 18+ MINORS DNI! MEN DNI! I'M IN YOUR WALLS!!! caitlyn is really mean :(, out-of-character caitlyn, reader is a big pervert, making out, voyeurism, degradation, dry humping, ass slapping, cunnilingus(r! receiving), fingering(r! receiving), edging, begging, ok let me know if i missed anything!
a/n: i put ooc caitlyn bc i don't think her arcane version would do this... i have never played lol but guys imagine how mean lol caitlyn would be... lawd release me!!!
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It was a quiet day in the Kiramman household. Madame Cassandra’s day has started early as she’s been in the Council of Piltover since this morning to furthermore investigate what had happened last night during the Progress Day event. On the other hand, Sir Tobias had just exited the door to go run some errands for the family, and he had left you instructions to just clean around the mansion.
Caitlyn is resting in her bedroom after the incident last night. A fire had happened during her duty while guarding the event. The nurse that took care of her overnight told you that it was a long story, and you had no intentions of squeezing yourself into the issue. It was already bad enough as it is.
As the Kiramman maid, it was your job to do as you were told and only approach the family when they needed you. They were a lovely family, and you did not want to get on their bad side. So, you have been minding your business as much as possible when it comes to issues such as this.
You have been cleaning around the house, vacuuming the thick carpets, wiping down surfaces and cleaning the windows. It was only eleven am and you had everything almost done.
As you finish tidying up the living room, you make your way to the laundry room where you meet with three piles of dirty clothing. You had already taken the hampers from the family’s rooms earlier today, all you had to do now was give them a wash.
You start off with Madame Cassandra’s clothes, taking everything into the empty washing machine. You add soap and detergent before letting it start.
Like any other room in this mansion, the laundry room was also enormous. Gowns and expensive garments hanging on a clothing rack in one corner with the washing machine and dryer across it. There was even enough room for them to add a chair and a table, usually the area where you would fold after the clothes were done drying.
You sit on the chair as the sound of the running machine fills your ears. You place an arm on top of the table, resting your chin on the back of your hand. It truly was a quiet day in the Kiramman household…
You gaze down at the other two hampers and recognize a piece of black garment on top of Caitlyn’s pile.
You remember it from an encounter that happened last night before Caitlyn had to leave for her duty. You were sweeping the floors of the hallway when you saw that her bedroom door was slightly open.
She had on a pair of black lace panties and just a bra. You watch while she preps herself for the night, spraying her expensive perfume onto the nape of her neck and the inside of her elbows. You find yourself biting the bottom of your lips as you watch her lather lotion all over her body, thinking how it would feel if it were your hands gliding through her skin instead.
Caitlyn begins to get into her attire. Your eyes gazing at the way she pulls each knee sock up her legs, and the way her blue uniform hugs her waist, how the top underlines her tits just right. You could never get tired of how irresistible she looked every single time.
You exhale, that familiar feeling starting to grow in between your thighs. You shake your head at yourself, walking back in shame before Caitlyn finds out you have been peeking at her.
It was inappropriate to think of the daughter of your employer like this. Madame Cassandra would fire you on the spot if she saw you lurking at her daughter getting dressed. You felt like a pervert, but you can’t seem to control yourself. You just couldn’t stop admiring Caitlyn.
You snap out of your thoughts, and you find yourself in front of Caitlyn’s dirty laundry with her black panties in your hand. You grip the garment in between your fingers, looking at the pretty details on its lace.
Thoughts of Caitlyn begin to flash in your mind. The way her ass pokes out when she bends down to pick up something she dropped, the way she seems really attentive while looking into your eyes when you ask her what she wanted for dinner, the way she says your name, how it sounds seductive whenever she says it.
You were obsessed with her, you had been since the day you were hired two years ago when the last maid had retired. As soon as you laid your eyes on Madame Cassandra’s daughter, you felt yourself fall into a pit of infatuation for her. The way she smiles at you, how her lips would feel if they were against your skin, how the woman could easily tower over you because she was way taller than you.
You whimper at your dirty fantasies, your thighs squeezing together as you take Caitlyn’s panties over your clothed tits, the expensive lace getting tangled in your fingers as you squeeze.
Your whimpers turn into moans as your voice harmonizes with the working washing machine. Your hand travels down to your heat, your mouth falling open as you start to grind against your palm.
“Wow.”
Your breath hitches and suddenly your heart stops. You instantly knew who that voice belonged to. Your head turns to the woman standing by the door, her body leaning against the wall with her arms crossed.
Caitlyn was supposed to be resting. What was she doing in the laundry room? Did she need something from you and you weren’t there to assist her? How long has she been watching you?
You were totally going to get fired after this.
She starts to walk towards you, “What do you have to say for yourself?” She asks. Stern. Your brain begins to get fuzzy from the embarrassment. You had no idea how to respond to her, what to say to her to explain what you were doing just now.
“I- um..” You look away in shame, your cheeks feeling hot.
Caitlyn leans forward, her face meeting yours as her eyes travel to the panties being entwined in your fingers. She snatched it from you, “What a naughty girl.” She scorns, swinging the garment around her pointer finger.
You refuse to look her in the eyes, not even have the nerve to face her. Your face was completely in a different direction, away from the girl in front of you.
She takes a good grip of your face, the pressure of her fingers forcing your lips into a pout. “I’m talking to you, y’know. It’s not kind to ignore people.” She warns.
“I’m sorry…” Your words barely leave your mouth from how tight she was holding you.
She snickers and lets go of your face, “Sorry for what, darling?” She leans back and starts making her way behind you, pressing her stomach against the back of your chair. “For ignoring me, or for doing something so promiscuous thinking I won’t find out?”
Your hands grip at the edge of the seat next to your sides. Caitlyn was scary like this, but that aching feeling in your cunt doesn’t seem to go away. Were you getting off on her mocking at you?
“Y’know, I needed your help with this investigation that I was working on.” She places her hand on the tip of your shoulder, sliding it down your arm. You feel her bend down as her lips brush against the shell of your ear slightly. “but I have a much better idea.”
You heave as you feel her hands fly onto each of your tits, fondling them gently with her palms. “Dirty fucking girl.” she spits, watching as you tilt your head back. “You like thinking of your boss’ daughter like this?”
A whimper escapes out of you, “Fuck…”
“So typical,” Caitlyn’s hands move towards unbuttoning your top, your tits popping out as she pulls your uniform just above your stomach. “Of course a maid would have a crush on the girl she works for.”
“But go figure, right?” She continues, spinning the chair you were sitting on around so you would face her. “Since I’m so nice, I’ll do the honors of making one of your perverted fantasies come true.”
Caitlyn grabs you by the waist, hoisting you up and sitting you on top of the working washing machine. Your hips start to subconsciously grind down, chasing the vibrations below you before the woman in front of you forces you down. “Did I say you could do that?” Her eyes pierce through you.
A whimper bubbles out of your throat as you shake your head, “No, I’m sorry…”
“I’m not that nice, sweetheart.” She says, running up her hand underneath your skirt. “You’re gonna have to earn it, yeah?”
She places her palm on your clothed cunt, her free hand reaching behind you to unclasp the lock of your bra. You shake it off your arms and place it next to you where it rests underneath your fingers. “So pretty for me, baby.” She mumbles before leaning forward to kiss your chest just above your tits. Her breath was warm against your skin as she bites and sucks.
You tilt your head back, giving her access to your neck, to which her lips start to make their way up. Just as they reach your jaw, she places another kiss. As she tugs down on your uniform, you buck your hips up while she pulls your dress down to your ankles.
“Gonna be good for me?” She whispers in your ear, her hands reaching down to grab on your ass.
“Ngh… Mm… Mhm~” You couldn’t form words if you wanted to. You were practically melting in her touch, but that doesn’t last when you feel a sting against the skin of your ass. You jump, yelping at the sudden contact, “Oh god!”
“Answer.” Her nails start to dig into your skin.
Your eyes flutter, your mouth falling open as you try to speak. “O-only for you, Cait…”
She must have liked that response, you watch her bite on her lip while gazing at your own. “C’mere.” She pulls you in for a kiss, a hungry one where it feels like you were slowly getting inhaled. It was desperate and sloppy, forcing her tongue inside your mouth to meet with yours.
Her hips begin to buck against you, pulling you towards her simultaneously. She groans against your lips, your thighs opening up more to give her access.
She pulls away, taking your panties off and throwing them on the ground. “You’re not as slick as you think you are.” She says, feeling her warm fingers over your clit. “I have always known you wanted me.”
“I notice the way you look at me since you got hired,” she begins circling around your bud, “anybody with a brain can figure you out.”
“God… Cait…” You squirm beneath her touch.
“Did you like watching me get dressed last night?” She bends down, leaning her face towards your cunt while maintaining eye contact. “Fucking perv.” She smickers before burying her mouth into your pussy. Her tongue flicks up and down on your clit while she rubs your inner thighs.
She knew you were peeking at her getting dressed? How did that happen? You were so sure you were being careful.
You arch your back at the sensation. You couldn’t believe this was happening. The view of her back muscles tensing up turning you on even more. Moans and curses flood out your mouth as your hands pull on her hair. “Caitlyn, oh my gosh…”
Without warning, she slides a finger inside you, your juices making it glide right in. “Fuck, so wet for me, baby.” She mumbles against your clit, sending vibrations that make you choke out profanities.
Caitlyn sucks on your bud, adding another finger and curling them inside you, hitting that spot that makes you roll your eyes back. “Ngh… Fuck, Cait… Just like that, please!”
White cream paints over Caitlyn’s fingers as she pushes them in and out of you. Your insides twitch and your walls tighten around her digits, only making her aware of one thing.
“You’re getting close, sweetheart?” Her eyes travel up to meet with yours, her tongue kitten licking at your clit. You bite your lip at the feeling of your high coming close, nodding at the woman in front of you.
You were almost there, your hips pushing down onto Caitlyn’s fingers. You were practically riding on them.
Suddenly, she stops moving, along with her free hand holding you down to stop you from grinding against her. Your mouth forms a pout. “Beg for it.” She says, feeling the sensation go away. “You can do that for me, right?”
“Mmm��� Caitlyn… Ngh… ” You grunt out, trying to squirm away from her hold on you. “Please, please, let me cum around your fingers.” You plead, your entire face blushing the color red from the embarrassment.
She smiles at your response, “Atta girl!” Caitlyn pushes her digits inside, hitting your cervix harder with each thrust. “So good for me.”
“Gonna cum, Cait…” You mumble before an overwhelming pleasure floods through your body. Your back is arching as your hands try to hold onto something. Caitlyn takes a hold onto one of your hands, her mouth latching onto your clit as she helps you ride out your high.
Your chest comes up and down, the woman making her way back up to kiss you softly, your own liquid coating your lips.
She pulls back, rubbing her hands on the skin of your thighs, “Got any more perverted fantasies, sweetheart?”
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sweetsirenscribbles · 21 days
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Morning After
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John Price x Reader
A/N: This is legit only my second fic ever. I don't have anyone to proofread, sorry for any mistakes.
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!
Warnings: smut but not detailed, drinking, a teeny tiny bit of angst, fluff
When you woke up, you didn’t open your eyes. The sheets against your skin felt odd. Your mouth was sour, letting you know you had fallen asleep without brushing your teeth. Taking a deep breath in you stretched your limbs in the bed. You let out a satisfied groan before you realized you were completely naked. That made you stop mid-stretch and open your eyes. The room was dimly light by a floor lamp next to a chair in the corner. You didn’t recognize the lamp or the chair. As you sat up and took stock of the room you found yourself in the events of last night flood your brain. You had gone out to dinner with a friend for their birthday, but you ended up at a bar playing pool. The group had gotten nostalgic over your days as young adults with less responsibilities and better tolerance for alcohol. Which is how you ended up at the bar in the first place. You personally had only planned on staying out for a little while, but your friend had pulled the birthday card on you knowing you didn’t have any real plans the next day. While playing pool your group began chatting up the guys at the table next to yours and learned it was a group of military guys. There had been a guy who was so pretty you had initially thought he was a model. He had been introduced as Gaz. There had been a guy with a mohawk and Scottish accent who went by Soap and a man wearing a black face mask and a beanie who seemed impossibly large that Soap called Ghost. Ghost had been quiet the entire night only communicating in one word answers and grunts. Then there was John. When you had spotted him a zing had run up your spine. He had fixed his steady cerulean eyes on you when your friend had introduced you to his group. John had made a point to shake your hand during the introduction process which had caused heat to rush up your neck into you hairline. You remember hearing your friend snicker next to you while you stuttered out a greeting. The way John’s eyes crinkled around his eyes made your heart skip. You had vaguely thought the he was the only person you’d ever seen that had muttons chops that you found insanely attractive. During the course of the night you had chatted with him while you all played pool and drank. John had been surprisingly easy to talk to and you had soon found yourself chatting and exchanging flirty remarks with the man. You had planned on working up the courage to exchange numbers with him before you left. However, as you friends settled their tabs and ordered Ubers, John had asked you if you’d like to come back to his place. You’d had just enough to drink to be tipsy and agree before too much thought. You sent your friend a quick text and also starting sharing you location, because safety. Once you’d gotten to John’s house he’d pushed you against the inside of the front door and made you cum on his tongue twice before he carried you to his bedroom.
Just thinking about how things had gone down (pun intended) made your skin flush. You must have passed out at some point in the night. The man in question was not currently in the room. You get out of the bed and search for your clothes. Everything was folded neatly on the chair next to your lamp. Thankfully your phone was still in your pants pocket with 20% battery life and about ten messages from your friends asking how you tonight had gone. You dressed quickly and made your way out of the bedroom. Once you were out of the room you could smell coffee and hear movement in the kitchen. You walked down the hallway and found yourself standing in the living room. “You’re awake.” A voice called from your left. You turned to see John standing in his kitchen shirtless smiling at you softly. “Yeah, I figured I’d worn out my welcome.” You rushed, feeling only slightly embarrassed at being caught. “Oh sweetheart, you haven’t worn anything out. I think I might have worn you out last night though.” John remarked with a gleam in his eyes. Heat flushed your cheeks and ears as you opened and closed your mouth, at a loss for words. A dark chuckle rumbled through John’s chest as he made his way to where you stood. “Don’t be shy now love.” John caressed your cheek gently as he peered down into your eyes. The urge to close your eyes and lean into his hand was so strong, but you just stood and stared at him. Your heart thudded in your chest quickly. “Come on, I made us breakfast.” He dropped his hand from your face and turned back to the kitchen. 
You waffled between trying to make a break for the door and sitting down at the kitchen table. You watched John start to make two plates, before you finally walked into the kitchen with a small huff of resignation. You really liked John a lot. He seemed like a good guy, but he was career military and you were under the impression he wasn’t exactly looking for more than a fling. While you didn’t regret having sex with him, because truthfully it had been the best sex you’d ever had, you didn’t really want a situationship.
John pulled a cup out of a cabinet and turned to you. “How do you take your coffee?” He asked turning to the refrigerator. “John, this really isn’t necessary.” He turned back to you with a frown tugging at his eyebrows. “Do you prefer tea? Let me put the kettle on.” He said turning back away from you. “No. John. I mean all of this. You don’t have to feed me. I’d rather not draw this goodbye out longer than needed.” You blurted out. John took a step towards you. “What are you going on about?” He questioned with an unreadable expression. You took an uneasy step back. “T-this,” you stammered. “Who does this for a one night stand?” The edge of the table pressed into the back of your thighs. You realized then you’d been backing away from John and was now stuck between him and the kitchen table. “One night stand? Is that what you think this is?” John crossed his arms over his chest.Your eyes flickered down to take in the way his arms bulged across his hairy chest. When you meet his eyes they had a knowing gleam to them. “I mean I’d like to see you again, but I figured that with your job you wouldn’t want to.” You sputtered feeling like you were being scolded somehow. John grabbed your hand gently and brought it to his lips before softly kissing each of your knuckles. “I might have gone about things out of order, but I very much want take you out on a proper date and get to know you better. I know me being in the military isn’t ideal, but I want to try if you’re willing.” He declared staring into your eyes. His words surprised you and you couldn’t help the goofy grin that formed on your lips. “I’d like that very much actually.” You breathed out. “Good.” John mumbling staring at your lips as he leaned into your space. Your eyes fluttered shut when his lips pressed against yours delicately. John’s tongue ran along the seam of your lips. You pulled back. “John, I have really bad morning breath.” You tried to deter him. “I don’t care.” He growled before capturing your lips again. A whimper escaped your throat and John took the opportunity to tangle his tongue with yours. Your hands come up to his chest to ground yourself. The steady thump of his heart pulses where your hands rest. His hands rested on your hips as he pressed against you. You could feel his length harden when he wedged himself against you. You pull back to catch your breath. John took the opportunity to trail kisses along you jawline and neck. Before things could get more heated, your stomach takes the opportunity to voice its discomfort. John pulls back and lets out a bark of a laugh. “I suppose I should feed you first.” He says pulling a chair out for you to sit down in. “Now then sweetheart, how do you take your coffee?” 
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running-with-kn1ves · 8 months
Note
MASKED INTRUDER PT 3 I BEGGGGG, ugh, clingy inexperienced yandere + language barrier + overeager and aggressive + needy needy needy, He is perfect! Honestly i had a spiral and came straight here to read my comfort fics and i forgot how much i loved that one 🥺 leooooo
A/N: Still not sure what I should do about Leo's origins; I've had some thoughts but nothing really planned out. Anyway thank you lots anon!
Here's Pt. 1 and Pt. 2 Word count: 2400
TW: Possessiveness, jealousy, threats of murder, razor blades, average creepy dude living in your walls behavior
Synopsis: An unexpected guest comes over, causing chaos to ensue.
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The sensation of soap under your fingernails and warm water running down your forearms was one of comfort that you openly welcomed. You couldn't remember the last time you took a bath, and you could hardly count this bathing of your 'roommate' as a bath of your own.
But with your shirt soaked and your forehead damp, you finally had what could be mildly considered a clean version of Leo.
He begrudgingly sat on the cool tile floor, allowing you to ruffle his hair with a bath towel (which was really a poor attempt to manage the mess of loose, lengthy curls on his scalp.) He needed a haircut for sure, but you couldn't muster up the courage to put the scissors to his head. 
Getting him out of the house to an haircut appointment would never happen. To say he was agoraphobic was a complete understatement-- he abhorred the outside world. You sometimes think about what would've happened If you hadn't taken pity on him, allowing him to continue to find refuge in your tiny home. Or, was it perhaps he was allowing you? Until, he found that you wouldn't suffice as a worthy roomate any longer, disposing of you like he could've done to whoever originally owned this home. The mystery surrounding his origin that he seemed to completely ignore answering on still made you… cautious.  
He still felt like an extension of the house; the smell of its creaky, rotting walls, still always clinging to him-- even now, after you scrubbed him down from head to toe twice. 
You grunted as you roughly tugged his head back and forth to rub the remaining water away. Unfortunately, that left you with a frizzy Leo with more hair spun out of control than you knew what to do with. 
He blindly searched for the towel behind him without turning his head, yanking it away when he felt it in his fingers. 
"Do it myself…" he mumbled croakily, like a rusted music box. 
"Alright." You said, slightly offended. You held your hands in front of you dramatically, watching Leo wrap himself with the towel.
He looked so frail like this, on the bathroom floor with his knees pulled up to his chest. His scrawny frame hardly gave him any weight either, even if he was above six foot. You wondered if he really could hurt you, if-- he ever had the urge, to stab you with the rusty razor blade you watched him grip after he came out of the walls once company left. 
How long would it be? Until he snapped,  until one argument was just too much, and you were no longer his favorite person in the world. Tonight was one of those nights, where you imagined yourself bleeding out on the floor, Leo standing above you with that blade, or perhaps a knife from the kitchen-- the one you noticed had gone missing a few days prior.
Your fear wasn't out of place despite how many times you tried to rationalize how stupid it was. 
Several hours earlier, before Leo was as clean as he was now, you had a guest over. 
It was an old university friend, a guy you met in your first year during some odd end prerequisite or math class-- You couldn't remember. But it didn't matter, at least not to Leo. 
The moment the "intruder" sat down, you heard Leo's presence shift behind him. You could see his black eyes peering in and out of the holes in the dining room, sounds of his sporadic shuffling echoing throughout the house. You cringed everytime your friend looked up and around himself in confusion, curious of the noise. 
"It's just rats," you cover, kicking the wall behind you with a force that should've knocked down the drywall. The sound of Leo letting out a thump of retaliation nearly made your smile crack.
 You had rescued your university pal several times over the course of that night, finding the dead bugs in his drink before he could've noticed, and shutting Leo back into his hiding spots anytime you saw his hand or leg peek through, when he occasionally got the courage to try and dispose of the 'threat.'
It wasn't until your guest had asked to use the bathroom however, that Leo managed to gain a win. Cursing and yelling from the locked door made you panic, the few minutes of silence in the living room having seemingly tricked you of peace. You should’ve known that silence never meant a good thing. 
Sprinting to the bathroom, you got there in time to find your old friend covered head to do in dust and dirt, the bathroom vent still emitting a cloud of grey. Dust fell from the vent, spraying with the blow of the air conditioning. 
"Stop!" You screamed, kicking the back of the bathroom wall multiple times in retaliation. The dust immediately lessened, flecks still falling into your hair. You grunted and cursed, seeing the disaster your bathroom had become and the filth your friend was left in. 
It was safe to say you escorted him quickly out thereafter, blaming the “malfunction” on your worse for wear vent ducts. His confused expression lingered as you walked him out the door. Your horrible cover ups had you questioning whether or not he was convinced but thankfully there seemed to be some sort of unspoken understanding-- maybe he knew you had to be going through something from how odd your behavior was all night-- or maybe it was just misplaced pity.
 Either way, you were relieved to watch him exit the door with a washcloth you knew you’d never get back, telling him to be safe on his way home with a wry smile. 
Shutting that door was the biggest relief ever. The last person you'd want to know about your odd roomate situation was one of the few people in the world who had preconceived standards of you. 
You had never worried about Leo when you had groups of friends over; he never dared to leave from his hiding spot when more than one foreign person entered the house. But this time, it had been a single unknown entity, and a male one at that. You felt the realization hit you directly in the gut as your back laid against that cool wooden door, the sounds of Leo leaving one of his more trickier, less clean hiding spots echoing in the house.
"Leo?" You called out, a slight inflection of annoyance in your voice. 
You watched him crawl out of the large vent in your hallway, the metal grate coming off as two dirty hands forced it to the floor. Leo shimmied his way out of the tiny crawlspace, clouds of dirt coming with him as his legs finally came free. 
Scrambling up, the male blew dust out of his mouth, wobbly getting to his feet. With a sly glare and a satisfied expression, Leo looked towards to you silently; smugly. 
Pinching his ear and dragging him to the bathtub had been your first approach at reprimanding him; but it had done nothing to deter him. Leos silentness and resentful, pouting face left you to scold a brick wall, his rigidness extending to his body's heavy limbs and sluggish pace. 
Even now while slowly rubbing the towel back and forth on his scalp, his face turned away defiantly. 
A quiet moment passed as you watched him scrub himself dry. 
"I just… I don't understand why you have to act this way." 
Leo stopped. His head had been hanging low, thin wrists resting on his knees as water droplets rolled down the ends of his hair. His hand-me-down stretched pajamas covered his chest and thighs. You never thought an old pair of basketball shorts and a faded grey shirt would look so good on him, but you couldn't help to linger on his fingers and the curve of his neck muscles. 
Without warning Leo stood up, pushing off the ground with one hand as he held the towel loosely in the other. 
"What're you doing?" You question.
He wouldn't face you; his mask prosthetic was left on the edge of the tub, and without it-- well, it was impossible to make eye contact with him.
Leo reached for the light witch next to the shut bathroom door, flipping it without a word.
As soon as you saw him pull the light switch the color drained from your face. 
You didn't speak, waiting in the dark to see what Leo's next move would be. Maybe he hid that Razor blade somewhere in his clothes, and was aiming it at you right this second. 
"If you're gonna--"
"Shh." A voice hushed. 
The warmth of flesh was pressed against your lips. It was a finger; hot breath fanned above you,  the finger on your lips turning to a hand that cupped your cheek. Your face was held so securely, being tipped upwards as he stood leering above you. The bathroom was quiet save for the dripping of the bath pipe, and Leo's heavy breathing. 
Leo reached for you, awkwardly climbing atop your lap. He stumbled at first, but the way he curled his arms around your back, you felt like you couldn't let him go.
His nose nestled into the crook of your neck, crumpling into you like an animal looking for warmth. 
"I don't share…Don't like it.." he mumbled.
"What?"
"Things, my things.." He started, the sounds of his labored breaths hitting your ear. "Don't like it when… strangers touch… my things."
"Wai--Leo!" 
You couldn't help but search for his eyes in the dark, doing a happy little wiggle with him in your arms.
"Your voice has improved so much!" You beamed. He hadn’t spoken since the incident, and before that-- well, it took a lot to get him where he was.
“See, I knew pushing you would pay off.” You beamed, gloating in the feeling of success after remembering all the painful vocabulary lessons and hours of his stubborn behavior when you refused to answer his nonverbal pleads. 
Leo’s quietness as you pinched his ear beneath his fluff of loose curls gave you time to snap back to reality-- remembering the words he just spoke. Leo basked in the praise, gripping onto your damp shirt as he ignored your change in expression. 
The obvious possessiveness made you nearly cringe; this is exactly what you were trying to avoid. 
“But Leo, I’m not just yours- I’m everybody’s. There are other people my time has to be shared with--”
You were cut off with the flick of an all too familiar razor blade, twirling in Leos fingers.
“Then….I’ll kill them.” 
“....Kill?”
Leo leaned up, bringing his face closer to yours than he’d ever done before.
“I… wanna kill. Him. Kill….all of them..” His eyes were wide in the dark, and you could see the faint outline of the scars running down his face. You stared hard into his eyes, witnessing the fear and paranoia in them. “They’ll take.. You away. He will.” His throat was getting raspier, more raw. 
“Leo, you know you can’t say things like that..” You softened. He sounded so small, you could hardly believe his words. But in the back of your mind, alarm bells and bright red warning signs were going off. 
You reached for his face, hoping to hold it in your hands, feel the warmth of his skin. But Leo stopped you, holding your wrists. He rejected you from touching his face, again; had things truly changed? Had you made any progress with him?
And like clockwork, Leo reached for his mask, by the bathtub, sitting comfortably on your lap as he faced you. 
He adjusted the prosthetic on his face, resting it snugly as the back clipped. 
“You really wanna stop me from kissing you that badly?” You joked. 
But then the mask was lifted, just slightly, as Leos lips came closer for yours. Now that you brought the idea up, he wouldn’t let it go. 
“Kiss..” He mumbled, trying to reach for your face.
“Ah ah,” You waved a finger at him. “Don’t think I’m going soft after what you just said.” Leo let you push your two fingers against his lips, puckering them. “We’ve talked about this; what did I say?”
“Killing is….it is,” 
“It’s wrong, Leo.” 
“Its.. wrong.” He whined, bringing your other hand to his chest. He didn’t want it to be wrong, he wanted you to let him run wild and do what he knew he needed to do--”
“Promise me, Leo.” You pulled your hand slightly away. “Promise me you won’t.. Hurt anyone. Okay?”
He went quiet, letting a small grunt out as you kept pulling away the longer he stayed quiet. 
“Say it.”
“Fine… okay.” He croaked. 
You went limp and let him hold you close to him, his face leaning close as he looked for your approval. 
“Kiss..?” He mumbled again, following where your head turned to catch your lips. 
“Only because you’re finally being good..” You let him grab your chin like a cat pawing at you, his other hand nestled into your hair. “But you really don’t deserve this, especially after toni--”
You were cut off with a hungry lick, Leo’s mouth twisting against yours as the mask bumped against your nose. He lifted it just a bit higher, concealing only half of his face as he leaned deeper into you. His mouth was as warm as usual, but you could feel his warn down jealousy still through the rush of his lips.You wondered if you should really be rewarding him now after all he tried to pull. 
 A guttural purr released from his throat when he broke free from your mouth with a huff, running his hand down your back. He tried to pull your hair out of your face with his free hand, leaning for another kiss. 
“Wait Leo,” You put a hand in front of your lips, the other out with your palm up. “Give it to me first.”
Leo let out a dramatic sigh. He sat for a moment, stubbornly waiting to see if you’d really push him or let it go. 
“Come on now,” You beckoned with your hand. 
Huffing with frustration, Leo took as slow as possible to pull the razor blade from his pants.
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itsgxsly · 1 year
Text
DRIVING SKILLS
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Summary: Although you know that Charles would never judge you, you feel pressured when you are the one behind the wheel.
Pairing: charles leclerc x reader
Warnings: none
Word Count: 795
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You really wish your boyfriend hadn't been so active during winter break, as it had led to back pain that would take a couple of days to go away. Which left you in the current situation. Charles had to go for a checkup to check his back now that the start of the season was approaching, and only you were there to drive him, since he couldn't drive.
"Are you sure of this?" You'd swear you'd repeated the same question twenty times in the last fifteen minutes.
“Ma coeur, I'm sure. It's only a half hour drive. It's not like you're going to kill us or anything. Or so I hope” Charles's tone made it clear that he was making fun of you, but even so you couldn't help but complain at his joke.
“Charles, I'm serious. Don't you think it would be better if one of your brothers took you and not me?" You offered the idea again even though you knew full well that his brothers weren't available to drive him.
“Baby, you know they can't. I wouldn't put you in this situation if it wasn't absolutely necessary.” Charles didn't understand why you were so reluctant to drive him, but he didn't want to bother you either.
You sighed and took the keys of his expensive Ferrari and headed to the door of your house waiting for him to go out first before closing it and heading to the car.
You couldn't remember being so nervous at any other time in your life than when you got into the car in the driver's seat. It seemed silly, but you could feel your hands shaking with every step. And apparently, your boyfriend could sense your tremors too, because with a sigh, he grabbed your hand in his just before you could start the car.
“Okay, hold on for a second. Can I know why you are so nervous?” His tone of voice didn't sound accusatory, just curious.
You took a deep breath before answering him.
"Look, don't laugh, okay?" Charles nodded. "I'm nervous because of you. Don't get me wrong, it's just that I feel a little bit of pressure having to drive with you next to me. I'm not used to it and I don't want you to judge me if I drive badly” you almost sounded like a scolded child as you explained. Plus you could feel the heat appear on your cheeks. This only increased when Charles started laughing, though he tried to cover it up with a cough.
"You said you wouldn't laugh!" Now you felt a mixture between embarrassment and anger at your boyfriend's lack of seriousness before the matter. You turned your head to the opposite side as Charles realized his mistake.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, amour. I didn't want to laugh at you” Charles tried to apologize, now feeling a little bad. Although the affectionate nickname had softened you, you decided to ignore him a bit. Charles tried again.
“Baby, look at me, come on” without waiting for an answer from you, he gently grabbed your face with his hand and turned you towards him. You didn't really resist. When you were face to face, Charles moved closer to you until he could place a soft kiss on your lips followed by several small kisses on your cheeks, kisses that made you end up laughing. Your boyfriend smiled seeing that he had achieved his goal.
“I really wasn't making fun of you. I just didn't understand why you're so nervous just having to drive” he sounded sincere.
"Well, it's a bit difficult not to feel that your driving skills are going to be judged when your boyfriend is a professional driver who makes his living doing it" you spoke to him, sounding a little sarcastic.
Charles smiled at you and leaned in to give you another kiss before speaking again.
“You know that no matter what you do, I would never, ever think of judging you. I love you too much to even think about it. Even if you drove like a grandma” and it was true that Charles would not dare to judge anything of you.
"And you wouldn't be mad at me if I accidentally crashed your car?" you asked him to mess with him.
"Uh, well..."
You gasped at his silence, hitting his chest with your hand. Charles laughed and grabbed the hand you hit him with, bringing it up to his mouth to kiss your knuckles.
"I love you very much, and I wouldn't be angry with you even if you crashed all the cars I had" he told you.
You nodded totally secure and now calmer after your conversation. You split up and started the car, now ready for the short trip.
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flanaganfilm · 1 year
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hi mike, saw someone say your ask box was open and i came running! have you ever had any ideas as to how the crain family would be getting on now a few years later/what they're doing? it's always in the back of my mind wondering if creators also wonder about those sort of things themselves once their project has ended. thanks so much & hope you have a great day!
I do think about that. Quite a lot, actually.
The Crains took on lives of their own for me. I'd never written long form before, so it was the first time I lived with the same characters for that long, and for such extended arcs. Here's where I think they are, a few years later:
Shirley: I think that Shirley and her husband overcame her disclosure of infidelity. She'd been closed off for so long, after the series ended I think she found some peace in her life and opened herself up to her marriage. I think she also began to find kindness again. They ran the funeral home together, but Shirley found purpose in helping people handle grief and loss with empathy and kindness. Her oldest would be just about ready to start college now, and I think that would have her looking back and realizing that she always remembered her childhood as seemingly endless... but now she sees just how fast it truly goes by.
Luke: Luke stayed sober. He's six years into it now, and it's gone so well that he's also become a sponsor. That doesn't mean he's immune to the struggle, far from it. He still walks up to that edge sometimes. Oddly, it's in those moments that the "Twin Thing" kicks in... and he feels an inexplicable and complete sense of love. He knows that's Nell's, and that always pulls him back from the brink. He never did find Joey, or find out what happened to her. And sometimes he still wakes up with nightmares that he's on the floor of the Red Room, or that Joey visits him with her runny-egg eyes. But no matter how hard it gets, he feels what Nell feels for him... and that always pulls him through.
Theo: Theo and Trish got married, and moved far away from New England. They currently live in Portland. She still works with children, but enjoys a much smaller patient pool. She specializes in the kids who are hardest to reach, and she's sought after for her unique and uncanny ability to connect with them. She doesn't wear gloves anymore, but she still avoids the very crowded places. She and Trish take long hikes, grow their own pot, and travel frequently and spontaneously. They're considering a surrogate... and if it's a girl, they're going to name her Eleanor.
Steven: Steve and Leigh have two kids, and are thinking they might stop there. He never wrote about what happened at Hill House, but he still writes. Science fiction. Leigh recommended the genre as a way for him to focus on the future, not the past. He likes it a lot. It's pulpy, but it's earnest. He maintains Hill House, as it is his responsibility, but he doesn't enter the property beyond the gates. He has a rotating collection of people service the property itself, always during the day, and only for a few hours at a time.
Hill House stands quietly and silently in the hills. There is something different about it. Still the same energy, but without the malice. Steve assumes this is because of Hugh, Nellie and Olivia, who maybe curb the most malicious energies of the house from within. While shadows still walk in the windows at night, there are no living souls there to see them. Mostly, Steven imagines the spirits inside spend most of their days sleeping. And if they cannot sleep, he imagines Mrs. Dudley singing softly to them on the wind.
There is grief, for all of them. There are nightmares. Horrible dreams of moldy rooms and phantom hands. They meet twice a year, usually without spouses, to catch up and raise a glass to Nell, and their parents. There is a lot of healing still to do, a lot of therapy, a lot of introspection. But there is peace, too. There is love. There is forgiveness.
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whumpsday · 1 month
Note
you got an ask about this like, a year ago (and absolutely feel free to ignore this if you want to) but could we get a drabble of jim holding human!kane's hand as he introduces him to the sun sometime?🥺
takes place after chapter 18 but before chapter 52
Chronological masterlist / Writing order masterlist
content: impossible "anon magic"-type AU, recovery, comfort, referenced past torture
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No one could explain it. One day, Kane woke up as a human, and that was that.
Jim had expected Kane to freak out, and he did a little, of course. But overall, it was a relief to them both. Kane made no secret of how overjoyed he was at the development. Despite his shortened lifespan and decreased strength, Kane was all-too-pleased with his new species. Where Jim considered being human a vulnerability, Kane could only find safety.
No risk of future hostility from the hunters that had hurt him. Protection under human territory law. The ability to eat regular food. No danger from the sun. As Kane told it, he even considered the lack of immortality a boon, his ability to experience pain capped below where it was for a vampire–his new form would perish long before it could ever experience being burned alive for days on end.
Of course, he'd freed Kane immediately, now that he posed no danger, but Kane had nowhere to go. He couldn’t exactly return to vampire territory. So he'd just... stayed. That was alright, Jim supposed. He’d already gotten used to having him around, and he didn't even have to feed him his blood anymore. He couldn’t bear the thought of forcing him to navigate the world all on his own as a new human.
Plus, he had to admit that watching Kane's face light up whenever he tried a new food was endearing.
Kane never left the house. Not during the night, when Jim warned him to be extra-careful of the new danger of vampires now that he was human, and certainly not during the day. Despite his freshly human skin, Kane remained utterly terrified of the sun.
Months after the change, it was taking his toll. Jim knew what that was like, the fatigue he’d experienced after Kane kept him away from the sun for the five years of his captivity. Kane was human now, and had never had a drop of healthy sunlight in his entire life.
So, after weeks of gentle coaxing, here they were.
Kane stood petrified in the living room as Jim slowly opened the curtain, firmly in the shade as natural light flooded into the room.
"It's okay," Jim said softly, stepping into the sun himself, warm and pleasant on his skin.
Kane stared at him wide-eyed and frozen, like he'd rather stepped into a cloud of poison.
"Here.” Jim extended an ar out of the sunned area, offering it. “Take my hand. We’ll do it together. It’ll be okay.”
“What if– what if I burn anyway?” Kane asked, making no attempt to come nearer.
“We’ll go slow. Just a fingertip, and if you burn, you can go right back out again. No one’s gonna make you stay in the sun. I’m not gonna make you stay in the sun.” Jim kept his hand out, waiting. “C’mon. You can’t put it off forever, humans need sun. It’ll be okay. No hurting.”
Kane, to his credit, took a tiny step forward. “You won’t pull me?” he asked, his voice small. He looked so much more vulnerable as a human, and he’d already looked plenty vulnerable before.
“Swear on my life, man. No pulling. You set the pace.” Jim beckoned him closer. “C’mon. You’re doing great.”
The little bit of praise seemed to motivate him, and Kane stepped closer still. His eyes crept away from Jim, to the unshielded window, following the ray of sunshine across the room until he lost his nerve. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I’m sorry, no no no, please don’t make me, I can’t!”
“It’s okay.” Jim stepped out of the sunbeam, going to Kane and taking his hand in the shade. “Not gonna make you do anything. It’s all you, remember?”
Kane gripped his hand lightly, still used to moderating vampiric strength he no longer possessed. “I’m sorry for being so difficult.”
“Pssh. After what you’ve been through, I’d be surprised if this wasn’t difficult. You’re doing great just by trying. Promise,” Jim assured him, giving his hand a squeeze. “I was difficult too, doing stuff for the first time. Gave Liz a headache taking me to the doctor when I had to get my blood drawn. But look at me now, I was doing it every day for your breakfast before you got all human-y. You’ve got this.”
It was something Jim had often felt ashamed of. But now, seeing Kane struggle too… maybe this stuff was just hard, and that’s fine.
Kane nodded slowly, taking his hand back. “Okay. Okay. I’ve got this. I–I’m going to do it.”
Breath held, he slowly closed the gap with one pointer finger outstretched. He finally touched the tip of his finger to the sun–and shrieked, pulling it back instantly and clutching it in his other hand.
“Shit! Are you hurt?” Jim asked. “For the life of me, I swear I totally thought it wouldn’t hurt you. You’re completely human in every other way. Oh my god, Kane, I–”
“It didn’t hurt,” Kane said softly, uncurling his hand to stare at his unharmed finger. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that. I thought it would hurt.”
Jim sighed with relief, giving Kane a pat on the shoulder. “Well, that’s good. Just nerves, then. You wanna try a little more?”
Kane hesitated, but nodded after a moment. “Alright. I’ll try.”
Jim walked back into the sun, holding his hand out into the shade. “Just come on over to me.”
With a deep breath, Kane took his hand. It was shaking, now, but Jim held it securely, hoping it’d make the guy feel a little safer. “I won’t pull you. You come to me.”
And he did. Inch by inch, his hand crept into the sun. There was no burst of pain, no burns blooming across his skin. The sun felt… pleasant, somehow, like a warm bath made of air. It was like nothing he’d ever felt before. Despite the terror, his body seemed to yearn for more, wanting to bask in it.
He stepped forward all at once, into Jim’s arms.
-
i'm back!! expect more writing soon!! ty to the anon who sent this ask and this anon who somehow shook me out of my slump
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simonisferal · 2 months
Text
cry — scara x gn! reader
"maybe i'd change for you someday, but i can't help the way i feel." — cigarettes after sex
reader is oblivious, friend zoning, mentions of making out/sex (hickeys, scratches, 'his first'), angst with its own version of comfort, no feelings revealed, one-sided pining
part two of dance with me
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you woke up in the morning with a huge headache.
the bed was cold and you felt as if someone else was in there with you. it unnerved you. the pillows were messed with, the blanket was fully laid on you, and the sheets were dirty. what happened last night?
the throb in your head interrupted your thoughts and it forced you to get out of bed and take painkillers. placing your feet on the cold wooden tiles and stepping away from your bed half naked, you groggily walked to the kicthen.
the hallway smelled like beer and tequila, maybe that's what you drank that made you so fucked up.
the kitchen was the small as you left it the night before. you knew yourself best and prepared a soft hangover soup. it was cold, of course and you heated it up on the stove before rummaging through drawers for ibuprofen. they were under a packet of batteries and a broken screen protector you promised to use one day.
chugging a glass of water and some pills, you set yourself a bowl. it definitely helped your aching head and nauseousness.
the living room couch was still messy, suppose that's what you get for letting some friends crash at your house. your pair of keys and a unknown wallet were on your coffee table. you tilt your head.
you eyed it as you ate, trying to figure out why it looked so familiar.
you sat up from your chair and walked towards it. it was made of leather, with a cute keychain hanging out of it. it looked like something you'd buy and match, maybe for scaramouche.
...
oh.
scaramouche was at your house. you wonder, did he take you home? did he make sure you didn't do anything stupid at the party? your head hurt thinking about it, you couldn't remember anything past a few beers. that's what you get for being a light drinker.
you open his wallet carefully and watched as small ripped pieces of notebook paper slip out. some of them were written in neat and tidy handwriting while others were in curvise. you shouldn't invade his privacy, especially after he took you back home.
you couldn't resist though. could someone blame you? picking up some pieces from the floor, you noticed a pattern in handwriting. the easy-to-read ones mentioned a romantic interest while the hard-to-read ones had poems on them. they were cute, you suppose. nothing too explicit.
you put them back in his wallet and set the leather back on the table. you'll give it to him when during your visit to his apartment.
taking some soup with you (in case your bestfriend drank too) and wallet, you got in your car and checked the rearview mirror. you had dark marks on your neck and collarbone. you suddenly felt your back hurt, it felt like someone had been clawing on your skin for hours.
what happened to you? you can't put your finger around it. i mean, it's not like scaramouche would let a random stranger do things with you, right? he took you home so he'd know what happen, right? he wasn't drunk so if you did try something, he'd stop you, right..?
you only looked away from the mirror with a frown and glared at the road in front of you.
scaramouche was surprised when he heard a knock on his door. still thinking incoherently, he opened the door. it could've been the doordash he ordered—you never know, but instead it was you.
you had no shame, do you?
you smiled at him and he felt what he felt last night again. no. he was getting ride of whatever feelings he felt for you. he refused to sense any sort of positive thing for you after last night.
"thanks for taking me home, scara." are you serious? did you really think that he took you home or was this a sick prank? scaramouche just glares at you with an unfaltering frown.
"yeah, it.. wasn't a problem." he turns his head. you take that time to look at him, his small features like his eyelashes and small eyebags, his lip piercing that felt familiar for some strange reason, and the big marks on his neck.
you were stupid enough to point them out. "i woke up with those too!"
scaramouche looks back at you with wide eyes and a pink tint on his cheeks. his mouth opened to explain but no sound came out.
"don't worry about them, they go away." he averts his gaze and walks back into his apartment. you follow him in, still curious. you tilt your head, "what are they?"
he freezes in his tracks. you pause when he does and try to see his face from behind. "..scaramouche?"
he gets out of his small trance. he doesn't look at you, only walking further into his abode. he scratches his head. "just some marks from yesterday at the party."
you shouldn't press any further, you think. you let out a sigh and sit down politely on his couch. you set down the soup you brought and looked in your pocket for his wallet. "you left your wallet at my house."
he quickly looks back at you. yep. that was his wallet, the small keychain hanging from it was his, the black leather tied to it was his, and the small paper that slipped onto his floor when you showed him it was his. he takes it from you, harshly, like he was suddenly angry with you.
"did you look through it?" he randomly asks. you stare back at him. telling him the truth would definitely reduce the trust he has in you but he knows when you lie. you hope he excuses it for a hangover. "no, why would i?" your raised eyebrow slightly calms scaramouche down and he shoves his wallet into his pocket where it belongs.
"...good." he sighs and runs his hand through his hair. he looked stressed and bothered by something. was it last night?
"can i ask you something?"
"what?"
you mess around with your fingers. "what... what happened yesterday? at the party, i don't remember anything past a few drinks." he looks down at you. he wasn't mad, or sad, or anything. that's what he wanted, right? for his first kiss to forget, for his first to be forgotten.
he hesitates. he didn't want to lie to you but he couldn't have you knowing more than what he thought you needed to. "you asked me to dance." he crosses his arms and looks away from you.
"did we?"
"yeah.. we did."
you look up at him, smiling and he cursed himself for falling in love with you. you were stupid. he was stupid. love is stupid. everything was stupid. you did stupid things and he encourage those stupid things. maybe you were the problem, or maybe he was. he already knew the answer but didn't dare to think it or say it out loud.
"was i a good dancer?" scaramouche snorts, actually looking at you with a grin. "you were horrible." he teases. you could tell it wasn't true and he could tell you knew.
you laugh and he can't help but wish he told you. told you that he loves you, properly this time. told you that he kissed you—you kissed him. told you how your tongues melted with each other's. told you how good you made him feel. told you how long he's waited to have you in his arms or him in yours.
but he can't.
"... you're a good friend." he says. his eyes falter and he puts his hands in his pockets. you grin.
"you think so?"
he nods slowly. "the best."
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heaartzforcupid · 8 days
Note
Hi uhm sorry for being disgusting but can you do big boy Dogday reacting to his (submissive) angel saying "I love you" and just ranting about how she can't live without him during their first time and getting a bit emotional toward the end? Thank you... :3c
A/N: Yayyy!! my first request that’s not from a friend ! you aren’t disgusting? I actually think this is so sweet.
“First times.”
Relationship(s): Dogday x bat!reader
Warnings: smutt, virgin, emotional at the end.
Dogday and you were friends. close friends some would say. very close friends. so close that you’d often find yourself clinging to his side or him putting his hand in the small of your back, whispering sweet nothings to you as you both watched the kids play.
Dogday loved you. you loved Dogday. but neither of you would ever ever say it aloud. so imagine how you both felt when the higher ups, put you two together as a couple in their show? both of your faces were tomatoes. You even asking how that idea occurred ? one of the many producers stating simply, “you guys were made for one another. we’ve been planned this, that’s why you were made, silly?” ouch. that kinda hurt to hear but still, you could watch yourself be with the love of your life even if it was a cartoon.
Dogday had asked you to meet him at his home which he called, “bone”. you always laughed when you remembered the name is his house. your house wasn’t that far from his so you walked. you finally came in sight of the door and took a breath, knocking. Dogday quickly opened the door, he looked abit scruffy and he was panting abit. you were abit taken back but you still stepped inside. he led you through the dark house, holding your hand. you finally made it to the kitchen and he smiled as you looked over everything he had done. he had made a candle lit dinner with one big bowl of spaghetti for you, both.
“I know it’s cheesy but—“ before he could even finish, you had started thanking him and took him a hug. he smiles softly, his gaze soft as he watched you. he wrapped his arms around you and squeezed. reassuringly. you both sat at the table and had begun to eat. you both were almost finished before you both slurped up the same noodle. you blushed at realizing. he had realized to and continued to slurp. you had gotten nervous and bit the pasta, breaking it. god, you had just ruined a chance of a kiss.
Dogday had stood up after you bit the noodle. he placed a paw on your cheek and softly rubbed. you both stared into one another’s eyes and he kissed you. soft and sweet. no lust , no anger, just pure love.
You were on your back as dogday slowly pushed his cock into you. you gripped the sheets as little tears pricked the corner of your eyes. he quickly took notice and stopped pushing his thick cock into you. he knew he was a big boy and he could tell you were a virgin so he waited, patiently. he tried to distract you, kissing and sucking down your body, his hands fondling your breasts.
After a few moments, you were ready again and Dogday made sure you were alright before he thrusted what was left inside. you choked out a sob and he silenced you with another kiss, pushing his thick hot tongue against yours. he gently began to fuck you, taking in each curve and the way your pussy tightened when he’d do a certain thing.
“fuck, baby, I love y—you so much, you’re — fuck, everything to me~!” you moaned out as dogdays balls hit the back of your plush ass. “c—couldn’t live without you, baby..~!”
Dogday had made you cum atleast 3 times before he stopped. he had tears in his eyes as he looked down at you. you quickly attempted to wipe his tears. “I—I’m sorry, Angel. I know I shouldn’t be crying right now.”
“No, no, it’s okay. what’s wrong? did I do something?” Dogday shook his head and held you close to his body as his knot swelled inside you. “hearing you say all those things.. just made me the happiest dog on earth.”
“oh Dogday ❤️” you laughed as you held him to.
A/N: not alotta smut I know , I’m sorry , I was at school when I wrote this. if you want a part two with more smut let me know, kay, pretty/handsome?
TAGS: @2faced-fairy
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