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#my brain is a cacophony
leona-florianova · 1 year
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I feel like that czech guy who makes train horn covers of melodies should have like 1 milion subscribers, cause that stuff is real art.
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fictionalfog · 2 months
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Me, minding my business:
My brain: Consider. Write a horror story.
Me: ...Why?
My brain: i dunno ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
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tr4nsvesdyke · 3 months
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last 2 journals + next 1
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#they're all pretty different styles i like that#been trying to have more fun with my journals#wait nvm i did have a journal between the eye one and the sticker one but it was completely uncustomized and didn't last long#so we'll ignore that#i also fully didn't journal for like 2 weeks bc i had done the sketch for my new journal but didn't feel like painting it#and i didnt wanna write in a black plain journal again#that feels too functional and not.. like.. it doesnt encourage me to get creative with it#anyways#turns out i had some metallic pens hiding somewhere so i used that#been feeling in a wolfy mood#i'm sad with how scuffed the stickers on my previous journal#which extra sucks cuz the letters are from bumper stickers what do you mean they're the least durable stickers i had#but oh well they were free anyways. and it kinda looks cool gives it a more well worn feel#makes the three ish months i spent carrying it around with me everywhere visible so that's nice#i really like my journals i like journaling so much#like my journals are not aesthetic whatsoever they're very practical and chaotic but i like that about them#i feel like journaling like. placebo relieves the pressure in my brain#i do not have an internal monologue i have an internal cacophony it's like a fucking assemblée générale in there#so writing it all down is very soothing to my brain and painful to my wrists#it just feels like writing is the only time my thoughts can be interpreted and even if they're going in a thousand directions they're still#easier to follow than just. thinking#and then i can surround my thoughts with doodles and receipts and shit#or a strand of my own hair#that is something that is actually in one of the journals pictured abov#anyways why am i ranting down here i've got a new journal to fill#you know what i'm tagging this#journaling#cuz i think my journals are cute and ppl should see them i'm really proud of them#even though a lot of this is stickers i still feel like it looks real cute#doodles
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westernsunshine · 2 months
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I feel like I’ve lived through at least a month just in the past 3 days. I checked the date just now and damn near had an out of body experience when I realised Monday was only two days ago
#bro the absolute sodding emotional rollercoaster i have been through this past week should be studied by scientists#thursday: unsuccessful job interview. friday: found out that the job interview was unsuccessful. but one of the interviewers (actually a#former colleague of mine lol) gave me a piece of feedback that made me feel like i’d cracked the code for all future interviews#it was this: keep. talking. give as many details as humanly fucking possible. talk about policy. drop in words like safeguarding#list as many examples of stuff as you can. tell stories. bamboozle them#OH i forgot to even fucking mention we had builders at our house until friday. friday was the last day they woke me up with a cacophony#so the weekend was uneventful aside from there was a skip in the driveway and scaffolding all down the side of the house but zero men#monday: successful interview. found out it was successful 5 hours later. got off the phone having accepted the job…… and found a text from#my old boss (the boss i had at the job i really enjoyed. that old boss) inviting me to come back this summer#i had a bit of a mental breakdown but eventually decided to stick with the job i’d just got because it’s a permanent contract and they will#let me sit down#yesterday: found out that the foster doggy i applied for and really wanted is going to her forever home on thursday (which is now tomorrow)#obviously i love this for her but i was like ‘damn. okay’#today: the foster co-ordinator was like ‘hey do you want to foster this rambunctious 3 year old unneutered terrier?’#i was like ‘sure yeah what the fuck. that might as well happen’#(they are neutering him beforehand. and he looks really cute. he’s not aggressive he’s just a young terrier with like 3 brain cells)#unless something finally kills me in the meantime i’m picking him up on monday. i cancelled therapy in order to do this. yes i’m well aware#that there’s a metaphor somewhere in there but it’s fine. i rescheduled therapy#i also have realised i do not know how and when i’m going to get my ssri prescription renewed… i know the pharmacy will call me in a couple#of weeks to make sure i haven’t died. but i think i was supposed to get a prescription renewal at therapy#the therapy i won’t be going to until like 5 days after my prescription runs out. that therapy. foook#honestly withdrawal symptoms would probably just spice up the situation at this point. they’d just make things interesting#i swear to god everything always gets crazy and stupid right before my birthday… remember when i turned 26 and couldn’t drink because i#was on antibiotics for a kidney infection. and when i turned 27 and one of my wisdom teeth tried to emerge#this is like that except with dogs and jobs. at least the skip and the scaffolding are gone now#i AM trying to sell a sofa on facebook marketplace so wish me luck with that ig#personal
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chaos-coming · 11 months
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And now for my weekly sunday complaint post about how much i hate hate hate christianity
(The church bells woke me up way too early, again)
Good morning, happy lack of sleep and high blood pressure, the christians are rhythmlessly banging metal for three!! entire!! minutes!! They have to make sure you cant go back to sleep because its their God Time.
And since they need to insert themselves into every facet and moment of your life, you are also having Their God Time now. Fuck you nobody gets to sleep on sunday this is europe, conform or be destroyed.
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himejoshikaeya · 1 year
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Yesterday I posted a story on me Instagram, talking about my experiences with disassociation/insane levels of zoning out, and how I was apparently friends with someone since primary school (so grades 1--7 btw), but I only have memories of them going back to 2 months ago; and one of my mutuals asked if I possibly have DID; and while I don't have alters (I just have funny lil characters in me brain), it got me thinking... if I do have DID or whatever, why the fuck didn't my brain create an alter who is actually useful or smth 😭😭😭 where is the funny guy who will do my homework so I wouldn't get hit with a book by my teachers goddamn!!!!
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kenni-woodard · 8 months
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I feel like there has been an assumption made that I am capable of things just because it has been assumed that everyone is capable of such things as they reach certain ages and other milestones in their life. When I in fact am not capable.
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ponds-of-ink · 1 year
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Cacophony!Scraptrap? Invading my blog?
The likelihood is higher than you think.
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lesbiantics · 2 years
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[ID: a redraw of a screenshot from the comments/thumbnail of the video “Jerma985 Gaslighting New Viewers/Chat Pt. 2” but jerma has been replaced by trixie caper, op’s mechsona. the title of the video has been edited to read “TrixiezCaperz Lying to New Viewers/Chat Pt. 2”, and the comment which reads “lying comes so easily to his forked tongue” has been edited to have been posted by “someguy” with a profile picture showing a very low-quality version of the tbh autism creature surrounded by confetti. in the drawing itself, trixie is drawn from the shoulders up, and its head is turned to the left of the canvas (away from his body) with a bashful expression. the room he’s sitting in is colored in warm tones, with a bright yellow light originating from the left of the canvas, and the opposite side colored to be nearly black. there’s a circular window on the dark wall behind him, through which stars can be seen. trixie himself he is a fat white butch with a mechanized face and throat. this particular face he’s wearing is made of a porcelain-like material, with two turquoise diamond-shapes gems embedded under his eyes, a blue teardrop-shaped one embedded in the center of his chin, smaller teardrop shapes forming a ‘mustache’ on his upper lip, and large heart markings along its cheekbones. it wears a hot pink pirate shirt with a low neckline and a multicolored pink and blue wig styled like an overgrown mullet. there’s white text over him which reads “addressing rumors of my party in the crumbling of the idyllic monarchy’, and below him in smaller much text is written ‘teehee’. end ID]
reposting some more recent art to balance out all the old shit.
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kendallspussy · 2 years
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not to be one of those *I have undiagnosed something because I saw the list of symptoms on tiktok* but you can tell there's something inherently wrong with me just by the way I do my chores and move around the house 😭
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a-luyarus · 3 months
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fun shattered skies update: i’m starting the second draft! i honestly ended up not liking a lot of the execution of the first draft, which got in the way of me posting it and finishing it at all. i still love the heart of the story as well as the trio of main characters, but i do feel like my writing of the setting and subplots left a lot to be desired, so my hope is to revamp those completely!
not sure if anyone is still waiting for updates, but i’m not sure i’ll be posting this draft (and if i do it definitely won’t be by every chapter)
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hee-pster · 2 months
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。゚゚・。・゚゚。
゚。 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨 𝐤𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐲 𓂃 ⊹ .˚
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: roommate!frenemy!chan x afab!reader
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: with a roommate like Chan, everything in life is a challenge — especially studying for your finals. he’s an annoyance, a cacophony, a statue of arrogance who likes to lounge at home, nonchalantly undressed — half dressed, in the best case scenario. but he’s not impossible to reconcile with — for this once, out of pity, he agrees to a truce with you, though he has but one wish in return: a kiss, on the lips.
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: raw smut, enemies to lovers subtones, a lot of bickering, the plot is they’re down bad for each other
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4k, I’m sorry idk how to shut up
𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: reposting this because tumblr decided to remove it from existence without my notice lmao, I hope it won't keep you from enjoying reading this nasty piece of mine tho :3 your reblogs and comments would be super meaningful because writing this took me some while, I'll be looking forward for your thoughts on this, love you🩷
༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚ ༯
You’re clutching your book’s pages for dear life while shooting daggers at Chan — your unevolved roommate, who seems to believe parading around half-naked in your shared flat is totally acceptable.
As he guzzles down an entire bottle of water shirtless, you can’t help but to wish he’d choke, silently plotting his demise as you stare his way without blinking. 
Because you’ve warned him countless times—more than you can tally—to avoid any distractions during your crucial finals week, and at this rate, you’re starting to wonder if his brain shares the same evolutionary timeline as his caveman-esque habits.
“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?” you finally snap, eyeing him as he crushes the said water bottle and casually flings it away, almost like he’s gunning to annoy you.
“Doing what?” he plays innocent, wiping the sweat from his forehead — just back from the gym and apparently, on a self-display spree.
“I mentioned my finals starting this week, remember? Can't have any distractions.”
“Sure, but how’s my water drinking a distraction?”
“You’re being too loud, that’s how,” you scoff, pointing at the crushed bottle in the trashcan, “so keep it down, and go put some clothes on for fuck’s sake.” 
Oh, so that’s what it was about, he thinks to himself, you’re not just frustrated because of the upcoming exams — you’re also . . . sexually frustrated. 
Poor thing, he ponders, you must be so desperate, maybe he should help you out. 
“Sorry Y/n, I’m afraid I can’t,” so he responds, placing his hands on both sides of his waist confidently — time to show them abs off, “you’re asking for too much, pick one.” 
“What?”
“Pick one,” he repeats, closing in on your seat, clearly aiming to up the ante of your flustered state — what can he say, he just loves how the color red looks on you.
“Because either I’m gonna keep my volume down, or throw on a shirt, not both,” he adds with a smug grin on his face, “it’s your call, make it wisely." 
Make it wisely?
What?
Is he implying something?
Wait, does he think it's about him strutting around shirtless by any chance? 
Is he that naive — enough to believe that his abs have any impact on you?
Hilarious, for real, you almost feel sorry for him.
“You can’t ask me to pick one, it's not fair.”
“And why is that?”
“Because this is my house as much as it’s yours, and I have every right to demand a distraction-free zone for studying, that’s why.” 
Fair point, but he’s got an ace up his sleeve.
“True, but it doesn’t mean you get to dictate my wardrobe.”
Oh my god, does he really wanna go there? 
“Your wardrobe?” you huff, eyeing him up and down with disdain, making a mental note to contemplate his remarkably defined abs later, “It’s common sense to not walk around naked in front of other people, I’m not dictating shit!” 
“I’m not naked, I’m wearing shorts,” he objects, emphasizing on the last word as he points down to his legs — ugh, why are his thighs so ripped, “but fine, I’ll put on a shirt if it bothers you so much.”
Oh?
Did Chan just . . . admit defeat?
Wow, maybe you were wrong all along — maybe he wasn’t so unevolved.  
“It does,” you reply, surprised in a way that’s impossible to miss, “thank you.” 
“You’re welcome,” he smirks, a mischievous glint in his eye — this can't be good, “but here’s the catch,” he adds, straightening up, hinting at something intriguing, “You’ll give me a kiss in return, just one.”
Pardon?
Did you hear that correctly?
Or is this some kind of an auditory illusion?
“I’m sorry, what?” you ask incredulously, rising to meet him face to face, “Could you say that again? I think I misunderstood.”
“I’m serious, Y/n,” he replies, stepping closer, narrowing the space between you, “You want your distraction-free zone? Here’s your shot.”
Is he actually serious?
What’s his issue?
Why on earth would he want a kiss? Aren’t you two at odds most of the time?
Is this one of his bizarre kinks or something? 
Seriously, what’s his endgame here?
“You must be out of your mind if you think I’d even consider doing that.” you snarl with a visible disgust on your face, squinting your eyes — almost as if you were daring him to make you. 
And it works, he accepts your challenge, doubles it, then returns it back to you. 
“Fine by me,” he shrugs off, completely unbothered, “I don’t want a shirt weighing on me anyways, It’s already hot in here.”
“We’re literally in January, Chan, it’s freezing outside.” 
Keyword: Outside. 
Does he look homeless to you?
“Good thing that I plan to stay in today then,” he quips, an annoying grin playing on his face, “and tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that—”
“Okay, I get it!” you interject, cutting through his list, your patience wearing thin, “I’ll do it,” you mutter, voice barely audible from your embarrassment, “I’ll kiss you, just let me study in peace, please.” 
Please, huh? 
That’s new, he likes it — he likes it a lot.  
“Deal, I’ll be no different than a ghost.” he claims, sounding not even close to reassuring. 
But well, the damage is done, and although you hate to submit, you’ve got no choice but to be obedient to his words — for your exams, no other reason. 
You take a deep breath and slowly raise on your toes, here I go, you think to yourself as you gulp down your pride, and lean in to give him a peck . . . on the cheeks.  
And he can’t even begin to tell you just how disappointing that feels. 
“What was that?” he asks, scowling,
“A kiss,” you retort, confused, “like you asked?” 
Like he asked?
Are you joking?
If you really think that’s what he meant when he said he wanted a kiss, then he doesn’t know whether to pity you or to be pissed at you, or both, in that matter. 
“Do I look nine years old to you, Y/n?” he grumbles irritably,
“Intellectually? ... yeah.” you shoot back, struggling to stifle a laugh, your lip caught between your teeth.
Funny, hah, you think he’s joking around with you? 
Do you really think he’s gonna let you get away so easily, is that why you're all sassy, throwing clever jibes about his smarts?
Maybe I wasn’t clear enough with her, he assumes, as he strides towards you with sure steps, and doesn’t stop until he’s got you pinned between himself and the counter. 
He's just curious to see how your snark holds up when you're cornered and have no place to escape, to test if your confidence is just a front or not. 
But oh boy, won’t you look at that — you're quieter than a library mouse now. 
Eyes down, not a peep — such a surprising turn of events.
“Cat got your tongue?” he jabs, his warm breath tickling your flushed cheeks, “you were in the middle of roasting my intelligence, don’t stop now, go on.” 
“I don’t want to,” you retaliate, still avoiding his gaze, “I already gave you what you wanted, your stupid kiss, now let me go.” 
His stupid kiss? 
You call that a kiss? 
Gosh, you’re hilarious. 
“Cut the crap Y/n,” he grumbles, leaning on the counter, looming over you “you know damn well what I meant by a kiss, so stop fucking around—”
Okay, you will, you’ve had enough of sparring with him anyway.
Thus, before he can finish, you lean forward, seizing his lips in a rough kiss — grabbing his cheeks, drawing him nearer, making sure your noses don't collide as you tilt his head.
But surprise, surprise: Chan responds to your kiss right away, like he's been waiting forever. In a flash, his arms circle around you, hoisting you onto the counter and slotting himself between your legs.
He doesn’t know what he’s doing, or why he’s doing it — but he can’t stop himself, he just really wants to kiss you, he wants to kiss you so bad. 
It's like a switch flipped inside him the moment your lips met — his brain goes on vacation, all he hears is white noise.
And maybe that’s how it should’ve been all along — calm and quiet, no bickering, peaceful. 
He feels breathless as you deepen the kiss, your hands coming to wrap around his neck, nails scratching his nape, making him moan against your mouth — giving you the perfect chance to sneak your tongue in.
It’s quite surprising to you, how eagerly he welcomes you in — no resistance, he just surrenders, and lets you have your way with him. 
And every time your tongue collides on his, it poisons him a little more — making him drunk in your touch, yearning for so much more in desperation, consuming all his patience and leaving nothing behind for him to hold on.
His hands roam around your body hungrily — sliding down from your hair to your neck, wrapping around your throat briefly, gaining a sweet whimper from your lips before moving onto their next stop — your chest.
As he cups your boobs over your shirt, you tilt your head back, giving him space to suck on your skin to mark you as his for good.
And of course, he doesn’t bail on such a rare opportunity — he leans in, and ignites each spot he marks with fiery passion, leaving behind purple bruises of lust.
But that’s not where his exploration ends, he’s got so much of you to discover — so much of you to make his own. Though before he continues with his quest to conquer you, he stops, wanting to ask you a question which he already holds the answer to,
“Gosh Y/n, you drive me fucking insane, you know that?”
You smirk, sure you do, he’s literally bulging in between your legs. 
So “Mhm,” you hum, stealing a peck from his lips — yes, you can’t get enough of him, “I do, because you’re terrible at hiding it.” you say, reaching for the said bulge of his pants. 
Once your fingertips brushes past his hardened shaft over his clothes, he groans, taking it as his sign to get rid of his clothes completely. 
What a good boy, am I right?
He gets you right away, so smart and so muscular — literally your dream guy, minus his unbearable personality, but that’s a topic for sometime else. 
“Oh, that?” he chuckles as he pushes his shorts all the way down to his knees — along with his underwear, god you love him, “I wasn’t trying to hide it, babe.” 
Babe?
Butterflies, stupid butterflies in your stomach. 
“G-good,” you stutter, noticeably flustered as you lean on your back, eyes locked on his veiny hands as he slowly strokes his length, “b-because I want it, deep inside me.”  
Such a bold statement coming from a girl who trips over words, he thinks to himself, in the whirlwind of watching you struggle to kick your pajamas away — you just have to act cute all the time, don’t you? 
Because you know that’s his type. 
“Yeah? Would this be deep enough for you then?” he asks, laying his cock on your stomach, shamelessly teasing you, “I’ll be just above your belly button, are you sure you can take it?”
Oh.
You see.
 He wants war. 
So be it then, you ponder, tugging your panties aside, “less talk, more work, big boy,” you respond, guiding his tip to your entrance, “don’t waste my time talking nonsense, I’ve got exams to study for, remember?” 
Yes, he does. 
You and your stupid exams that you never shut up about — he gets it, he’s never gonna be anywhere near as important. 
You’re not exactly giving him any chances to forget that, nerd. 
Which is infuriating, but it’s fine, he’s way too horny and too damn into you to care. 
That’s why ignoring your words, he slips his cock through your folds, slowly burying himself within your warmth. 
A sigh of relief leaves both of your lips as he fills you in beyond your dreams, stretching your walls just right, gaining a hearty whine from you.
To be completely honest, you’re a little tighter than he expected —yes, he fantasized about you, so many times— and definitely a lot wetter, wrapping around him just perfectly.
He can feel you pulsating, throbbing as you try to adjust to his size, which is adorable and it drives him crazy, although he’s giving his best to contain himself. 
Ugh, just why are you so fucking cute? 
You know that turns him on. 
How is he supposed to keep himself from railing you now, when he’s already all the way inside you? 
He lifts your hips, and presses on your tummy — yep, he’s definitely in your womb, bulging you out so good. 
“You feel this babe?” he then asks, reaching to hold your hand, “I’m so deep inside you, so. fucking. deep.” he says proudly, pressing your palm right over your belly button, where the tip of his dick rests. 
“I do,” you moan in return, eyes rolling to the back of your head — gosh, you look so pretty doing that, “and I wanna feel you more,” you add, almost begging, “please, just fuck me already.” 
. . . 
Please . . . 
Just fuck me already . . . 
It echoes in his head. 
He can’t believe it’s finally happening, he can’t believe you’re asking him to—
“Chan! Please. Move. Do something. I need you!”
—fuck you, god, can you let him have his moment? 
It’s not like he gets to hear you beg for his cock every day, geez, he was just touched, okay? 
He’s totally gonna take care of you, just give him a second to process … uhm, everything, yeah? 
Wanting to engrave this moment in his brain, he looks down at where your hips meet, and that’s when he notices your cute panties with hello kitty patterns on it — adorable, he thinks, unable to stop a goofy smile from spreading his whole face, are you trying to make him fall in love with you by any chance?
Because if so, you’re about to succeed. 
Curious about whether or not you’re wearing a matching bra, he tugs on your shirt and lifts it up to your chin — and voila, you indeed are, plus the fabric is so thin that it’s almost see through, which is not what he anticipated, though it turns him on. 
Alright, enough processing, he’s ready to roll.
Seizing your hips, Chan leads you to the edge of the counter. His hands seamlessly sweep under your legs, elevating them to rest upon his shoulders.
Then, he reaches for your thighs — his favorite part of your body. 
Marveling at their softness and beauty, he can’t keep himself from lightly tapping them, which causes you to wince. Chuckling, “Sorry princess,” he mutters, caressing where he just hit, “didn't mean to startle you.”
“It’s okay,” you reply, placing your hands on his, “I like it, so I don’t mind.” 
God. 
Please just marry him at this point. 
“You do?” he inquires, now giving a playful smack to your inner thighs, presuming you might be more sensitive there — and he’s right, you are. 
“Yeah,” you hiss, biting your lips, “I do, so much.” 
Well, there goes his sanity then, I guess. 
“You make it impossible for me to stay soft with you,” he states, pulling himself all the way out before slamming back in, “you realize that, right angel?” 
Angel . . . angel, huh?
He does this on purpose at this point, you think to yourself, stupid Chan. 
And stupid nicknames, gosh.
With the power of his thrust, you bounce on the cold marble, back arching in pleasure as you hold onto the sides for support.
Ugh, you love how it feels so much.
“I don’t want you soft,” you respond, breathlessly moaning, “be rough with me, fuck me hard.” 
Oh.
Kinky.
He digs that. 
Say no more.
“As you wish, gorgeous.” he whispers against your skin as he peppers your calves with open mouthed kisses, giving your skin an a class princess treatment before starting his ruthless pace. 
Thanks to his huge biceps, he easily hugs your legs and presses them upon his chest, lifting your hips to meet with his in the air as if your weight feels like a feather to him. 
His other hand rakes over your chest and sneakily tugs down your bra, wanting to provide his pervy eyes a visual feast with your astonishingly beautiful tits. 
As he palms them — roughly, just like you asked, a weak cry leaves your lips, you can’t believe that you’re admitting this but Chan fucks so good. 
Your legs are trembling, your pussy is throbbing, you’re gushing sweat and yet you’re on the clouds — face beaming with pure ecstasy under his gaze, glowy eyes smiling at him cutely. 
He doesn’t know how, but you manage to make both his heart and his cock weak for you — causing him to twitch within your warmth, heart palpitating, a strong thump against his chest. 
“You’re so pretty,” he confesses drunkenly in the magic of the moment, feet swept off the floor with how good you make him feel. There’s no point in denying anymore, he tells himself, he’s so head over heels for you. 
“Then kiss me,” you reply, nibbling on your lower lip.
And oh, how the tables have turned. 
From refusing to kiss him, to asking for him to kiss you — even the history is shocked, raising its eyebrow at this epic flip-flop.  
Chan chuckles at the irony of your words as he frees your legs and lets you wrap them around his waist. Leaning in, he hovers over you, the tip of his nose brushing against yours, 
“I thought you didn’t want that.” he says, sarcastic, his lips on the cusp of intertwining with yours. 
“I was lying,” you retort, smug, “you’re a moron if you still don’t realize that.” 
Gosh, you’re such a smartass, how is he attracted to you?
Honestly it doesn’t matter, because as he inches in, closing the gap between your faces, he notices one thing — no one makes him feel this way, not a soul, besides yours.
So he kisses you with passion, with desire — reaching out for your hands to hold them in his, fingers lacing on the cold surface above your head, perfection.
 And there — butterflies.
Stupid butterflies again.
This time in both of your stomachs, winging you closer to your highs. 
With every passing second, they double in numbers — introducing your bodies to a new level of euphoria, sending cold chills down your spines, it’s poetic. 
A little overwhelming too, for sure, but poetic. 
Your whole body shakes, it’s definitely too much for you to take, tears stain your cheeks — that’s it, you need your release. 
“Chan—” so you call his name, in a short breath that he steals from your lips, “I think I’m gonna—”
“Do it,” he whispers, not needing to hear the rest of your sentence — he already knows, “cum for me babe, do it for me.” 
And it hits you then, you’re gonna cum for him — for Chan, yet you’re not even disgusted one bit. 
Instead you’re pleased, you’re happy — because in a weird way, you feel safe, yes you also can’t believe it, but Chan makes you feel safe. 
You’re crushed under his buff body, the rough surface he chose to lay you on causing you a sore back, you’re panting for air and literally dripping sweat down from your ass but you don’t feel uncomfortable in the slightest — you’re holding his hands, you’re kissing his lips, you’re looking at his eyes and simply, you’re alright. 
You’re no more swirling in finals-induced panic — your headache vanished, and stress took a hike.
Overflowing with gratitude, you flash him a smile, before leaning in for another one of those endearingly messy kisses as you unleash your orgasm all over your counter and uhm, his cock. 
You’re so sloppy that he can’t stop himself from cackling as he kisses you back, cute, he thinks, you’re so cute from head to toe, he wants to ruin you. 
And your hello kitty set, he wants to ruin that too. 
God, he just hopes that this isn’t the only pair you own, but if it is, he’s willing to step up and buy you more — money’s no object, even if it costs him a fortune.
Just let him fuck you in them once in a while, that’s all he’ll ever ask, then you can consider your debt paid. 
As Chan gets lost in his own Hello Kitty fantasy, he forgets about his in real life status momentarily — dick buried balls deep inside of you, itching to cum and definitely overstimulated from how long he’s been holding back. 
Luckily, he manages to pull out before accidentally breeding you — not that he thinks it’s a bad idea, in fact it’s a great one. 
Cursing out a husky “fuck”, he spills his load all over your tummy, proudly watching as he paints your glowy skin pearl white — the color he hopes to see more on you starting from today, if you know what I mean. 
And as Chan jerks the rest of his cum out on your stomach, stroking his sensitive, veiny head, you stare at him in adoration, wondering if he recently got hotter or if he was always this way, but you were just too blind to notice. 
The answer is neither — because yes, he was always hot, but you weren’t blind, you were just stubborn. 
Something which you no longer plan to be. 
Thus, reaching your hand down, you pick some of his cum and bring it to your mouth. Then, you swirl your tongue around your cum-coated fingers before sucking them off, making him hiss at the sight as he spurts the remaining part of his arousal onto your thighs.   
“This was perfect,” you comment, swallowing everything that you just licked off, “I’m surprised, in a good way, for once.”
“Can’t believe I’m saying this but I agree with you,” he responds, as he helps you off the counter, “this was amazing, and you look great in this set, you should definitely wear it more.” 
“In this set?” you check yourself in disbelief, “Didn’t know you were a hello kitty fan, Bang.” 
“I am as long as you’re wearing it on your ass, L/n,” he quips, palming your right cheek playfully, “and on your tits, god, I love your tits.” 
“Yeah?” you chortle, circling your arms around his neck, “Wanna hold them as I show you my collection?”
“Collection?”
“My hello kitty underwear collection, thought you might wanna see?”
Oh My God, he thinks to himself, please let her be serious, pleasepleasepleaseplease.
“Please tell me you’re not messing with me right now, Y/n,” he asserts, suddenly serious, “cuz’ if you are, then it’s so not funny—”
“I’m not—” you cut his words, shushing him with your index on his plump lips, “but there’s a catch.”
“A catch?”
“Mhm,” you nod, “I don’t want you strolling half naked in the house anymore, without my permission.” 
Wait, that’s the catch?
But he thought you liked him half naked, I mean, you were literally frustrated about him being shirtless like minutes ago — in fact, you just fucked for that exact reason, no?
He’s so confused. 
“But I thought you secretly liked it?” he asks, and you can’t ignore the worry in his tone, “I mean, we just had sex because of my naked abs. . . is that not good?” 
“It is, and I love your abs,” you confirm, gently caressing his firm packs, “but distraction is distraction, you make it impossible for me to focus around you.” 
Oh.
Well.
If that’s the case . . . he’s fluttered. 
“Plus, as I said, it’s common sense,” you add, “we’re not in the stone age, and you’re not a caveman—” 
Alright.
He heard you the first time.
You don’t have to try and prove your point.
And butcher his biggest personality trait while doing that. 
“Okay, I understand—” he interrupts you, wanting to save himself from more embarrassment, “and I’m in, as long as you promise that this isn’t the last time we see each other naked.” 
The last time you see each other naked?
Pffft, is that what he’s nervous about?
He’s adorable, but please, this is barely even a warm up for you.  “Oh sure,” so you say, “I promise . . this is only our beginning.”
𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞’𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐤𝐳 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 🩷
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bangarangdarling · 10 months
Text
blame the “hitting on your mom as a punishment” tiktok i just saw that literally blew my brain up. established because they’re disgustingly in love and because i say so
Eddie would normally consider himself pretty immune to the roar of arguing teenagers. Chaos surrounds their little Party. They’re not a quiet bunch when all together. It’s all shoving and yelling, giggling and roughhousing. Carpet-burned battle scars from the floor of Steve’s living room.
Lord knows Eddie himself wasn’t an inside-voice kind of person. He was certainly wont to standing on coffee tables and screeching demands for the remote when it was unjustly stolen away by villainous hands.
Eddie loved these people to death, and they were a lot of fucking fun to hang out with, it’s just this...this was an unreal level of noise. A normal sleepover night turned a little too rowdy, the adolescents celebrating the start of Summer with a bang.
Steve had already asked them to keep it down four times this evening. Nothing seemed to calm them. Not requests. Not threats of being sent home. Usually their Dungeon Master threatening their characters’ souls did the trick, but no go. 
Getting teenagers to listen? A feat more impossible than defeating creatures from an alternate universe. 
Dustin and Erica were in a bitching match about the best D&D class. Lucas and Mike had been fighting over movie choices for the last half hour. Eddie’s money was on the VHS player breaking before that, the constant mishandling and shoving of tapes had the poor thing practically smoking.
Will, ever the diplomat, was trying to be an impartial party when asked his movie opinions. Which, of course, caused more yelling. 
Max and El had been the only ones being semi-quiet, but that quickly ended when they followed through on their surprise attack pillow fight, pummeling the boys senseless and causing the already unbearable volume to kick into overdrive. Eddie could practically feel Steve’s migraine building, even from where the dude had retreated to the kitchen. Dinner had been pizza. Quick. Easy. Clean. Or, it would have been if it hadn’t had been for the food fight. Steve was still in there scrubbing cheese out of his parents’ tiled backsplash. Dishes clattered in the distance when the cacophony hit its crescendo. 
It was the proverbial straw. 
“Alright, that’s it! Hey. Come on, guys. Knock it off,”
Nothing. 
“HEY!”
He maybe overdid it that time, but the absolute ear-splitting boom of a yell he let out stopped the ruckus dead. 
Silence rang for a beat.
Huh. Maybe Eddie should try out incorporating that into his music. He honestly hadn’t known he could get to that range. 
The teenagers in the room stared at him, not cowed in the slightest, but curious enough to know what the hell Eddie’s problem was. Max was the first one to quirk an eyebrow at him.  “Geez, need attention much?” 
Eddie folded his arms to show he meant business. “Steve has asked you guys to tone it down. You’re waking the fucking dead. Why don’t you guys, like, actually go be good human beings and help him clean up your mess you all made in the kitchen, huh?” 
Lucas snorted. “Yeah, okay, mom. Why don’t you go help him, you guys will probably just make out in there, anyway.” 
It was a teasing comment. Meant to jokingly rib before getting back to doing whatever the hell they wanted to do.
But, see. That just gave him an idea. 
Never let it be said Eddie couldn’t be creative with his punishments. He was a DM after all. 
“Alllllllright. New plan. Listen up or suffer, ankle biters,” 
He really didn’t appreciate the snickers that brought about when he was trying to be intimidating. Rude. 
“You going to send us to our room or something? I’m real scared,” Erica’s scathing, dry wit was unparalleled, truly. 
“Nope. Better. It’s a new rule: You little shitheads give me attitude and don’t listen, I hit on your babysitter.”
It was silent for a minute, brains audibly computing that statement and coming up ERROR. Will hesitantly spoke up. 
“Uh, Eddie, I really don’t think that’s--”
“Yeah, what the fuck?” Mike interrupted. “Why would you beating up Steve hurt us? I mean, like, I guess it would emotionally, but that’s fucked up, man.” 
Eddie rolled his eyes, still smirking wickedly as his plan solidified.  “Oh, I don’t mean that kind of hitting, young Wheeler. Though, it may yet get physical--Hey, Steve?” He called out. The sink in the kitchen shut off after a second.
“Yeah?” 
“Can you come here?” 
The kids shuffled around on the floor warily as the other man walked into the living room. The energy had obviously shifted, it was probably an odd vibe to walk in to, but Eddie cut Steve off before he could ask any questions.
“You tired?”
“Uh, no. I’m fine--”
“It’s just you just keep on runnin’ through my mind constantly. I figured you’d be exhausted, sweetheart,” Eddie purred, the words cloyingly sweet and full of exaggerated charm. 
There was a countdown, three, two, one...
A collective groan let out. A few uncomfortable laughs.  “Dude, what the hell?” 
“You guys agreed not to be gross in front of us!”
“Oh, my god, can I actually get sick from how cheesy that was?” 
Eddie had to work at keeping in character when his very first line had pulled the intended reaction. He was already reaching forward to curl an arm around Steve, pulling him in in a slow, sultry attempt at being smooth. 
“What? Can’t I be sweet on my guy? You all will understand when you’re in love one day. Right, sugar?” 
Fake gags and retching sounds, too dramatic to be real protests, but still indignant and annoyed. Eddie was pretty sure Dustin slapped a hand over his eyes.
“Uh...yes?” Steve, who had previously looked like a car accident had happened directly in front of him, was catching on to the play. He eyed the disgruntled floor-children with a growing grin and let Eddie snuggle up to him.
God, his baby was so clever. He always knew what Eddie was thinking. 
Too busy having a non-verbal conversation with Steve on how to best annoy the kids, Eddie didn’t see Mike turning his attention back to the tv. He did, however, hear him telling the others to “Just ignore them, they’ll get all gushy and leave us alone.” 
Oh, Michael, Michael. Wrong move. 
“How you doing, babygirl?” Steve flushed, deep and red and--huh. Okay. Revisiting that one in the future. “You good? You need anything? Your head hurting, sweet thing? I can kiss it better,”  Eddie ducked forward to kiss Steve’s cheek. It was chaste, a sweet little thing...that Eddie made infinitely worse by the smacking, obnoxious kissy sounds he emulated there. The chorus of groans and protests started up again. He didn’t even pull his face away to call over to them. 
“I’m sorry, is that attitude? Am I hearing more attitude?”
“Dude, Eddie, noooo!” 
“Jesus, it’s like watching your parents make out, oh my god.” 
“You guys, let’s just go already,” 
“Yeah, I’ll take washing dishes over this,” 
The grossed out teenagers whooshed past them. Grumbling and glaring--except Eleven, who smiled up at them sweetly--leaving Steve and Eddie standing in the living room, still wrapped up together. 
It was too tempting then, with the kids safely out of range, for Eddie to resist the temptation to drop his kisses a little lower down Steve’s neck. To let them get a little less chaste. Just a little.
What can he say? He’s a weak man. 
“That was evil,” Steve hummed. His shoulders dropped, though, relaxing into Eddie’s hold, the closest thing they’ve had to quiet all night settling in. 
“Hey, I accomplished two things. Got them to chill out and I get the perk of feeling you up in the middle of sleepover night. It’s a win-win.” 
A crash and a muffled argument broke out in the kitchen before Steve could respond to that. 
The audible scuffling was cut off by Eddie calling out “Your ass looks great in these jeans tonight, Harrington!” 
The fierce whispers and shushing were enough to get both of the older boys cackling loudly. 
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spacebarbarianweird · 5 months
Text
The Scorching Sun
My desperate attempt to redeem the ending scene
Astarion is running away from the sunlight once the tadpole is gone, and Tav is nowhere to be seen.
Tags: hurt/comfort
Read on AO3
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The excruciating pain pierces Astarion as his skin starts burning.
The sun's searing rays cause agony from which there is no respite. The tadpole's grip finally releases him. Still, as it does, it leaves behind a gaping void, one filled with a mind that races with panic and anxiety, amplifying the horrors that lie ahead.
Astarion is scared. He has never felt so frightened in his life. Not when he awoke in his coffin two centuries ago, dying of hunger and pain. Not when Cazador put him through horrors and torments. Not when he was sealed in the tomb for an entire year. Not when he thought Tav was dying.
Because now he is burning alive.
Astarion desperately looks at his companions seeking support, but instead, he sees disgust on their faces as if without tadpoles they suddenly realize Astarion is a vampire.
He hears a chuckle, probably from Gale, that "Now our friend has to return to shadows" and another voice, "Seems like we won't see him again soon."
Once trusted friends now cruelly mock him, their laughter an eerie cacophony that reverberates in the depths of Astarion's consciousness. Each word stabs his undead heart.
You are nowhere to be seen. You are absent when he needs you the most.
Astarion runs toward the huge crates at the pier, which cast a comforting shadow. Astarion stumbles – he can't see anything; the sun has burnt his eyes. By touch, he finally gets to the shadows, curls up in the corner, and presses his legs to the chest.
Eyesight finally recovers. Astarion hears distant voices – someone laughs, someone cheers. He is jealous. Why can't he be there, with them, in the sunlight? Didn't he suffer too much? Didn't he fight the Brain with the rest? Why, why?
Tears stream down his cheeks. Tears of pain, tears of desperation, resentment, injustice.
Betrayal.
As the sun slowly rises, a merciful shadow retreats, and a harsh ray of light burns Astarion's right leg. The once-safe haven has become dangerous, and despair compels Astarion to seek refuge in the nearest house. The sun continues to scorch him, subjecting him to wave after wave of searing pain.
However, an invisible barrier obstructs his path, granting entry only upon invitation, offering no respite for the vampire. Astarion is left to writhe in the agony of the daylight.
He must go to the Inn. The vampire's invitation is forever, but the city lies in ruins, with only fleeting shadows left. Baldurians cheer, praising the gods for saving them from unimaginable horrors. Amidst the joy and light, Astarion feels like crying, for he knows he doesn't belong here. Life, light, and happiness are not for him; he remains a creature of the night, a monster. His foolish hope for anything else has faded away.
At last, he reaches the Inn. Astarion pushes the door open and collapses on his knees, palms pressed into the wooden floor. The pain clings to his body like acid sweat. The tavern is empty, and Astarion manages to stumble upstairs, each step feeling like an eternity. Even the cruelest tortures in Cazador's mansion did not leave him feeling so helpless and weak.
Finally, he crawls into the room he once shared with you and collapses onto the bed. The dark room envelops Astarion like a lover, providing a shred of safety. The echoes of his former companions' laughter still torment the vampire like cruel ghosts from the past.
In desperation, Astarion questions if he heard your voice. Were your promises of love empty words? Could you no longer want him, and the tadpole was the sole reason for your affection? These tormenting thoughts whirl in his mind, threatening to drown him as hunger and pain draw him closer to the abyss.
The hunger is insatiable, gut-wrenching. The tadpole had once dulled it like a medicine. Now, it is back, threatening to turn Astarion into a feral, mindless monster.
Astarion clenches his fingers, trying to grasp the reality: he is alive, his master is dead, and he is free. But it all means nothing.
Hours pass, and Astarion attempts to enter a trance to escape the agony, but his sunburnt body refuses to cooperate. He longs for respite, for a brief escape from reality, but the pain and dark thoughts overwhelm him.
Yes, he did hear your voice in that laughter, and he envisions an evil grin on your face. Perhaps you despise him and have moved on to someone else. Silent tears stream down his face, bearing witness to the profound betrayal he feels from those he once trusted and loved and to the unending nightmare of his existence.
Then, he hears footsteps. The door swings open.
"Astarion! I should have known you were heading here," you exclaim as you sit on the bed and take his hand.
Astarion looks at you in disbelief. Your face, your voice, your scent. You are back. He wants to grab you, to press his face against your collarbone. But he is so weak he can't move.
"Does it hurt?" you ask. Astarion nods, and you press your lips to his knuckles.
"I'm so sorry. I fainted when the tadpole was removed. When I woke up, they told me you had run away, and I've been trying to find you ever since. Hey, look at me," you gently caress his cheek. "I am here. I'm not going anywhere."
Astarion finally manages to look into your eyes. He sees the same love, care, kind smile, hope, and support he thought he had lost.
"I thought… I thought you were never coming back," he whispers.
"Well, if you had run even further, I would have lost you forever," you say.
The tears prickle his eyes once again. How could he have ever doubted you? What kind of person was he to assume that his lover would betray him?
"You didn't answer if it hurts."
"Like a hellplane," he replies.
"I am so sorry. I truly am."
Astarion finally manages to lift his hands and he presses you against his chest. You roll over and lie beside him, putting your head on his shoulder, and he wraps his right hand around you as you place your hand on his stomach.
There are so many things he wants to say to you but simply can't.
"What are we going to do next?" you ask.
He shrugs. "I don't know. What do you want?"
"Anything that doesn't involve staying in this city. We could settle somewhere…"
"It would be tediously boring," Astarion interjects.
"Agreed. We'll always have time for that. Maybe we should go to the Underdark to help other spawns."
He strokes your hair. "I'm not taking a living person to a den of seven thousand vampires, that's for sure."
Astarion presses you tighter, wanting to feel your heartbeat. Then, a realization washes over him: he is no longer in pain. His skin doesn't burn, and his muscles aren't being torn apart. Your presence alone alleviates his suffering. He kisses your forehead and responds with a smile.
"What do you think about getting away? Traveling with me and seeing the world?" you finally propose.
"Darling, I thought you'd never suggest it. I'm sick of this place."
"And we can find a cure for you. There are probably ways to allow you to walk in the sun or even reverse your vampirism. This world is full of cruel wonders, so why not give it a try?"
He nods and gazes at your face as if trying to memorize every little detail.
"I'm not going anywhere, Astarion," you smile. "Stop looking at me as if I'm going to disappear." You sit up and ask, "Can I kiss you?"
"Only if you promise me something," Astarion counters.
"What is it?"
"Stop asking for permission to touch or kiss me."
"You sure?" you hesitate.
"Yes. Stop treating me as if I'm made of glass. It's you. Your touches can never be unwelcome."
You giggle and kiss him. At that moment, you are the two happiest people in the world.
**
You both lay in each other's arms until sunset. When night falls, you leave the city walls and enter the wilderness. You continue forward, holding hands as if afraid to lose each other. Astarion's undead heart rejoices. He has everything a man needs.
Freedom.
A woman he loves, who loves him in return.
A future.
He would be a fool to exchange all this for false promises of power.
Suddenly, you stop, wrap your hands around his neck, and press your lips against his. Then, you proceed to kiss his cheeks, his forehead, and everything you can reach while standing on the ground.
He flinches for a second but then hugs you back and tightens his grip.
"Never ask for permission," he whispers into your ear. "You are always invited."
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ayaboba · 3 months
Text
WELCOME TO MY HEART
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summary: how has loving you changed him?
characters: neuvillette, alhaitham, diluc, xiao. (seperate)
notes: gn! reader, fluff, getting poetic in xiao, weird time skips. wc: 2k!
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neuvillette
Hesitancy lingers like a translucent mist around Neuvillette. Thick, but also not thick enough to be indiscernible. As centuries tick by, soon enough, that protective mist wanes into nothing but a fragile facade that threatens to vaporise. That outcome is most unfavourable; simply visualising it already causes a spike in distress in his chest.
Fast forward a few 'scenic meetings’ later, Neuvillette wonders where that mist disappeared off to.
He needn’t put up a missing poster with a contact number because, shockingly, the Chief Justice no longer desired that prudential coverage.
You evaporated Neuvillette’s final layer of defence, stripped his rationality with unwavering strength of character, and erased any uneasiness within the language of love.
Throughout your shared timeline, every point marked with a memorable moment, there are many small aspects about each other that only the continuation of time can reveal. It’s as sweet as it sounds, unless, well, the other finds out about something you did try to conceal.
Sometimes you think to yourself: Who knew the Monsieur Neuvillette could be so…earnest in seeing you flustered?
Truly, there are only very few opportunities Neuvillette would starve himself from such delight. The other times, though, they consist of your rose-tinted cheeks and his charmed chuckle, florid promises ending with a trail of marks of his love down the slope of your neck.
Neuvillette is quite the bold one. Far too cheeky for his own good, really.
alhaitham
It was a warm memory. Still as vivid as ever, despite the years that have passed. A golden tattoo, activated whenever the dazzling drops of summer sunshine radiated down.
Three years ago, summer, the Akedemiya.
Heatwaves weren’t a rare occurrence in Sumeru. For weeks on end, the city of wisdom experienced boiling highs and dry, scorching winds. The streets were empty as shopkeepers resorted to staying under the cool of shaded roofs. That was the correct response, the only response to such situations.
Yet, there were still people willing to test your limited patience even more.
“We’re going to get a heatstroke,” you explained to each member of your darshan. “We can postpone the field trip to the desert some other day.”
“But this weather is indefinite, and knowing Sumeru, it is going to last a very long time. We can’t afford to waste time,” someone argued as nods of agreement travelled across the table.
Wow, you huffed to yourself, sitting yourself down. You were doing this for their own good, and partly yours.
“We should go ahead with the trip,” said the agitating, raucous noise again as a cacophony of voices arose in agreement. Maybe he should be in charge, then. As if you wanted to cancel this trip, you’ve spent endless nights planning the perfect itinerary! Also, the last time you remembered, you were appointed leader of this whole excursion.
“Facing the facts, there’s no traces of concrete evidence that our planned area holds the ruins,” you declared as the table fell silent. “Theoretically, we have more to lose than gain.”
“We’ve already decided,” came another voice. Archons, these people were going to be the end of you. “We’re still going to go next week.”
You came to the conclusion that, to knock some sense into their brains, you needed someone more intimating to interfere.
“…You want me to be pretend to collapse from a severe heatstroke?” the (acting!) grand sage repeated, not even attempting to conceal his bewilderment. “And, preferably, making it look as dramatic and exaggerated as possible?”
At the other end of his desk, you nodded with faux solemnity. “I’m afraid so.”
“Afraid so?” Alhaitham humours. “Everything from your…request to your actions betrays that.”
In the end, you didn’t manage to convince Alhaitham to put on a show showcasing the risks and dangers of heatwaves and heatstrokes, but he did agree to go out for lunch. To negotiate alternatives, of course.
After that lunch, he asked for your presence for dinner, and after dinner, you found yourself making breakfast at Alhaitham’s place.
“Since when did you come over so much?” you asked, sleep clearly clinging to your senses. “Last time I remember, I was waiting by your office door waiting to sneak in ten minutes of your time.”
The coffee he freshly brewed threatens to burst from the confinement of his mouth as he stares at you with a curious expression. “This is my house.”
The realisation spreads through your face like ink in water as you glance at the surroundings. “Oh yeah…that’s right.”
Alhaitham subtly rolls his eyes, letting out a lighthearted tsk as he disappears off into the kitchen. “Do you feel like going to Gandharva Ville in the evening?” he asks, the clatter of dishes echoing through the lounge. “You were groaning over how you hadn’t seen Collei and Tighnari in ages a few days ago.”
He remembered that?  You gawk to yourself, mouth and eyes wide open as you trod towards the sunshine of the kitchen . Moreover, he certainly wanted to go. Since when did Alhaitham suggest you leave the house for purposes such as catching up with friends?
“I’d love to,” you answer as you help him load the dishwasher. “You beat me to it.”
A soft smile imperceptibly brightens his face, casting you in slight awe. “What? You don’t think I disregard your desires just like that, do you?”
Alhaitham is the hopelessly romantic one. Those intricate plans he sets up for your happiness are nowhere as simple-minded as he plays them out to be.
diluc
There was always something peculiar about Diluc Ragnvindr. The snarky remarks about the Knights of Favonius’ poor service, which you found highly offensive in the presence of an employee (you), the genuine air of mystery he upheld, but the most interesting thing you were desperate to crack down on was his frosty distaste for the Cavalry Captain, your co-worker, Kaeya.
As far as you knew, Kaeya was a lovely co-worker. considerate, dedicated and reliable, he was an admirable worker. You didn’t understand why Diluc didn’t applaud him for his discipline renowned throughout the city, especially if he was continuously murmuring about the incompetence of the staff.
Amidst the possible explanations, you came to the conclusion that the unwelcoming atmosphere stemmed from something more personal. Jealously? Past disagreements? No, that couldn’t be. They didn’t appear the closest.
Little did you know that all you needed to do was ask. Not really, but you get the idea.
“You…want to talk to Diluc?” Kaeya spluttered, wide-eyed at your determined face, before moving his gaze towards Angel Share’s bartender with a smirk. “Ah, I see what’s going on.”
“You’re very far off, by the way,” you replied silkily, taking a sip of the apple juice. “I’m not interested in him romantically, if that’s what you were thinking.”
Kaeya raises an eyebrow. “If not romantically, then what could you possibly talk to him about?”
You shrug, making a beeline for the counter. “Thanks for the drink.”
Diluc had caught the words, ‘interested in him romantically.’
According to those four words he heard from you, the context of you and Kaeya’s conversation could already be visualised.
For someone who seemed to be interested in him, your choice of words regarding his interest in you were a little all over the place. So, he assisted you.
“How about we discuss this over dinner?”
Sometimes, you think to yourself, how did this ever happen?
For example, the weak beams of lighting from the east signify that it’s the birth of dawn, your neatly tucked in bed, except this bed isn’t actually yours.
The evidence lies with the person’s arms around your waist, tight and warm against the chills of early morning.
“Good morning,” a sleepy voice suddenly erupts from besides you. “Have I told you how even more striking you are in the sunlight?”
Diluc Ragnvindir is the passionate one—the one who would give you his heart if you asked. In some ways, he’s still as mysterious as the first time you laid eyes on him.
xiao
The moon is the muse for thousands of people. Whether it’s written in a rhyme, painted on a canvas, sung in a song or resonated with a soul, it has immersed itself in the complex depths of the sensitive human heart.
There’s a particular interpretation that has stuck with you since the first time you read it. A lyrical piece of literature from somewhere long lost. You were especially tired that night. A most unlucky dilemma, as it might’ve guaranteed to be one of the most critical and serendipitous nights of your life. Not that you knew at the time.
From that somewhere long lost, between the rolling tides of shadows, tucked away in the safety of peaking mountains, a mysterious figure observed with curiousity at your sentiment.
However, the discreetness of Xiao’s hiding spot was tested most instantaneously when you suddenly made a decision to look up. To the sky, or to him? Truthfully, you were actually aiming for the moon, but the pounding chambers of his chest crashed his steaming trains of thought.
He had to restrain himself from investigating further as your figure dissolved one by one into the night. Maybe you'll be there again tomorrow.
What started off as a little exchange of words soon blossomed into short conversations. Short conversations soon bloomed into a gap in time filled with occasional laughter and encouraging smiles. He learned your name, and you learned his secrets. Vicious, woeful secrets plaguing his dreams, or perhaps the title of nightmares suited it better.
On their own, the characteristics were incessant in disaster. Fusing those characteristics with centuries of solitude and emptiness, it assisted in further igniting the raging fire burning away his will.
The idea of somehow unravelling those years of pain seemed so clearly impossible, even if that person felt like they had a chance. Even if they felt just the tiniest bit more special than all the others.
“Some things are impossible,” Xiao had muttered as he watched you go through an assortment of books he lended from Verr Goldet, eyes flickering from your face to the yellowing pages. “It’s better to admit that than spend years searching for hope.”
Skimming through the columns of ancient literature, a strong feeling of suspicion arose as you distinctively felt like he'd seen you do this once before.
“But what if you find the hope?” you whispered gently, switching your attention to his avoidant gaze. “There’s always that outcome, too.”
That outcome. Of course he’s considered that conclusion, wished for it. But Xiao would never dare to believe that far.
“I read a poem a few nights ago,” you started again. “A comparison of us and the moon. Humans, just like the moon, need to wax and wane. We’ll grow and shine our beauty, but that can’t be achieved unless we remember to rest, to wane. After all, a full moon only lasts around three days out of a whole month.”
How can you just return to reading after you told him that?
That moon analogy was shared about a year ago.
It’s likely that you brushed it off, but for Xiao, it’s still freshly etched into the shelves of his mind. And it would be a lie if he said that he didn’t change in small, irrevocable ways because of it.
Particularly tonight.
An exhausted sigh escapes from your lips as you sink into bed. Lying like a starfish, a hollow expression is evident in your eyes alone.
“This project is never going to work,” you spoke, turning to stuff your face in a pillow. Adjacent to you, Xiao observed as you screamed, once again the same words into the fabric. Only this time, the words were separated by sharp heaves and quiet sniffs. Being a little inexperienced with scenarios such as this, Xiao could only reassure you with the same words and actions that you had endlessly showered him with in similar situations.
He knew you were listening, despite the softness of his voice, which was hardly detectable. He repeated the words you told him a year ago when he felt as if the world was about to end.
“Someone once told me humans and moons are alike,” he smiled as he saw your face lift just a bit, as if you couldn’t believe what he was saying. “We both need to wane before we can emit our light in full greatness.”
Xiao is the quiet one, whose love is often under-looked, but in truth, it’s expressed just as vividly, if not brighter.
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ink-n-shadowfiction · 7 months
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Hi, do you write smut? If so, please listen to me 🫣
Just Ghost away from reader for more than a week, and he misses her very much, so he calls her. In the middle of the conversation, she can hear moans and sighs coming from him and the rest you already know👀
using translator again :^
Btw can i be anon - 🫀? (Idk how to ask💀)
I Know What You're Doing | Simon "Ghost" Riley
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another anon added to my list <3 thank you for the request ;-;
pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader
word count: 866
warning: smut (minors—DNI), phone sex, simon doesn't tell fem!reader what he's doing at first, mutual masturbation, mentions of unprotected sex (pls wrap it up guys), sweet!simon
note: this is so unedited and i'm half-asleep so pls don't judge
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eight days, thirteen hours, and forty-seven minutes. that's how long it had been since simon had left for deployment. not like you were counting.
it was only a day and six hours longer than the last time he called you. not that you were mad—you knew better than to expect simon to risk his life to simply call while in the middle of a warzone. which is why you waited, although impatiently.
so as soon as you were curled up on the couch midday, lounging with a book in your hand and glasses perched on your nose, and you saw simon's contact flicker across your vibrating phone on the coffee table, you practically pounced on it. your fingers fumbled with the call button as you brought the smart phone to your ear. "hello?"
a soft hum filled the other line, a comforting hum that sent tendrils of warmth and familiarity spreading through your gut. "hey, sweet thing." from over the phone, you could hear the crickets and cicadas surrounding simon, a cacophony of noise that was only drowned out by his gravelly rumble.
"did you make it alright?" you asked softly as you rested back against the arm of the couch, pushing your bookmark into the spine of your book and snapping it shut.
simon let out another long puff of air, taking a small moment to answer. "aye—we're fine, lovie. no need to worry that pretty little head, 'lright? now tell me what you did so far today—just wanna hear you talk for a bit."
beneath the blanketing noise of cicadas and crickets, you could hear a soft, rhythmic schlick, schlick noise—one that you knew all to well.
simon was definitely fucking his cock up into his fist.
“i know what you’re doin’.” you whispered over the phone softly, sinking deeper into the leather of your couch and pulling the knitted blanket you had draped over your lap higher. “i can hear it.”
your words forced a low groan from simon’s mouth, almost sounding like a growl with how close he was to the cellphone microphone. the rhythm of his hand slicking up and down his heated skin ramped up in tempo. “oh yeah? and what d'ya hear, sweet girl?”
everything. you could hear the way simon’s spit-soaked fingers squelched a bit around the girth of his cock. you could hear the way he twisted his wrist ever so slightly near the tip, just enough to have his hips canting up at the sensation. you could hear every pant, moan, growl that threatened to spill from his lips, to escape the cage of his mouth like a starved tiger.
"y'know you could've just told me, right?" you breathed softly into the phone, eyes fluttering closed as your brain scrambled to create an image of what simon might've looked like in that moment. " i would've started sayin' filthy things a long time ago."
"c'mon, lovie—y'know i don't last long with that dirty little fuckin' mouth of yours." simon scoffed out a pinched laugh, letting it bleed out into a soft groan as he squeezed the base of his cock to keep himself from busting then and there. "miss you. miss havin' you here with me."
it was your turn to let out a soft laugh and teasing words. "you're just saying that because your cock's throbbing right now."
simon growled at your words, the pace of his hand slicking up and down his arousal growing ever quicker, faster, needier. your filthy words were working."not true. i miss you even when m'not trying to fuckin' cum, lovie."
"i can tell you're close, si." you purred over the phone, your free hand trailing down the front of your body and hooking around the waistband of the sweatpants you were wearing. pulling them down to your mid thighs, your fingers slid into the fabric of your panties with a soft hiss. "your breathing gets all heavy. you get all growly, all loving and soft. you wanna cum, huh?"
"god." simon all but whimpers, hips stuttering slightly in their rhythm as he forced his cock up into his open palm. "y'know me so well, lovie. so. fuckin'. well—fuck, need to cum. wanna cum for you, sweetheart."
the pads of your fingers slipped and slid around your wet heat, bumbling slightly against your clit as you tried to focus solely on pushing simon over the edge. your lips curled into a devious smirk. "yeah? wish you could be here while you cum—maybe i'd let you fill me up this time. oh—yeah, you like that, huh? just wanna fuck me till i'm leaking and dripping with you, huh?"
simon couldn't even give you a warning that he was about to cum, instead just letting out a chest-ripping growl as he finally plunged over the edge. his breathing was ragged, filled with uneven potholes that caused his breath to catch in his chest.
the squelching and schlicking noise had subsided, replaced by simon regaining his composure and your soft, panted breath. you were certain you were being quiet as you stroked your wet heat with the tips of your fingers—that was until simon spoke up huskily.
“i know what you’re doin’. lovie.”
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