#wood and iron end table

[reecewykes]

Master in Los Angeles Example of a mid-sized eclectic master medium tone wood floor and brown floor bedroom design with white walls and no fireplace

#wood and iron end table #girly #wood side table #chic design #white bedding

[cattenkitten]

Enclosed - Transitional Family Room An illustration of a mid-sized transitional enclosed family room design with beige walls, no fireplace, and no television.

#greek key fabric #beige sectional couch #floral draperies with fretwork ribbon #wood side table #wood end table #wood and iron coffee table

[peachesofteal]

Cool girl

ghoap x female reader / 18+ warning: the boys are foul - could be considered dub con / part one / part two

Two (three) can play at that game.

"When you're done being a brat, call us."

You decide within a week, that you're very much not done being a brat.

And you're very much done with them.

Fuck them, you coach yourself in the mirror as you fix your makeup. Fuck them both. And her, whoever she is, though you know she doesn't deserve your wrath. She probably has no idea the tangled web she's walked into, she's the one stuck in the trap, now.

The doorbell rings, and you check your reflection one more time, satisfied with your dress, the way it gathers across your breasts, how it flatters your shape. It's a tad short, there's a bit of cleavage, little pieces that make it more than perfect. Something about this style, the way it fits, always drove the boys nuts, so it should be more than good enough for your date.

Fuck them.

You bring him to the dive. It's a safe choice, the bartender knows you, pays attention. You feel safe here, familiar. It's a great option for a first date.

And because you're a cool girl, you don't know how to play pool.

Of course, he's happy to teach you.

You start with a tequila. It scalds on the way down and settles like fire, but it takes the edge off. One turns to two, and it's enough to get you closer, allowing him to rest his hand on your knee at the bar, allowing him to keep a hand at the small of your back as he guides you to the finally empty pool table.

He's handsy, and normally, you'd be a little put off.

But not tonight.

"Okay, it's simple. You use the white ball to break." He lines up your shot for you, folding you into place, bending forward, hand brushing against your thigh as he leans beside you.

You intentionally short the shot, barely breaking the triangle of balls free. He chuckles. "Not bad for a first go."

"What do I get if I win?" Your smile is shy, and it's only half forced. You do like this guy, he's very nice, very attractive. Tall with a strong jawline, kind eyes. His fingers find yours, and his touch is gentle, patient.

"A kiss?" He ventures, testing the waters. You nod.

"Sure thing."

You're halfway through the game when the energy in the bar shifts. It's like everyone freezes, a collective whoosh of air washing through the bodies hunched over at the bar, loitering on the walls, perched on the wrought iron chairs out back.

The regulars look at one another and then return to studying the TV, or each other, their half empty drinks.

You don't need to look, to know.

You can feel them.

Apparently, so can your date.

"Don't look, but there are two guys staring at you, across the bar." You bat your eyelashes.

"Who?" It's innocent, this kind of play. Playing dumb. It's pure, until your chin turns over your shoulder and find them, white knuckled and focused, Johnny alight with anger, Simon stoic as ever. Sadness, and rage, roar inside your head, and you force yourself to look them in their eyes. Force yourself to be brave.

After a second, you turn away and into your date. He pulls you closer, palm resting on your lower back, mouth dangerously close above your ear. "Are they bothering you?" What a nice guy.

"No." You assuage immediately. You know what would happen, if he tried to be your knight in shining armor. You know how it would end.

With blood. Broken bones. And tears.

"Let's keep playing." You suggest. "Will you show me how to hold the stick?" Your teeth hold onto the last syllable, hand wrapping around the polished length of the wood, slowly moving it up and down. Your heart pounds, but a thrill rushes through you at the same time. Fuck them. Your date raises an eyebrow, mouth cocking into a sly smile, and nods.

After your third drink, you can't delay using the bathroom anymore. Skin tingling from all the places his hands have traversed, you're dizzy with the pulse of power, the high of your performance. It's wrong, and twisted but...

they deserve it. They deserve worse.

"I'll be right back." You promise, tracing a fingernail down his arm. "Get another round?" He trots off, eager to please.

The chairs scrape as soon as you turn into the dingy hallway, and their shadows fill the air, sucking it dry. You resist the urge to turn, palm flat against the swinging door of the toilets.

"What are ye doin'?" Johnny rages, and you turn to mouth off, only to jerk backwards at the realization of how close he is. You can count the flecks of gold around his irises, see the shimmer of cerulean blue. Simon stands at his back, a wall blocking out the rest of the hall, hiding you from view.

"I'm on a date." Simon laughs.

"You call this little show a date, sweetheart? Is that what you think that is?"

"Not sure you'd know what I'm like on a date since you never took me on one." You spit, and Johnny goes rigid, muscles hardening.

"Not sure that little boy would know the first thing about handlin' ye."

"Handling me?" The squeak your voice makes is embarrassing and incredulous at the same time. "Handle me? You think I need handling? I'm a full grown woman. I don't need-" He presses closer, close enough you can smell him, and your mouth drops open when he pushes you against the wall, cock hard under his jeans. "J-johnny."

"Aye, we think ye need handlin'. Ye're only supposed to be handled by us. Not by some sad wank who cannae stop droolin' like a dog."

"Stop." The resolve in your voice wavers, your resistance cracking and crumbling as Simon appears beside him, mouth pressing to your ear.

"You think that boy has a fat cock to feed you, sweet girl? Think he knows how-" One of them cups you between your legs over the fabric of your dress, palm grinding against your clit, and you grit your teeth against the friction, the moan it tries to pull from your throat. "to take care of this pussy?"

"She's high maintenance, ye know." Johnny snickers, lips dotting your cheek, down to your neck. He cups a fistful of your breast, thumb stroking where your nipple strains beneath your bra. "Ye think he'll be able to make ye gush for him? Make ye cum on his cock?" You're boiling, anger and desire feeding twin flames, trying to sputter out a response.

"What's going on here?" Your date practically shouts from the edge of the hallway, and Simon's grin turns feral. Predatory.

Fear strikes, and turns you cold.

"D-don't." You try to implore.

"Are you okay?" Your poor date catches your gaze, and you try to will him away with your eyes.

"Leave him alone." You plead.

"Fuck off mate. This is between us and our girl. Ye're done here."

"Excuse me?" He steps closer, and Simon pushes off the wall. Desperate, you latch onto his forearm.

"Simon, please. He's not-"

"He said you're done here." Simon snarls. "Run along like a good boy."

"Fuck you." He postures, and you shake your head frantically, trying to step out between them. Johnny doesn't budge, keeping you half pinned against the wall.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? Maybe you'd like to watch us fuck her, after we make you beg for it. After we stretched out your neglected little hole." Johnny laughs, a cackle full of crow, smart and mischievous, and you nearly faint. Your date looks sick.

He takes one look at you, another look at the boys... and then flees. Johnny whistles. "Coward."

When they both turn back...

you burst into tears.

#lmaoooo #peaches writes #ghoap x reader #its a milkmaid dress for sure #simon riley x reader #john mactavish x reader #unedited

[monster-disaster]

[tentacle] The monster under the bed

tentacle!monster x human!Reader Good to know: somnophilia, a bit of dub-con

Summary: Your aunt's house is not as empty as you thought.

A/N: For kinktober 2023, I have a new town full of monsters. Here is the masterlist.

The change in the air is thick and heavy after you leave the Welcome to Grimbrook sign behind you. You feel it in your core. It's cold and silent. For a second, everything goes quiet, and the time seems to stop. The rumbling of your car gets muffled, and the colors of the lush, green forest at your sides fade into a milky fog flowing above the ground. You can't see the tall mountains and their sharp edges in the distance anymore. The clear blue sky turns gray, and you can't find the sun anymore, either. Just a few dim rays shine down on the road in front of you, showing your way to the village next to the sea.

As you get closer, you can smell the salty scent of the water even through the closed windows of your car. It's heavy in your nostrils. The sound of the waves gets louder too. From the top of the uphill, you can see the village with its old stone buildings and the sea behind everything. It seems colorless, merging into the dark sky at the horizon. It is beautiful and terrifying at the same time. There is something in Grimbrook that you can't pinpoint but freezes your insides. The only light you can see comes from a lighthouse at the edge of a cliff. It emits a soft, rhythmic beam of yellow light that cuts through the heavy fog, casting eerie shadows over the still village. Seagulls glide through the mist above the white seafoam, waving across the dark surface.

"Okay," you hum, forcing your eyes to go back to the GPS on your phone. The blue line clearly shows your way to the house you have to reach before night falls. It leads you out of the center of the villages until you reach a small suburb with Victorian houses standing in a long row with grand iron gates and gardens.

The monotone voice of the GPS informs you when you reach the right house, and after sitting in your car for a few more minutes, you have no other option but to get out and make your way up to the porch. The wooden planks creak under your steps as you look around a bit better. The house is old, with tall walls, characterful windows, and a dark green door with a golden knocker in the middle. It's cold in your hold as you knock it against the door.

You don't get an answer, though.

The door opens, and you find yourself facing a narrow foyer with stairs on the right side. Pictures and paintings hang on the walls in dark wood and golden frames. You can see the entrance of the kitchen at the end. And on your left side, there is an arch that leads you to the living room.

"Hello?" You break the silence. Your voice is hoarse and quiet. You have to force your legs to move and not turn back to your car and leave this place immediately. "Somebody?" Your gaze lands on a small table in the corner next to the entrance door. There is a letter with your name on it.

Dear Cat, I'm sorry I can't be here when you arrive. Make yourself at home, and we will talk tomorrow. Delilah

"Great," you sigh, letting the paper fall back onto the surface of the small table.

For a second, you think about searching for a hotel or something similar to spend the night, but to be honest, it doesn't sound much better either. You know you should leave the town to feel better, but it's not an option. So you close the door behind you and wander further into the house.

You got a call a few weeks ago about your aunt you met long years ago. She died, and now you have a house. You can keep it. You can sell it. Whatever you want.

The house is old, with a lot of wood, dark colors, and golden details. There are still newspapers from months ago on the coffee table in the living room. The rug under you is faded and thin. The floor creaks every now and again. There are two rooms and a bathroom upstairs. The bigger room is still occupied with your aunt's belongings. The scent of her perfume still lingers in the air. You remember her when you were a kid. She came to your grandmother's funeral, and you never saw her again. Nobody really talked about her in the family. The only things you know are that she was kind but preferred her own company above everything else. She lost her husband in her late twenties but stayed in Grimbrook, barely leaving the town.

The guestroom is much more bare than the other parts of the house. A bed in the middle with two nightstands and a lamp. There is a drawer in front of it and a mirror on the wall. The window is slightly open, letting in the cold autumn breeze. You have a view of the street from here. It's calm and empty. The only reasons you know you are not the only person in the town are because you can see a few cars here and there and a dog barking in the distance. The fog is thick and heavy. You can't see the end of the street through it.

After wandering around the house some more, you decide to call your friend until you have no other option but to change and try to get some sleep.

Climbing up on the bed in the guest room, you settle under the thick covers. The scent of the linen is faded and mixed with dust and the night air coming through the window. It's dark outside, not counting a few lamps on the street. Their orange lights filter into the room. And everything is quiet. So quiet that your ears almost start to ring. You are not used to it. You live in the city with constant noises.

When sleep takes you, it's restless and everything but relaxing. You fidget and turn, trying to find a comfortable position as you balance between the darkness and the real world. Your head feels just as foggy as Grimbrook, and at some point, you can't decide if you are dreaming or not.

You are on your back, one arm on your stomach, and the other is next to your body. The autumn breeze caresses your skin, moving up from your feet to your ankles and calves. Shiver runs through your spine at the feeling. You want to reach out for the blanket, but even though your arms move, they do not obey your command. Something pets the thin skin of your wrist. It's soft and barely noticeable. You feel your muscles stretch as you reach up to the headrest of the bed, but you don't even know why. The cold moves up further on your legs. It curls around your flesh, spreading you in the middle of the bed. Your heels dig into the mattress. Your body tenses when your limbs don't do as you want. A frown deepens between your brows.

"What?" A hoarse grunt leaves your lips. When you open your eyes, you meet darkness, and you are not sure if you are really awake or not. Your eyelids are heavy, and not even a second later, you fall back asleep again.

The bottom of your pajama slips down on your legs. The waist stretches around your parted legs. Something slides up on your stomach under your t-shirt. It is slick and soft. A gasp echoes in your room when it flicks your nipple. The thing curls around the flesh of your tits, groping and caressing. Your nipples harden under the strange touch. Saliva? A tongue?

Where are you?

And there is something else between your legs. The muscles of your thighs tense, and the hold around you tightens.

"What?" You groan again into the silence. As you look down on your body, you see your t-shirt around your neck. Your breasts are bare. Something dark and purple curls around them, squeezing and licking. The teasing on your nipples is almost painful. At the back of your mind, you want more. Your head falls back onto the pillows, and you are asleep again.

The tentacles between your legs move up and down on your pussy. Your panties are ruined between your wet center and the slick touch of theirs. One of them flicks your clit. Your back arches at the feeling. The cold night air hits your aching pussy when the thin fabric is pulled aside. One of them stays around your clit, flicking and rubbing the hard bud. The other one goes straight to your hole.

You want to move. To get closer or farther away, you can't decide. The tendrils don't let you go anyway.

You break the silence with a sudden moan. The limb enters you slowly. It slips into you easily, stretching your walls until you can't take another inch. It fills you up.

"Fuck," you groan.

Your breasts are soaked. The slickness on your skin shines under the dim streetlights. The tentacles play with your flesh, rubbing and pinching your nipples. The pain takes your breath away every now and again until you feel dizzy.

The others between your legs move without pausing even for a second. Your clit throbs, and your walls flutter. Pleasure flares inside your veins, rushing through your body with such force you never felt before. Your lungs burn for air, and your muscles ache as you lay taut, panting.

When you open your eyes, you see the ceiling and the old lamp hanging above you. You want to force your mind to think, to panic, to do something, but your senses are full of pleasure. The only thing you can do is moan and grind against the tentacle inside your pussy. It pounds into you, reaching every spongy spot inside that makes you see stars and beg for more. The sheet under you is soaked with your mixed juices. You can feel it dripping out of your hole.

Fuck, you want to shout, but you can't find your voice. You just shake and tremble in the hold of the limbs keeping you in place on the bed. Every nerve in your body is on edge, and when it snaps in your lower stomach, you can't remember how to breathe. Your climax forces you down and stops you from moving. A thin layer of sweat shines on your bare skin. Heat burns you from the inside, and your pussy flutters and sucks on the tendril inside you. It still moves in and out. It twitches and rubs against your walls. And doesn't stop even when the darkness envelopes you again.

When you wake up the next morning, you need a few minutes to remember where you are. The sun shines through the window, casting an orange hue over the old rug in the middle of the room. As you sit up, your t-shirt falls back over your torso, but your pants are still around your knees.

"What?" You grunt out. The question is barely louder than a whisper. Your hand shakes as you reach down between your legs. Your pussy is wet, sensitive, and swollen. A moan escapes you when your fingertip slides over your slit.

Your dream is still vivid in your mind. You can feel the tentacle in your pussy, using your hole and rubbing your clit. Your center starts to throb with need at the memory. And your breasts. Your other hand grabs one of your tits. Your nipples are still hard peaks through the thin fabric of your shirt.

"Hello? Cat?" The sudden noise snaps your head up to the door of your room. The voice comes from the entrance of the house. "It's Delilah." "Hey!" You croak out. You are not even sure if she can hear you. "I will be down in a minute." "Great!" She shouts back. "I will make some coffee, and we can talk about your plans with the house." Your fingers sink into your hole. You are still stretched out. You move in and out of your pussy easily.

Yeah, you think, you need a few nights if you want to decide about your plans.

- Masterlist Grimbrook Masterlist Patreon

#monster romance #monster x reader #monster boyfriend #monster x human #monster smut #tentacle smut #tentacle x reader #tentacle x human #tentacle monster #grimbrook #kinktober 2023

[tacticaldiary]

Reader joining 141 for a mission and Simon is not having it and is pissed at price for calling them and all of the other guys are confused about why ghost is so upset till they find out reader is his wife after the mission

Maybe reader got hurt and ghost goes off on price

The Price Of A Secret

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

"People get injured on the job, Ghost." Gaz tries to defuse the situation. "She's alive-"

"This is different." He grits out.

"And why's that?"

"Because that's my wife!" He hisses, slamming his fist onto the table. It strikes them harder than if he were to have yelled it at them.

A/N: It's 2:45am and I have no energy to proofread caution advised-

Masterlist

The moment the picture of the intelligence officer joining them flashes on the screen, Ghost puts his foot down.

"She's not coming."

Everyone in the room pauses, Price staring at Ghost mid sentence. It's the usual 141, and then it's her. Sitting there with a mildly frustrated look, refusing to look at him because she should have known he'd try to pull some shit like this.

"Why not?" Price folds his arm, narrowing his eyes. "Is there an issue, Lieutenant?"

She was supposed to work from the inside, drawing out data and cracking through defences that they then passed on to people like the 141. An integral part of the process of running the whole task force, but not once was she involved in hands-on field work.

It's not that she's incompetent. No, not at all. Ghost would have his head bit off if he even remotely implied that because it simply isn't true. She got the top scores in almost every part of her training exercises, and yet she chose the intelligence part of the military to serve in. His wife was as competent as they got.

His wife.

"This is a covert operation, the fewer people the better." That's what he goes with. Not because his heart picks up at the thought of her being anywhere near what they deal with every day.

"I won't have the range I need to retrieve the data from their servers if I'm not close to them." She speaks up, and their eyes meet from across the room.

His determined, hers resolute.

Sometimes he really hated that she was so fucking stubborn. It had been the same stubbornness that cracked down the iron grip he'd had on the walls in his mind and around his heart, but if that stubbornness was what got her killed Simon would give up this joy in a heartbeat.

He'd do it for her if it meant she kept on living.

"This isn't up for discussion, Ghost." Price states, "She's part of this operation on my authority."

"Price-"

"End of discussion. You settle whatever you have going on outside this room." And fuck, he can't refute a direct order like that, can he?

Ghost sees her release a long exhale, and he knows he won't share such a relief until this damn operation was over and done with.

                                  · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Her body is so limp it scares the ever-loving shit out of him.

Ghost grips her so tight it's as if he himself is the only thing tethering her soul to her body, boots thumping hard against the muddy ground as they retreat back to their extraction point, data successfully retrieved.

Successfully, not smoothly.

The plan was simple. They'd flank the building while she camped out near the edge of the woods, retrieving the intel they needed. A couple of fuckers slipped out of the building and went straight for her.

Ghost's stomach turns when he remembers how he found the scene. She wasn't answering through her comms, but he knew he wasn't able to leave his position until the building was secure.

Waiting felt like an eternity, he could feel Soap send troubled glances in his direction at the way Ghost was unusually silent and more brutal than.

When the building was finally secure, they'd gone to reunite with her position and found three men dead, bloody seeping into the ground in a crimson mess. The last one standing hovered over her unconscious form, over his wife with a knife raised ready to slit her thought.

The only thought Ghost had as he ripped the man away with his hands was that he was going to take the one good thing in his life away, and he would not let that happen. Not her. Not like this.

"Bleeding wound to the head, unconscious but still breathing!" Gaz called out while Ghost shoved the man's own knife into his throat. Tossing the gurgling body aside like a ragdoll, he's immediately by her side, assessing before carefully lifting her up in his arms.

It's the most emotion Ghost has ever expressed in front of the others, but he couldn't give a fuck about the looks or the questions right now. Her heartbeat against him settled him the slightest bit with the reassurance that she was alive.

Angry does not begin to describe what itches under Ghost's skin as they scramble into their exfil airship.

"Medic!" He barks the second they lift off. Setting her down, he brushes the bloody strands of her hair away from her face.

Despite the urge to stay by her side, the medic gingerly requests for him to take a step back so he could work. Ghost obliges but his eyes never leave her face.

He's painfully aware of his wedding ring pressing against his chest, strung onto a chain long enough to be tucked under his uniform. A matching one to her own.

Nobody speaks.

Perhaps they recognise the anger washing off of Ghost in waves, because if they'd just bloody listened to him, she wouldn't be laying there with a head wound.

The atmosphere is heavy and sombre. Even Soap keeps his mouth shut, too confused by the outward, uncharacteristic way Ghost was acting to make fun of it.

It's only when the medic announces she's stable that the suffocating knot in Ghost's chest loosens. There's audible relief from everyone in the place.

"Bloody hell." Price breathes, and something in Ghost snaps.

"I told you to dismiss her from the op." He says coldly, turning to the man.

"We got what we needed, son." He sighs, deep and tired, and part of Ghost understands that this was their life. But he's too worked up to care.

"At a fucking cost."

"People get injured on the job, Ghost." Gaz tries to defuse the situation. "She's alive, that's all that matters. Nothing permanent, yeah?" He glances at the medic, who confirms with a nod before slipping away.

"This is different." Ghost grits out.

"Why's that?"

"Because that's my wife!" He hisses, slamming his fist onto the metallic walls. It strikes them harder than if he were to have yelled it at them.

How long had it taken for Ghost-...no, for Simon to let someone crack open his defences until he was coaxed out and allowed himself to love again? Four years they've been married, and four years he's kept it a secret.

It's not that he doesn't trust his team. He trusts them with his life, would lay his own down for Johnny, Gaz, and Price any day.

But this? This was bigger than him, she was the most precious thing that had ever happened to him, and the safest way to preserve that was the keep it on a need-to-know basis.

She'd agreed with him, of course. In that soft, patient way she always has with him. She'd seen the paranoia in him, recognised that he needed this one thing for himself, and she'd been more than happy to oblige.

What was outside validation about her relationship worth when she got to crawl into his arms at the end of the day? Be granted the pleasure that comes with being loved by someone as protective, intelligent, and sharp as Simon Riley? She adores all of him, even the jagged pieces that cut into her from time to time, because he's always there to take care of her afterwards.

"She's my wife." He repeats quieter, sitting back down. Exhaustion lines the slope of his shoulder's dark circles well present under his mask.

"You're married." Soap is the first to speak, incredulously. "You? Ghost? You're married?" His eyes flicker down to Ghost's left hand, and then to Gaz and Price who look equally as surprised. "I mean, congratulations?" He trails off, knowing it's not really the situation to celebrate.

"Thanks." A tired, small voice has everyone's attention back onto the figure on the bed. Ghost is on his feet in moments, by her bedside. "It'll be five years in...what, a month?" She cracks an eye open, giving Simon a tired, smile.

"Two months." He corrects with a mutter, and Johnny looks like he might just collapse. "Sitrep?"

"We're not on the field anymore." She groans, pushing herself to sit up. Ghost's hands fly to her immediately, helping her sit up. At his blank, insistent stare, she relents with a deep sigh. "My head's killing me but other than that just a few scrapes and bruises." Her hand travels down to grab his at her shoulder, squeezing briefly.

"I'm alright." Her voice turns into something soft and reassuring, and it's only then that a quiet, shuddering breath comes out of Simon's lungs. "I think I'll sit to working from the inside though." She jokes weakly. "Leave the dirtier work to you brutes."

It lightens the mood as intended, eliciting a snort from Gaz. "Yes, ma'am."

He'd make sure she got checked out properly when they landed, but for now he takes his place sitting beside her. The others fall into a hushed conversation after a while, but he makes no move to join them.

A warm hand intertwines with his, hidden beneath the bulk of their combined gear.

"I'm alright, Simon." She mumbles, just loud enough for him to hear.

Simon squeezes her hand in response. "Fucking hell, love." He breathes.

And it's enough to convey everything he's thinking. Humming, she tips her head against his shoulder and lets her eyes slip shut. The warmth of his body, even through the tang of copper is enough of a familiar comfort to drain the tension from her body.

She's fast asleep against his shoulder a minute later, and the devil himself couldn't make Simon move lest he wake her now.

He wasn't a publicly affectionate person by any means...but he trusted his team enough for this right now.

Letting his own head press against the metal wall behind them, his eyes shift to meet Price's. A softer, knowing look from the Captain is all he needs to hook his chin over her head and turn his attention outside the small window.

And if he counts her breathing while she sleeps for his own peace of mind? Well, that's no one's business but his.

Reblog, Like and Comment!

(10/09/2023)

#ghost cod #cod mw ghost #ghost call of duty #ghost modern warfare #ghost mw2 #ghost simon riley #ghost x reader #cod ghost #mw2 ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #call of duty modern warfare 2 #modern warfare x reader #angst #x reader #x y/n #fluff #simon riley #simon riley fluff #simon riley imagine #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare ii #modern warfare #cod modern warfare #modern warfare 2 #modern warfare ii

[skbeaumont]

"You Should Probably Leave" | Joel x Reader oneshot

Part 1 of Play it Again, a new series where each story is a oneshot, but all are shaped around country songs.

Song: You Should Probably Leave – Chris Stapleton Summary: He works long days. You help out with Sarah, make her dinner, put her to bed when he has to stay late. And then when he gets home you help him out, too, even though you both know you should probably leave. Tags/Warnings: MDNI, 18+, smut, porn without plot, prose but kind of poetry/lyrical, sexual tension, PIV, oral (m! receiving), sub!Joel, you're Sarah's babysitter, AU! No outbreak, set in the 90s. Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: I've taken the lyrics and worked them into the story, so I'd really recommend listening as you read. I've been thinking about writing this series for sooo long because country songs + Joel is a match made in heaven. If you've got any song recommendations, let me know!

It’s like a dance, a well-worn routine that you both know, practised and perfected after months of repetitions. You both know where it leads but you’ll still follow all the steps. That’s how it is.

You put Sarah to bed ages ago, spent the last few hours of babysitting on the sofa finishing up some college work, waiting for Joel to get back. His key in the door is a familiar click, the latch sticking the way it always does, his shoulder forcing it open.

You stay where you are. When he comes into the lounge his toolbelt is still strapped around his waist, the remnants of a long day’s work painted across his handsome face and strewn in dust that’s collected on the knees of his well-worn jeans and callused hands.

He pauses in the entrance, arm stretched up above him to rest on the mantle of the door, t-shirt pulling up to reveal a strip of tanned skin above his belt. There’s a glass of wine half-drunk on the coffee table beside you and your feet are tucked up under you.

Neither of you speak for several long moments. You just watch each other, the tension too delicious to break.

“You should probably leave,” He says, but you make no effort to move and he stays where he is, too, dark eyes watching you.

His expression is open, taunting, and you already know what’s going to happen. You untuck your feet and shift them onto the worn carpet, standing to step towards him. His form takes up most of the doorway, his shoulders so broad that they almost touch both sides of the frame.

When you reach it he’s looming over you, blocking the exit off from you if you wanted to leave, but you don’t. You turn into him, press your nose to the slice of skin between his shoulder and neck and inhale deeply, smell the work of his day on him: the musk of sweat, the tang of iron and sharpness of wood shavings.

“I suppose it ain’t all that late,” he says, voice rumbling through his chest, “still time for you to finish your wine.”

You won’t finish the wine, but it’s all part of the well-worn routine the two of you have. He works long days. You help out with Sarah, make her dinner, put her to bed when he has to stay late.

And then when he gets home you help him out, too. Let him relieve some of the tension that he carries in his shoulders, on his thick-set jaw. You press the first kiss here, letting the rough caress of his stubble eat into your own cheek. When you let your hands course through his hair, scratching your nails into his scalp, he leans into it, eyebrows pitching up, something like a whimper falling from his lips.

There’s a devil on your shoulders, and its urging you each towards the same predetermined end.

“We shouldn’t.” He says, but he doesn’t move away.

“Just one kiss?” You ask, feeling him relax into your touch, the bulk of him slipping down the doorframe, bringing his mouth within reach of yours.

“Alright,” He rasps back, his voice pitching with need, and you claim the last syllable with your mouth, press your lips against his, pull a moan from somewhere deep in his chest.

“Say you want me to stay,” You tell him, and he does, whispers it into your mouth, chases your tongue with his.

When he looks at you his gaze so intense it’s almost intimidating, and you recognise the look in his eyes, the need that’s behind the blown-out pupils and hazy expression.

The slow retreat to his bedroom is well-practised, the carpet belying a well-trodden route you both know. He lets you walk him backwards up the stairs, sighs when you push him against the closed door to fit your mouths together again.

Inside, his bed is unmade and you press him into it, pin his hands above his head and lick a thick strip up his neck, following the tendons to the underside of his jaw.

His moans are the chorus of this well-rehearsed dance. They spur you on as you undress him, revealing the strong lines of his chest, the thick trunks of his thighs, the impressive bulge of his cock in his briefs, already half-hard.

He twitches in your hand when you draw him out and you shift down the bed to take him into your mouth, the head of him heavy and salty on your tongue. His cock swells, the vein that spans the underside pulsing against your palm.

It’s intoxicating and dizzying and familiar, the recognisable ache in your jaw as you take him into the back of your throat, fist gripping the part of him that won’t fit.

“So good to me, darlin’” He groans, running shaking fingers through your hair, trying to sit up against the headboard.

“Relax,” you tell him, pushing him back down to lie against the rumpled duvet, “I know what you need.”

You know him and he knows you, and you both know how this goes. You pull back, work your dress up over your head and pull down your panties, which are ruined with your slick, so damp they catch on your thighs as you peel them off. Joel’s eyes widen as he watches; he can never believe you want this – want him – as much as you do.

When you sink down on his length – the fat head of his cock catching at your entrance, making the stretch delicious and white-hot – he squeezes his eyes shut tight.

You run a finger along his eyebrows, coax him to open them and he does, a muscle in his jaw fluttering as you rise up and drag your cunt back down onto him again.

“I wanna do the right thing, baby,” he tells you, as though this – the pinching heat of him between your thighs, the tremble of his hands as he clutches at the flesh of your ass – isn’t the greatest thing that’s ever happened to either of you.

But you know he hates himself for it, hates that he’s a good decade older than you, that you’re Sarah’s babysitter, that this – this twisted arrangement you have where you stay when he gets back and then end up in his bed – is the only thing that gets him through those long works days sometimes.

“I know,” you say, “but it’s getting kind of hard to resist, isn’t it?”

“You should leave,” he says, thrusting up into you, “we should – Jesus, baby, just like that – we should stop.”

You arch up off the bed, tilting your hips so that he can drive his cock deeper, bottoming out and groaning brokenly into your ear. It’s filthy. Depraved, probably: The slap of his hips as he cants them up into yours, the breathy moans that tumble from your mouth, Joel’s desperate, needy curses.

It’s easy to make him come like this: Three steady, deliberate rolls of your hips and he’s a quivering mess beneath you, his hands fisting in the sheets as he spurts hot and wet inside you.

After, you tell him you should probably leave. He makes you come with his fingers first, tells you to finish your wine, that it still ain’t that late.

And when the sun’s on your skin at 6am, he’s there watching you sleep, hoping you’ll say you’ll stay, even though you should probably leave.

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel x reader #joel x you #the last of us fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #joel miller fanfic #joel miller au #au! no outbreak #SoundCloud

[amongemeraldclouds]

Ruin The Friendship

A letter gets mailed to its intended recipient. A letter confessing your feelings. A letter you never meant to send.

Lorenzo Berkshire x Reader

Warning: fluff, no use of y/n

Author’s note: My final entry for the Hogmarch challenge, prompt five. This was such a fun challenge, thanks for hosting @thatdammchickennugget ♡

✿ Masterlist | 1k words

“What letter? I didn’t have any mail to send, Daisy,” I ask our house elf as she updates me about the chores she’s done for the day.

“The letter beneath your bed. Daisy found it and to thank you kind miss for saving Daisy from your father’s fury yesterday, Daisy went the extra mile to send it,” she announces proudly.

“You mean,” I whisper, a sinking feeling growing in my chest, “the letter containing my deep and honest thoughts and feelings, about the boy I love, that I swore to myself I would never - and I mean never - send?” I exhale, feeling the edges of a panic attack creep in.

Daisy frowns. “Sorry miss, Daisy did not know. Daisy thought she was helping,” she apologizes, cowering in the corner.

“Stand up, Daisy. I’m not going to hit you,” I reassure her. “But I could hit myself so I don’t have to attend class tomorrow and face the mortifying events that are sure to follow.”

I jump up from my bed and nod, waving my wand. I could do that.

“Miss, please!” Daisy pleads. “Don’t hurt yourself. It’s Daisy’s fault,” she hisses. “Stupid! Stupid! Stupid Daisy!” She chides, punctuating each word by banging her head against my drawers.

“Stop, Daisy,” I reach out, touching her shoulder. "Fine” I sigh, “no one is hurting themselves.”

I am just going to have to go to school tomorrow and die from shame.

The letter

My sweet Enzo,  It’s ironic you admire me for my bravery for taking down our childhood bullies and for being one of the top students in our DADA class. Yet here I am in a moment of weakness, thinking of you. Actually, even when I feel strong, defeated, or happy, I still think of you. In an ideal world, I’d be brave enough to tell you face to face. But we live in an imperfect world where hearts can break and relationships end, far more often than anyone would like. So if it saves our friendship, I can and must lock my heart away. I wish I can tell you when or how it happened, but I myself don’t understand. All I know is that I’m hopelessly in love with you. There, I said it.

The aftermath

I peer into Enzo’s dorm, head snaking past the door.

Please, please, please, let it be vacant. Let it be vacant, I chant in my head.

I sigh when silence greets me and move the rest of my body inside, sagging against the door in relief.

What are the odds that Enzo has already read a letter that just arrived this morning? He’s probably at quidditch practice, which means I still have a shot at saving myself from utter mortification. And more importantly, to save our friendship.

I scan his room and hurry towards the table littered with books, dried ink splotches stain the oak wood. If the letter were anywhere, it would be somewhere he—

I yelp when a door opens and turn towards Enzo stepping out from the bathroom with damp hair clinging to his scalp, water dripping down his sculpted chest, running along his toned abs. All hail quidditch.

He clears his throat and I bite my treacherous tongue - the one that unconsciously moved across my lips. Salazar, if I don’t get my act together, I won’t even need some stupid letter to reveal my feelings.

My cheeks burn as I return my gaze to his amused expression. “What the hell are you doing here and why are you naked?” I accuse. That’s right, I’m just blushing because I’m angry.

He adjusts the towel across his hips and I turn away, shoving the image of his toned figure from my mind, trying not to imagine whatever else is beneath his towel. “First of all, not naked,” he states.

“And more importantly, you’re asking me what I am doing, taking a shower, here in my dorm?” he points to the floor for emphasis. I wince and kick myself internally.

“I thought you’d be at quidditch practice,” I try. “I just - I just lost something and thought it might be with you.”

“What is it? I can help you look,” he offers, moving towards me and I step back.

“Enz please, put some clothes on first!” I plead, reminding myself to breathe.

I stop midstep when I feel something cool and solid behind me and I realize I’ve backed into a wall. Why the hell is Enzo prowling towards me like I’m his prey?

I close my eyes when he stops just in front of me, heat radiating from his body. I will myself to disappear, to fuse with the wall, to—

“By any chance,” he starts, “the thing you’re looking for. Is it white and made of paper—”

No, no, no, no, I chant this time, my eyes opening to stare at him in horror.

He continues, “the one with your handwriting scrawled inside?”

All the words leave my mind.

He smirks, “it would be a shame if you lost it and wanted it back because I rather liked it.”

“Y-you do?” I whisper.

His smirk gives way to a warm smile. “Darling, you’re more courageous than I am and I still admire you for your bravery. You managed to write it. Here’s my response: I love you too.”

“Well technically, I never meant to send it. It was Daisy,” I try to explain.

“So I have Daisy to thank. I’ll bring her flowers next time,” he says, making a mental note before continuing. “I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time too, but I was also worried it could ruin our friendship if you didn't feel the same.”

“Now that we’ve established we feel the same…” I begin but trail off when he rests his arm on the wall above me and leans in. My breath hitches.

“I won’t need my clothes until much later,” he ends my sentence.

It’s not what I was going to say but the second I open my lips to protest, his mouth crashes into mine and nothing else matters.

#hogmarch challenge #lorenzo berkshire x reader #lorenzo berkshire x you #lorenzo berkshire #enzo x reader #enzo berkshire imagine #enzo berkshire x reader #enzo berkshire #harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfic #hp fandom #slytherin boys #wizarding world #amongemeraldcloudswrites

[vamphrrr]

Hi!! i loved your tough love fanfic of clarisse! so i decided to ask if you can make a clarisse la rue , (aphrodite child) reader, but she’s not some normal teenager… she’s a princess if you get what im saying??? lets say that aphrodite dated a princess and had a child with him before she left, and so that’s where reader grew up, no one knew that the reader was a princess u til she told clarisse, she was really worried clarisse was gonna hate her but clarisse is like “Woah me mad at you? no way” and clarisse supports her! (Including some kissing, flirting, it would be super nice if the reader was shorter the clarisse probably up to her chest like in the tough love fanfic!)

notes ; omgggg this is so cute!! i’m so glad u liked my last fic i was nervous about posting 😭. also i’ll be making clarisse call reader princess too now knowing SHE IS ONE! they’re already dating in this. i used the same banner bc i’m too lazy to create new ones based on plot LMAO. i wrote this so soon but sometimes if anyone requests it might take me a couple of days bc of school and stuff! think i went a little overboard with this one. i should probably start counting how much i write lol.

%% are you mad?

in which your super attractive girlfriend finds out the secret you’ve been hiding from her for so long. also, she accidentally meets your dad.

— clarisse la rue x f!aphrodite!reader

warnings ; reader has doubts, tall & buff clarisse / short reader (again), flirty!clarisse flirty!clarisse, a little angst?, kissing, two swear words, flustered reader (oh how the turned tables), ooc clarisse? (i’m never sure if i write her right), one suggestive thought in the first paragraph (nothing happened tho!). a little too much background i think… too much father, did my daddy issues come out? made reader’s dad a king bc plot reasons, maybe more emotional than requested srry😭

You couldn’t believe you were doing this. Sneaking off from your girlfriend’s warm bed in the middle of the night. For a minute, you wondered how’d that look to anyone watching. A girl hastily running from a cabin that she very obviously did not belong in, a long shirt —it was Clarisse’s— accompanied by small shorts, (which were not visible might you add). Oh and how could you forget, you were barefoot. Who’s bright idea was that? Oh, yeah, yours. Why?

Gods were you cold. Should’ve brought a jacket, you thought.

The bottom of your feet hurt, stepping on rocks and sticks and who knows what else would do that to you. Next time, you would definitely bring hiking boots or something. And a jacket. In the forest, you were far away from anybody that might disturb you. Pulling Clarisse’s shirt up until your shorts were visible, you dug your hand inside the pocket, meeting with a drachma. You approached the round well, splashing water mist being met with sunlight from below, creating a rainbow.

How? It was the middle of the night. Why was the sun inside? You decided not to think about it.

This well was old, dirty from not being used much. See, not many people knew about it. Apparently, it was for those that needed to talk to somebody reallyyyy privately, that’s why it was hidden in the forest, only appearing at night. You weren’t sure how that worked, but you stumbled upon it a couple of years back when you were being chased by wood nymphs for being out at night. They found you, obviously. Punishment was not escapable and you ended up having to clean the stables the day after you got your nails done. Yuck.

Now here you were again, this being the only place where you could speak to your father without anyone finding you. It’s not that you were embarrassed of him per say, it was that you really didn’t want anyone to know that you were a royal. I mean, how ironic was that? A daughter of Aphrodite, a Princess? Forget it. You’d get made fun of for the rest of your life. You especially didn’t want Clarisse to know. She was your girlfriend yes, and this was something very important that you needed to tell her about, but you weren’t sure how’d she react. You knew she wouldn’t make fun of you like others would, but you didn’t know if dating a literal Princess was too much of a deal breaker for her.

Being with a royal was too stressful, there was so much that they’d get criticized for and so little people that they’d be accepted by. Your dad was a King with many past lovers, Aphrodite included. The people loved her, I mean, who wouldn’t? But then she was gone, disappearing the same night she gave birth to you. Your dad knew of her, of this. He knew she’d be gone by the time the sun rose. Yet, he did nothing. Who was he, than just a mortal man? He could not stop a goddess from leaving.

He got with others after that, your dad had a lot of love to give. Maybe that was something that attracted your mother to him. Public lovers were not taken well, the people respected the King, sure, they just didn’t respect his partners. Constant judging, constant eyes following their every move, constant hatred being thrown, constant stress on their shoulders. In the end, they could never take it. Running away or completely disappearing seemed to be something they all had in common. Your father had to give up on love, small secret romances blossomed for a while, but never enough for it to go public.

That is why you were so scared to tell Clarisse of your status. She was smart, she’d realize being with you would not be worth the hassle. She’d leave you just like everyone else left your father. Clarisse was the love of your life, you don’t think you’d be able to handle it if she left.

You threw the drachma in, calling for the rainbow goddess to let you see your father.

“Dad,” you said, once the back of his head was visible.

He jumped, turning around. “Oh! My dearest daughter, you scared me.” He laughed a bit, looking at you with such soft eyes it almost made you cry. “Why are you Iris messaging me at this hour? Isn’t it time for you to be resting?”

You swallowed, a sudden knot appearing in your throat. “I just needed someone to talk to.” Playing with the ring around your finger that Clarisse gave you for your one year anniversary, you choked out. “I have this amazing girlfriend, she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me here at camp and—” You stopped talking, taking a small breath, not noticing the familiar figure of Clarisse standing a couple of feet behind you. “—and I’m scared to tell her that I’m not who she thinks I am. That I’m not this girl that just so happens to be a daughter of Aphrodite. I love her so much and I want to tell her about you. I want to bring her to you in person because I want the two people I love the most to meet. But how do I do that when I haven’t even told her I’m a Princess and that the only way you two could meet is if I took her to our royal palace?”

Your father widened his eyes, not expecting his little girl to burst out her feelings just like that. He sighed, glancing behind your shoulder. “If this girl you love so much really loves you like you do her, she wouldn’t care about your status.” Staring at who he assumed was your girlfriend behind you, he continued. “She wouldn’t care that you hid this from her. Instead, she’d try to see it from your point of view.” Moving his eyes away from Clarisse, he looked at you, eyes squinting in light mischief. “You should tell her, she’ll understand. I love you.” Is all he said, before he was gone.

You’re left staring at a rainbow, your dad nowhere in sight. Suddenly, a branch broke from behind you. Turning around quickly, heart beating rapidly, you’re met with the eyes of your girlfriend. You immediately let out a gasp, not knowing she was there.

Clarisse speaks up. “You’re a Princess?”

You felt your mouth dry up. With wide eyes, you respond. “Please don’t hate me! I didn’t know how to tell you!” Walking closer to her, you reached your hands out, grabbing one of her own with both of yours. “Please, you have to understand. I didn’t want this to ruin us.”

She stayed silent.

Silence was haunting, especially coming from Clarisse, someone who was always provoking people and boasting loudly everywhere. You gulped, with lips shaking you asked, “A-are you mad?”

She lets out a huff. Was something funny? Was she annoyed? Angry? Did she not care at all? Those were the questions running through your mind. You’d find out the answers soon enough.

“Woah,” she shook her head, letting you see the slight amused smile on her face. “Me? Mad at you? No fucking way.” She reached her free hand towards your face, moving away the strand of hair that fell slightly over your eye. “It just… surprised me s’ all.”

You let out a breath, relaxing and putting your head against her chest. “Thank the gods, I thought you were going to break up with me or something.”

Reaching out again, she placed her forefinger below your chin, raising your head to meet her eyes. “How could I ever break up with someone so beautiful?” She leaned down, your lips grazing against each other’s. “Why would I leave when I can now be your knight in shining armor?” Closing the distance, your eyes fluttered shut. Butterflies were in your stomach just like the first time you two ever kissed. Without your lips separating, she put one arm around your waist, the other grabbing below your thighs, hoisting you up.

“Ah!” you screamed, separating your lips, not expecting it.

Clarisse smirked, seeing you get flustered. “You don’t have any shoes on.” You pouted, putting your arms around her neck so you wouldn’t fall while she walked back (not that she would let you fall off in the first place). “Didn’t think I’d notice, did you, princess?” Teasingly, she used the pet name, now knowing how much truth was behind it.

You whined, pressing your face against her neck. “You’re so unfair. I’m supposed to be the one flustering you.”

“Awe, the princess is mad,” she cooed, letting her lips touch the tip of your ear. “You want me to get on one knee and apologize?”

Clarisse laughed when you let out a loud groan, hitting her lightly on the chest. Smiling, she knew the only way she’d ever leave you was if she was six feet under. And even then, she’d find a way to get back to the land of the living just to be by your side.

The only things heard in the dead of night were the grasshoppers, chirping their little melodies into the darkness. That was until you muttered sleepily, letting out a yawn. “I love you.”

Clarisse repeated after you. “I love you.” Feeling your eyes fluttered close, she followed it with an almost silent “goodnight.”

Now that you were asleep, she felt panic slowly rise, steps quickening to reach the Ares cabin faster. She could only think about two things now.

Holy shit, she’s a Princess. Oh my gods, I met her dad.

#vamphrrr ask #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #pjo tv show #clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #pjo oneshot #x reader #clarisse x y/n #clarisse la rue x you #clarisse x female reader #clarisse la rue x female reader #clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse x you #clarisse x reader #clarisse pjo #pjo series #pjo #pjo x you #pjo x reader #pjoverse

[salaimoi]

i wave goodbye to the end of beginning ˚. ✦.˳· ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

pairing: gojo satoru x fem reader sypnosis: he wasn’t what you desired anymore, but he couldn’t let you go. months passed since your bitter breakup, and yet, he didn’t stop loving you for a second. cw: slow burn. angst for the sake of angst. falling out of love for no reason fr. unrequited love. alcohol consumption (gojo only) no happy ending me thinks, or maybe somewhat. who knows word count: 3.1k

author's notes: i’m mourning gojo and so should you! so here’s a piece of an angsty fic that’s been rotting, unfinished, in my drafts since march 29. i was only gonna post a sneak peek of this and suddenly the holy spirit took over me and drove me to finally finish it??? IF U EVER READ ANYTHING OF MINE PLEASE LET IT BE THIS😭😭i’m so in love with the reader crying scene u don’t get it. the metaphors?! i outdid myself. i am so terrified of the deep ocean, and the fact that i find myself writing about it during angsty hours says a lot about me. i can’t emphasize how much i adore this fic. i just love angst sm idkidkidk

also, this is my first time attempting angst for the sake of angst as well as slow burn (?) so idk if i’ll ever come back to this. not beta read.

Time and again, this mahogany dining table was the scene of numerous heartwarming interactions – mementos Satoru wouldn’t be able to replicate a second time, even if he spent a thousand lifetimes trying to do so. Sure, it was more than easy to recreate the scene, but not the genuine warmth the two of you felt in that moment. He could go to great lengths, such as hand-crafting every single piece of furniture in the room that bore witness – carving and polishing wood until his palms became more splinters than skin. But even then, he wouldn’t come close to reliving any of those gratifying sentiments from so long ago.

All the shared laughter at his trivial attempts at comedy had caught up to you; your smiles were forced lately, and he could tell. He possessed that diamond-blue, six-eyed gaze which consistently made you feel as if he could undeniably read your thoughts, but that wasn’t the case. Even a blind person could discern the unforeseen shift in your comportment toward him, and due to this, Satoru questioned himself relentlessly. 

What if he’d said something to offend you? What if he left the toilet seat up one too many times for your liking? What if he began snoring in bed but you were too considerate to say anything about it? What if he forgot a special date? What if he tried to offer you something you were allergic to? 

What if he stopped being the love of your life...? 

It seemed as if, in a fraction of a second, all the enjoyment you once felt had deserted you, and with it, your love for him. Had you forgotten how happy you were by his side all in the spawn of a few hours, or was this the universe’s twisted interpretation of a joke?

Even if it was, you weren’t laughing.

You told yourself it was fine, that it was a mere wave of sadness that would soon pass, but instead the harmless tide you paid no mind to had brutally swept your body into a sea of despair. Before you could process your predicament, the shoreline was well out of sight – blurring with the deep blue expanse of the oceanic abyss that enveloped your mind.

The longer you fought to stay afloat, the clearer the path became for the briny water to replace the oxygen in your lungs, giving you no choice but to drown as everything around you became a pitch-black, bottomless pit – devoid of any sense of worry for you. 

It was rather often that you were accused of abandoning the ship when things got bad, and yet, here you were – submerging along with it.  

How ironic.

Even he couldn’t save you now. The solace his mere presence bestowed upon you when you needed it most wasn’t there anymore. There was no more capability of initiating conversations with him when you were the only other person in the room, causing the once-upbeat and soothing environment to give way to one of silence and uncertainty; it was as thick as syrup.

Syrup. The sugary taste of it from when you consumed it during breakfast was all but replaced by a repugnant, sour one in your mouth. A persistent echo of those homemade fluffy pancakes you had turned down remained, even though he had made them just for you — his precious girl. 

You insisted you would eat later – an obvious white lie to mask your despondency and lack of appetite – but he spoon-fed you, because in his own words, “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I allow my girlfriend to starve? No, that won’t do. I’ll take care of you even after I've exhaled my last breath.”

“And how would you do that if you’re no longer breathing, genius?” you asked, a wilting smile on your face that you had put on display for him. 

“Well, my dear," he retorts with a smug grin. "I've always believed that love has a way of transcending the boundaries of life and death. And as luck would have it, our love transcends the mortal realm. I will always be with you, in spirit if not in flesh.” he smiles, a twinkle of amusement behind his sapphire eyes before continuing.

“Once I've moved on to the afterlife, I'll find a way to send you sweet nothings and a box of chocolates from beyond the grave. Consider it an eternal gift.”

He declares in a complacent tone as he lounges back in his chair, head resting comfortably on the back of his hands. 

"But in all seriousness," he then adds, his tone becoming more genuine, "I'll do everything in my power to ensure you're taken care of – even if it means making sure my eternal resting place has a Wi-Fi connection for you to receive my messages.” 

Your thoughts were entirely silenced in that moment; white noise overtook the black space within your mind. How had he managed to say such heartfelt words as if they were second nature? This early in the morning, nonetheless.

Would he actually…?

You knew he would.

"But let’s not dwell on my demise just yet,” his words bring you back to the present conversation. “Until the day comes, I promise to make the most of our time together. Besides, knowing me, I’d probably haunt you just to ensure you have someone annoying to keep you company."

He finally remarked, going back to stuffing your face with the soggy pancakes that had been sitting in syrup for too long. 

And you were cognizant of the fact that you alone were privy to this side of Satoru Gojo: the mushy, gentle one who tended to his companion as if it were a god-given mandate. 

To the public, he was a stoic, impervious character who had no dread of others. To you, he was far more vulnerable than he would ever confess. 

But that wasn’t nearly enough to deter you from taking the disheartening decision made later that day.

“I can’t stay here anymore.” austere words you didn’t wish to speak, but needed to, in order to provide some semblance of closure for the both of you. “I can’t love you anymore.” 

A hushed supplication could be heard flying across the room at the speed of light once your hand reached out to turn the bitterly cold door knob, hitting against the back of your head – identical to an equally-cold shower.

“Please don’t leave me,” he immediately protested weakly. 

He approached you with cautious strides, every step causing fragmentation in his all-too-frail emotional state. Even if it was ephemeral, the mutual love between the two of you had already left a blazing watermark on his soul. His feelings for you transcended the nagging rationality that bound his mind, defying all sensible objections he had on the matter of permitting you to depart from his life. Having failed to quell the ardor her felt, it persisted apodictically until he was an arm’s length from your frame. 

And that was exactly it – the same frigid sensation your hand clinged onto emulated the one you felt in your wretched heart the moment he approached you. You’d already turned your back on him and expressed every afflicting anguish that tormented your soul, so why plead now? Now – when you already made the conscious decision to leave him behind. 

Tears neither you nor he could hold back began flowing down your features. A familiar hand lifted towards your cheek soon after, wiping the salty residue off your delicate face with his thumb. 

He never ceased to remind you how gorgeous you were when you cried, frankly because the manner in which your wispy eyelashes retained the saltine tears in your eyes resembled the delicate surface of a tranquil pond.

Every tear you shed would become the gentle water that tickled his skin as his body wafted about in your iris – an eternal reservoir he’d swim in without tiring if the heavens so permitted it.

However, this occasion differed from the rest; the once gentle waters he yearned to lay in became calamitous waves, which may lure him to the ocean’s most profound recesses in the blink of an eye – your blink of an eye. He would usually stay afloat among that innocent gaze of yours, but tonight it was ruthlessly drowning him with no lifeline in sight. 

Even after he implored that your crying would come to a halt, more pungent teardrops bled onto his fingers. An eroding desperation flowed through you, aching to hold onto something, anything, in order to cease the mental decay within your subconscious.

Thus, your own hand extended to hold his against your cheek, a glacial embrace overpowering the warmth of his skin; an identical chill tickled his spine when he absorbed the crispness of your graze, but he paid it no mind.

“Not you too…anyone but you,” he pleaded in a low voice, causing more accursed tears of yours to cascade mercilessly as he embraced you in an endeavor to sway your decision. His voice was gentle and soothing, mimicking a caress you’d never experience a second time. 

“I’m sorry.” you muttered.

Being unable to bring yourself to meet the sapphire eyes that imitated a midwinter sky so perfectly, your head lay low; the only thing visible to him was the top of it. 

It was unclear what you were sorry about. Perhaps you were sorry that you had to leave him behind. Or perhaps you were apologizing to yourself that he was no longer what you thought you wanted with every fiber in your body.

You desired more in this life, and on your game board, he wasn’t a playing piece who could frolic alongside you. It wasn’t because you didn’t fancy his company, rather it was the fact that his own strategy of playing was one that did not catch your eye anymore; it had become a monotonous rehearsal. Every move came to be a discernible one to you – even before he picked up his pawn, causing you to lose interest in the entire game itself.

That realization alone shattered his entire world.

Satoru’s head lay low all throughout as he sat on a wooden stool amidst the empty bar. It was 2 a.m. and he needed to go home, but why should he?

You wouldn’t be there to greet him – or even scold him for that matter. 

Colorless, almost lifeless, marbles stared vacantly at the picture of you on his lock screen; he consistently spoke to your picture as if he were having a conversation with it. At this point in time, it had become routine. Maybe one of these days the frozen-in-time frame would speak back to him for once?

Just once.

Where had that tender smile he’d fallen in love with gone?

Where had you gone?

On a nightly basis, the same detestable conversation from that night redounded from one end of Satoru’s mind to the other incessantly – akin to a religiously recited sermon. 

It was impractical to disregard the harsh reality that sooner or later every cherished individual he held dear to his heart willingly departed from his life – Suguru, and now you. 

If it entailed becoming a regular person, he’d give his life as a sorcerer to ensure the permanent presence of at least one individual in his life. Where was the value of possessing such prowess when one’s vulnerability in the realm of love was inescapable? 

What twisted transaction was that?

He'd even willingly forsake his divinely bestowed talents for the purpose of altering the passage of time, thereby reverting to a period where your presence was far from being nothing more than a diminishing recollection. 

Ijichi had been dealing with this side of his boss for months on end. Regardless of his efforts to encourage Gojo to put an end to this melancholic act of his, he never managed to convince him to do so. Ijichi attempted the compassionate approach, but to no avail. His optimism and patience were dwindling, fearing that this would continue on for eternity – and perhaps it would’ve if he hadn’t stepped in.

This had to end sooner or later, and for everyone involved’s sake, it had to be the former. So tonight, he opted for a sterner, and perhaps more unforgiving, path.

Your car was parked out front of the bar Ijichi had sent you the address to – forehead pressed against the steering wheel as an audible, exhausted sigh escaped your mouth. It was late and you knew this was nothing short of inane behavior. You weren’t doing this for you; you had to remind yourself that you were doing it for him, with the hope that he would ultimately find someone who would be there for him in a way that you were unable to. 

Weary, almost weak, legs lead you to enter the desolate bar. A knife prods at your chest when your eyes dart over to where Gojo was. He kept his head lowered; the only part of him you could clearly see from this angle was his back.

An overwhelming sea of emotions plagued your mind when you witnessed him in such a state. You could feel the knives twist the longer you stared at the back of his fluffy white locks. 

Months had passed since your split, and you realized Satoru’s grief and distress were indeed as dire as his assistant conveyed to you during the phone conversation. 

A tap on his shoulder was accompanied by a sweet voice that had vanished into the depths of his consciousness a long time ago. Perhaps because he didn't wish to recall the agonizing memories that came with your voice, or perhaps because he needed to maintain a pristine, untouched image of you in his psyche.

As you occupy a vacant stool one seat away from him, your attention is drawn to the half empty vodka bottle in his grasp. 

“You know, I talked to your therapist. He said you were getting sober.” 

What you said held true, except you didn’t hear it from his therapist directly; Ijichi was the one who was initially informed about that, and being the caring person he was, he relayed the details to you. Mostly because he felt as if, deep down, you still wanted to know about Gojo’s well-being.

"What are you doing here drowning yourself in alcohol?" you added, seemingly concerned for your ex-boyfriend.

He looked up at you, his eyes red and bleary from the drink. His body froze. Blue pupils dilated in a mixture of shock and happiness. It really was you. Had you come back for him after all this time? 

"What does it look like I’m doing?" he muttered, his voice bitter and angry.

Satoru detested alcohol; it always interfered with his abilities, and being the strongest meant being ready whenever – no questions asked.  After your departure, though, he grew fond of the bitter, burning feeling the liquid provided. That sweet poison was the sole substance capable of muffling the eternal pessimism plaguing his mind.

You approached him cautiously, taking the bottle from his hands and setting it aside. "Come on," you said firmly, "we need to get you home."

He wasted no time to speak what was really on his mind. Even if it was for a mere second, he had felt the sensation of your touch once more. That was more than he needed to vocalize the thoughts that tormented his sanity. Either that, or it was the alcohol he had consumed speaking. 

“Why won’t you love me back?” His words slurred, being far too drunk to care, though. 

“…You’re drunk, let’s get you home.”

“What home? The one I bought for us that YOU left me all alone in?” he deadpans, the silence following being as deafening as a scream.

Ouch. 

“My room feels so empty if you’re not there. I see your precious face and I don't know what to do.” His expression dampens with anguish before he continues – somewhat unclearly, ”whatever I do, I cam’t fubking get you out of my head amd it’s ruining me.” 

“I told you to move on a million times every time you drunk dialed me, Satoru.” 

“If that’s what you wanted, why did you continue to pick up the call?” He retaliates, eyes glazed with forbidden tears on the verge of cascading against his pale skin.

You knew perfectly well why. He knew perfectly well why. Everyone Satoru vented to about you knew why, so why continue to deny it? 

Attempting to keep your temper in check, you take a deep breath, eyes darting back and forth between the door and him. It was more than easy to run away from your problems, like you always did. But not this time.

You owed it to him to at least finally stick around long enough when things got tough. You wouldn’t put up an invisible wall between the two of you anymore, not today. 

You sigh, taking the empty seat right next to him. 

“We can’t go back to how things were. We broke up, remember?” 

“I know,” he grumbles, taking a sip of his beverage. He shook his head, his drunken state making it almost impossible to focus his thoughts or his vision. “But maybe drinking will make me forget that we ever did. Maybe tonight I can pretend we’re still together,” his voice and face etched with sorrow.

His voice trailed off, followed by another long sip of his drink. 

“You need to quit drinking yourself into a stupor, Satoru. This isn’t healthy,” you responded, voice softening out of concern. 

His eyes still clouded with alcohol, he looks at you before speaking. “I don’t know how to move on.” He admitted, voice barely audible. “I don’t know how to live without you. I loved you…and I still do.”

He silently weeps once and for all, crumbling before the love of his life. You didn’t know what else to say, so you settled on simply allowing his head to rest on your shoulder; you always were his favorite shoulder to cry on, after all. Wrapping an arm around him, you pet his head as you lull him. Instinctively, he envelops you into a warm embrace, face burying itself deeper into your chest. 

As he continued to sob like a baby, the sorcerer allowed his emotions to flow freely – months of bottling them up into liquor bottles had finally caught up to him. 

He was beyond ecstatic underneath all the melancholy; not only had you allowed him to get closer to you, but even went as far as hugging him too. He couldn't believe it. Just a few moments ago, you were talking about forcing him to move on, but now – you were actually back in his arms, where you belonged.

He felt relieved for a moment, almost to the point where he wasn't thinking properly anymore. You were finally back in his arms, where you needed to be; he refused to let go.

It felt like a fever dream, but this was all he needed. Even if you’re gone, morning come, he’ll live in this moment for the rest of eternity. 

#✰ gojodagoat is online #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo angst #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru angst #gojo x reader #satoru gojo #jjk gojo #gojo satoru x y/n #satoru gojo x you #satorugojo

[writtenbymoonflower]

hello! love love love ur writing! would love to see more of james (or sirius/remus i dont discriminate 🤭) and physical affection! any prompt you like. only if you want ofc!

Hi Hunny! Thank you so so much. I will take any excuse to write about my loverboy. I hope this is okay!

James x gn!reader, kind of shy!reader, tooth-rotting fluff.

cw: too cheesy, brief mention of smut, nothing graphic

750 words

“Angel! I’m home!” You couldn’t help but smile as you heard his bag drop against the wood floor. He put on the same antics every time he came back from sports practice, throwing his bag down on the ground (no matter how many times you say to put it on the bench), and yelling whatever pet name comes to his mind at that moment. He was always finding little honorifics to call you, he was just sweet like that. You heard the heavy thumping of his socked feet as he ran down the hall into your living room. 

“Hi Jamie! How was practice?” You beamed at him. He was really pretty like this, his curls were damp and his face was flushed. He looked cozy in his sports hoodie and black sweats.

“It was good, we ended a bit early so I got a shower in the change room.” You believed that. He smelled strong of his woodsy cologne. “How was your day, Baby?” You put the book you were reading down to give your boyfriend your full attention, still careful to mark the page. 

“It was good. I did some studying and some work but I mostly just sat here doing nothing.” You smiled up at him and chuckled. “I should start working on dinner soon though, what do you want to have?”

“You.” He said, deadpan. But it only took three seconds for him to break and start giggling, too satisfied with his joke. 

“Jamie,” you chided. “Pick something real to have.” You rolled your eyes and shook your head, but you were still smiling, somehow still endeared by his usual antics. 

“You look pretty real to me, Angel. But I guess it wouldn’t hurt to check.” You had little time to figure out his meaning when he launched himself over the arm of the couch to lay on top of you. You squealed as he tugged your hips down, forcing you to lay flat against him. 

“Baby! I’m real, but I’m not real food.” You reasoned, not hesitating to thread your fingers through his hair. You weren’t always the best at initiating contact, but when James did, you couldn’t stop. You started gently scratching his scalp, attempting to calm him, but he was determined in his teasing. Despite your words he started frantically pressing open-mouth kisses all over your face. 

“You may not be real food,” He said in between his loving attacks, “But you do taste good.” He grinned at you, too satisfied with himself. 

“Jamie,” You sighed, giving up discouraging him. Noticing your surrender, he pushed himself up, still over you and looked down at your face. His big, brown eyes bore into your soul, making you squirm under his gaze. 

“There you go,” He grew even more satisfied. He was the nicest boyfriend ever, but he did take joy in making you go all shy underneath him. “There’s my baby.” He pressed another kiss to your forehead. His voice grew quieter with you being so close to him. “Finally letting me love on you without turning into a mess.” Ironically this made you even more flustered, but being as kind as always, James chose to ignore it. 

“I love you.” You smiled shyly at him. 

“I love you too, Angel.” He said back at you. He glanced over to the side table. “What are you reading?” 

“O. Henry short stories.” You moved your fingers to the curls at the nape of his neck, still being just as loving. 

“Read some to me?” He looked at you hopefully. 

“You’ll be bored, they’re not really your style.” You leaned your neck up to kiss his cheek, and he rewarded you with a smile. 

“But you’re my style, and I like it when you read to me.” And you couldn’t say no when he was looking at you like that. As soon as you nodded he set about fixing you both, you leaning against the arm of the couch, book in hand. He laid with his lower legs hanging off the opposite end of the couch and his face nuzzled against your lap and tummy. 

“Okay, which story do you want to hear?” You let your free hand roam over his broad shoulders and back, knowing they were probably tensed and ached from his practice. 

“Whichever, Angel. Just let me lay here and listen.” He was being equally as feely with you, grabbing and gently pinching your hips and thighs while you started your story.

#james potter blurb #james potter fluff #james potter x reader #james potter fanfiction #james potter one shot #james potter #marauders fanfiction #marauders #fluff #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #drabble #james potter scenario #james potter x self insert #marauders era #james potter fic #james potter request #anon request

[snoopyana]

say cheese.

“been a minute since we kicked it, you’ve been caught up.”

it’s easy to get caught up with life. accidentally leaving friends on delivered for weeks, forgetting plans that were made weeks in advance — like a movie night with a certain someone. it’s just easy to forget from time to time.

song eunseok. smut. close-friends dynamic. cw for head pushing towards the end!!

body melting into your couch, you were in darkness of your living room. limbs hanging off the furniture from practically throwing yourself into the cushions— but you were finally relaxed. recovering from the past week, it left you void of any energy — resulting in neglecting your friendships to stay one-hundred percent focused. in the midst of your intense workload, you always had that itching feeling that you were forgetting something important.

or someone important.

but you’d always push the thought to the side. until now, you laid motionless, the sound of cars speeding past your building and rain hitting the closed windows filling your ears while you tried to remember what it was you were forgetting. until your phone started to buzz and vibrate on the coffee table, breaking your train of thought before you reached an answer. your eyes flickered over to the device as it moved along the glass table — but in all honesty, you couldn’t be bothered to even twitch a finger in the device’s direction. so it continued to shake on the table — multiple times at that. whoever was calling must have been determined for an answer.

but you were determined to not pick up. the effects of lack of sleep overpowering your will to move. the string of calls stopped, letting your mind finally be at peace. but the buzzing was only to be replaced with the headache inducing sound of someones fist aggressively pounding on your front door. that, you simply couldn’t ignore. paired with the sound of your phone buzzing once again, you found what little strength you had to reach for your phone.

there was silence for a split second on the other end, before eunseoks voice came blaring through the speakers. “are you still at work?” he questioned, concern yet annoyance in his tone.

“no.”

“well can you open the door? i’ve been knocking for like 5 minutes.” knocking was a severe understatement. the very recent memory of him basically beating a hole into the wood but you chose not to comment on it. mumbling out a quick, “it’s unlocked already.” you remembered in the midst of you tiredly stumbling into your home, you forgot to lock the door. only now remembering that small detail when eunseok happened to ask. the line went dead and the sound of your apartment door swinging open, hitting the wall in the process, echoed through the quiet space.

his footsteps being the only indicator that he was inside, those same footsteps stopping in front of the couch that you laid in. flipping around to face him, all he could do was stare as you made an attempt to look up at his face, a throbbing pain behind your eyes causing you to shut them. the dim city lights leaking in from the windows that lined your walls gave eunseok just enough light to see your exhausted expression. “what are you doing?”

wrapped inside your decorative throw blanket, something you would criticize anyone else for doing, you then mumbled into the seats — “laying down.” coming out slightly more sarcastic than you intended, eunseok gripped onto his chest as if you just shot him. “ouch, could be a little nicer.” using the same energy that you accidentally gave him. leaning down, he lifted your head up to make room for his body to slide in. resting your head right onto his lap, eunseok let you settle again — debating whether he should mention the planned movie night. a night that you had planned.

ironic isn’t it?

five minutes went by painfully slow, not wanting to disturb your peace again. had being zoned out for that short time, he was brought to when the light taps of your fingertips hit his knee. shifting his attention back onto you, he hummed in response. “why are you here again?” eyes still glued shut, you couldn’t see the confused and somewhat offended look on his face. a pinch on your arm causing you to yelp and making your body jolt up — head whip in his direction, “what was that for!?”

“you forgot that you invited me over?? we were literally planning this like 3 weeks ago. i put all the food that you asked me to bring in the kitchen.” messaging the skin on your arm, it dawned on you. it was you who made the plans. your chest started to tighten up with guilty as he sat there looking back at you. “i did, didn’t i?”

nodding his head, eunseok had his arm propped up on the armrest, head in hand — waiting for you to get up and get to setting up. he spent a solid 20 dollars on gas and wasn’t about to let it go to waste. stuttering over your words, you were finally able to get out your next sentence — “let me take a shower first..” a nervous laugh followed soon after before you were up and scurrying around the home.

leaning back into the armrest, your legs were propped over his, pillows and blankets decorated the couch as the original heathers blasted on your living room tv for the third time that night. eunseok insisted on picking the movies since you forgot about it all together. having no choice but to listen to the man rant about how culturally relevant this film was. mouth full of candy, all you did was nod as the male blabbered like a teenage girl.

stuffing a handful of popcorn into his mouth, eunseok continued his mini rant. “and that’s why you shouldn’t try to be caption save-a-hoe.” glancing over at him with disgust on your face as he spoke whilst chewing. “seok, stop talking with your mouth full”. nagging at him, all he did was roll his eyes while you used the pad of your thumb to swipe away popcorn from his lip. reaching for the remote, he scrolled through the alarming amount of streaming services that you had to offer.

getting up from your seat, he whipped his head in your direction. blurting out a quick “where are you going?” before you could even make it to the hall. “to piss? if you’re gonna be such a cling, come with me.” your voice faded into the darkness of the hallway, dim light from the bathroom spreading over the walls before fading out again when you closed the door. once he was sure that you were inside, his attention was back onto finding a new movie. but he couldn’t help but think about if he actually followed you.

“would have done way more than just come with you. maybe even come in a different way.” mumbling to himself, eunseok popped a few pieces of popcorn into his mouth before settling on the silence of the lambs.

pulling at your pajama shorts, you made your way back into the living room. taking note to the movie that he picked out as you slid back into your spot. grabbing a fistful of skittles, you flung one at eunseoks’ head. causing the man to slowly turn in your direction. “really seok, silence of the lambs? are you gonna bite my face off like lector?” giggling at your own fairly bad joke, eunseok gave you a nasty side-eye before pinching at your exposed thighs under the blanket. “maybe i will,” leaning back into the cushions, his hand messaged the skin on your leg, but his eyes glued to the screen, “a lot less gore. a little more affectionate though.” his words floated in the air as the movie progressed. unsure what to say, you opted to say nothing. eating and keeping silent was your best bet.

during the runtime of the movie, you two had changed positions to get more comfortable. correction, for him to get more comfortable. complaining that his legs were falling asleep, eunseok wanted to lay down. resulting in you having to get up yet again. and unfortunately, the only way for you both to lay down was for you to lay in between his legs — head resting just below his chest, arms finding sanctuary on his thighs.

“don’t move too much, might get hard.” a laugh following afterwards, guess there’s a trend of bad jokes tonight. digging your nails into his thigh, his laughter was quickly replaced with winces of pain and half assed ‘sorry’s. releasing his skin from under your nail, you let yourself go limp, sinking further into his lap — but something was nudging on your lower back. too lazy to address it, your eyes fell onto the screen.

wait.. is this the heathers again?

with the film coming to an end, you couldn’t help but take note of how that thing on your back hadn’t gone away, if anything it just got bigger?? and eunseok shifting uncomfortably underneath you. unable to ignore it anymore, your hand ventured down. in your mind, it must have been the remote. as your fingers wrapping around the object, eunseok just so happened to suck in his breath.

craning to look back at him, puzzled by his sudden reaction. while you stared up at him, he stared down at you — a lazy smile on his face. “i told you i might get hard if you kept it up. don’t look at me like it’s my fault.” your mind finally got a grasp of what your hand was grasping. quickly pulling away, you were nonverbal from shock, maybe it was arousal — maybe it was both.

“you’re so gross??”

“i didn’t do anything! but you can do something and help me so we can finish this movie.” he was still carelessly sprawled out on your couch, legs parted just enough for you to sit straight-up between them. while you were now seated on your knees, the request, (or was it a demand), bounced around your mind. meeting his gaze, eunseok raised his eyebrows — hand placed onto his thigh as he waited for you to make your decision.

it’s not like it was your first time getting physical.

and just like that, your fingers where laced at the waistband of his sweats. tugging and pulling at the the fabric just enough for his dick to spring out. spitting in your hand, you gave eunseok a feq quick pumps with one hand while the other rested on his thigh. while your fingers worked wonders, eunseoks head hung off the armrest.

his body jolting when your body sank between his legs for the second time tonight, this time taking him into your mouth instead of using his body as a makeshift pillow. a desperate groan exiting his lips when the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat. “just like that, stay down for a moment..” and as if you didn’t hear him, eunseoks’ hand snaked down to grab a fistful of your hair — forcing your head down as he adjusted to the feeling.

of course he’s a pusher.

gagging around him, eunseok started to slowly fuck into your mouth— even though it was supposed to be a quick blow. he quickly got a little bit too into it , recklessly bobbing your head by the makeshift ponytail that he formed. hips lifting from off the couch as he continued to use your mouth. his moans mixing with the wet sucking coming from between his legs bounced off the walls, canceling out the sound of the television.

what was supposed to be playing away?

that doesn’t necessarily matter now. clawing at his torso, tears streamed down your face from the repeated assault on your throat. eyes tear filled from the aching sensation on your scalp from his overkill of a grip. “oh fuck, gonna swallow it all if i cum inside your mouth, yeah?” looking down at you, eunseok couldn’t help but reach for his phone with his freehand. snapping a few pictures before pushing your head all the way down. emptying all he had to give down your throat. keeping you down for just a second longer for good measure. wiping away the tears that stained your face, eunseok gently tapped your cheek. eyes flickering up to be met with his camera.

“say cheese.”

— hi lovebugs, yana here. it’s currently 3:11 AM and i started this at 3PM yesterday. but little me was determined to give you something i would be proud of. and this was supposed to be my eunseok bday post but clearly im a little late‼️ i hope the length makes up for the wait. now imma take my ass too bed, its so late and the music isn’t keeping me up anymore!! bye sweets!! 😋💗

#luvyujun #eunseok #riize #riize smut #riize eunseok #riize x reader #riize reading #riize imagines #riize suggestive #riize scenarios #riize fanfic #riize hard thoughts #riize song eunseok #i got a little wordy forgive me

[clourey]

˗ˏˋ NOT MEANT TO BE ࿐ྂ

synopsis : how do genshin men process a rejection?

featuring : neuvillette, wriothesley, al-haitham

cw : mentions of blood

NEUVILLETTE ;

- he was.. content. not with the rejection, of course— neuvillette’s melancholic air or the way his antennae drooped so sadly did not go unnoticed by anyone, not even the melusines.

- but he was content in that he was able to love you. he was at terms with the fact that he wasn’t able to have you or give himself to you.

- he just felt pleasant knowing that he’d carry his love with him, as a reminder of what a blessing you’ve been in his life.

- and though he wasn’t depressed, he still found himself leaning back in his chair, shutting his eyes and dreaming of a world where you let him in your arms.

- when the melusines curiously observe him, they can’t help but inquire, “monsieur neuvillette, why do you always say their name when they aren’t even here?”

- ah, so he’s been caught again, mumbling your name under his breath.

- “i.. i fear that i do not entirely understand why i do so myself, but i believe this is what humans call.. ‘yearning’.”

WRIOTHESLEY ;

- he thought he was prepared for a rejection. he wasn’t.

- he overthinks it, wondering if there was something he did wrong that make you reject his confession.

- and everytime he dwells on it, he’s subconsciously chewing at his bottom lip, not realizing until there’s sour blood on his tongue.

- he’s forced to rub it off on the back of his hand so sigewinnie doesn’t notice and begin to question him again. he doesn’t like her questions.

- “do you want them to talk to you?”

- “do you want to see them?”

- “do you want to hold them?”

- yes. that’s exactly what he wants.

- but he can’t say that, he can’t make that happen. because more than wanting to be with you, he wants to respect you.

- regardless of the abyss of doubts he’s pushed into, he doesn’t want you to doubt him.

- if you asked to end your friendship, he’d end it. no matter how his chest constricts at the mere thought of not ever being able to talk to you again, no matter the scoldings from the head nurse after his sleepless nights, no matter his crushed hopes.

AL-HAITHAM ;

- hey, al-haitham could just turn off his emotions for a bit. distract himself from a little miscalculation, couldn’t hurt right?

- his plan was a success, partially. he ignored until he just couldn’t anymore.

- the moment his pen wrote the letters of your name on a document strictly for noting work-related information, he felt tears prick his eyes.

- what was he crying for? that was all he thought whilst gathering his papers, and ironically, the thoughts only made more tears emerge.

- annoying. irritating. he’s frustrated.

- as if crying was going to make you miraculously reciprocate his feelings. there was no rational, logical reason in crying over it. so why— god, why was he looming over the table watching as his tears stained the wood? why was he feeling so helplessly weak that he had to use his arms to support him? why did he have so many questions and the answers to none?

- “uh.. al-haitham..? why are you..”

- kaveh. how characteristic his timing was.

- “go away.”

- in the end, the only way he knows how to cope is by suffocating all his feelings. isolating them and leaving them to die.

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin x reader #wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #neuvillette #neuvillete x reader #al haitham #al haitham x reader #i had some thoughts #didn’t proofread erm #also how do quotation marks work wtf

[moris-auri]

I can't steal you (like you stole me) - part 1

dividers by @arcielee and @saradika

Summary: Spiraling after an argument with her husband, a chance encounter with a stranger shows her just what she was missing… and what she wants.

A/N; my first Tom Bennett fic so please be kind ❤️

masterlist

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: 18+/Minors DNI, smut, implied PTSD, later mentions of malnutrition and war

15 February 1940

In all the years she's frequented the Minerva Inn, she's never seen it as it is now, a hive of activity and growing more crowded by the minute. Almost every inch of the pub is filled to the brim, the moods of the people who called Plymouth home buoyant and lively, a result of the arrival of the HMS Exeter that had come into port hours earlier, casting a shadow like a great iron gray stain against the blue of the sky. 

As her gaze roamed over the gathered people, she mulled over how it was almost too easy to forget the war beyond its walls. The second Great War, the Daily Telegraph had taken to calling it. She remembered it as clear as if it were yesterday, the Sunday that had been like any other. How she had barely stepped one foot inside after hanging the linens up did the crackle of the little radio on the table get louder, Chamberlain's voice resonating throughout the space. 

This country is at war with Germany. 

It had looped inside her head for days after- as it had for others, she knew without a doubt, almost everyone she had encountered going about their life as best they could, herself included. And when her husband had come home, the day after the booklets for rationing of certain foods had been handed around a month ago, did the inkling that had been a nagging thought in the back of her mind for weeks finally reached a head.   

She was unashamedly grateful for it though, the distraction it brought, half afraid to even think what her thoughts would be if she had been locked within a room alone, overflowing inside her brain like water sloshing over the rim of a bucket. 

"Another drink, dearest?" 

She stilled, startled and caught off guard by the question as a shadow darkened the wood of the bar before her. She raised her head, the tension in her back lessening at the sight of the warmth in Mary's eyes as she met the older woman's gaze. She cleared her throat, letting her gaze drop to the glass in her hands, mulling over it silently. Did she? 

The sensible side of her protested against it vehemently, feeling the buzz under her skin, the sensation not unlike a hive of bees. She began to gnaw at her lip, staring at her fingers as she thought it over. 

"I shouldn't-" She said, swallowing the lump in her throat, feeling the alcohol burn a path like fire as she drained the glass, the sound of her hair sliding over the shoulders of her blouse filling her ears. "Actually, I would. Thank you, Mary."

Mary only hummed in response, casting a pointed look her way before turning her back to refill the glass without another word. For as long as she could remember, the older woman had been a fixture in this place, full of memories that were equal parts good and bad. Memories of coming here as a girl, hand in hand with her mother or her father. As a teenager with other girls from her school. As a new bride in white, feeling like she was floating on a cloud and full of joy, a smile stretching her lips ear to ear.

She murmured a quiet "thank you" when it was set in front of her, extending a finger out to swirl it over the rim, her shoulders dropping as she let out a sigh, the memories of the events of the past several hours rushing back. 

The shouting had been the worst part. Nearly as loud as it was unpleasant, she had wished nothing more for it to end, feeling the anger thrumming under her skin as she forced herself to stand still, voice hoarse, listening to every word that had left her husband's mouth. 

A part of her mourned who he had been before everything had gone downhill the day the declaration of war crackled across every radio from Plymouth to Dartmouth and beyond, the news changing them both in more ways than one. It had felt like he had turned into an entirely different person after that, growing more withdrawn and surly with each day that went by, leaving her with the feeling that she was walking on eggshells around him. 

It had reached a near boiling point that morning- the details of whatever had set him off then having long since escaped her. "I can't go back there. Not now at least." She said quietly, lifting a hand to push her hair back, feeling the drops of condensation from the glass that had clung to her fingertips land in her hair. 

Mary clucked her tongue in sympathy, setting down the pint glass she had been cleaning. "Have you got somewhere to stay?"

"I'll figure something out. I always do," she responded, smiling weakly.

"That you do," Mary agreed, patting her hand. "You're a good girl. Though I'd be more than chuffed to give him a piece of my mind."

She huffed a laugh at that, pressing the back of one hand to her mouth in an effort to stifle it, not that it did much good. "Oh, Mary…" She'd never felt more fond for the woman in front of her than she did at that moment. "Now enough about me-" 

She started to speak, only to be cut off by the sound of someone coming closer on her left, the thump of a bag being set on the floor following barely a second later. "A pint for me, thanks." 

Mary's attention shifted from her to the newcomer at that, barely wasting a moment before turning her back to them to fill a glass. She vaguely heard the music change, the not quite upbeat tune fading to a softer one, broken by the sound of the wood of the bar creaking as the stranger beside her rested his elbows atop the surface. 

Her eye flicked in his direction, eyeing him warily as he turned his head to the side, the point of his chin all but digging into his shoulder. 

"Penny for your thoughts?" 

She pressed her lips together, feeling her cheeks heat as a quicksilver flash of irritation raced through her. Her skirt flared around her knees as she twisted, the heels of her shoes clicking on the worn flagstones. "Excuse me?" 

The man turned, one hand hovering inches away from the pint glass, his other hanging at his side. Her lips parted involuntarily when he was face to face with her fully, and she couldn't help but note that he was pretty, startlingly so. His profile was unlike anything she'd ever seen, seemingly to be constructed of chisel sharp edges. Her eyes moved over his face, drifting over the bright shade of his blue eyes, to the beaten gold of his hair beneath the cap before landing on the fading bruise that sat high on his left cheekbone, nearly blending into his skin. 

His mouth twitched, one corner lifting higher than the other as he grinned at her, crow's feet forming in the corner of his eyes. "Cat got your tongue?" 

A cocky one then. 

She scoffed, rolling her eyes as she spared him another glance before turning away. "Think you're funny, do you?" She had only lifted her glass to her mouth before she felt him shift closer, felt the heat seeping through his clothes. 

"Hey now, I didn't mean it like that-'' he protested. His hand brushed across her arm, a layer of goosebumps forming as a response., and a ringing rose in her ears, all but drowning out every other sound. 

She rested one elbow on the surface, the wood cool under her skin as she met his eyes again, his accent catching her attention almost instantly. "You're a Manchester boy, aren't you?" She couldn't help but ask him, her interest piqued. Anger still simmered under her skin, though not quite as potent as it had been. 

His eyes narrowed immediately, her words seeming to strike a nerve in him. A vein ticked in his jaw, the expression on his face turning unreadable. "So what if I am? You've got a problem with that?" He asked, his tone bordering on defensive. 

"You're a long way from home, is all," she responded, shaking her head amusedly. "Plymouth is hours from Manchester." 

"My ship's docked for repairs." 

"Ah." She made a sound of understanding in her throat. "You're one of the Exeter boys, then." she said, watching him reach for the pint, throat working as he swallowed. His diverted attention gave her the opportunity to take in his clothes, eyes moving over the standard twilight dark shade of blue of his uniform. 

His upper lip twitched at the statement. "I am."

"What was it like? That fight you were in? Battle of the River Plate, I believe?" she asked, leaning closer to him. "I remember hearing about it on the radio."

The words died on her lips when his gaze lowered, settling blankly on some point over her shoulder, his expression shifting to something that was almost haunted. A shadow seemed to settle over his face, all but snuffing out any trace of the person she had been talking to only seconds before.

"If you don't-" she laid a hand on his arm, feeling a fool for asking. His gaze rose to her face again, the weight of whatever lurked behind his eyes making her pause, her breath stilling in her lungs. He blinked, once then twice, the movement rapid enough for her to almost miss it. 

He let out a low chuckle, the bitter tone to it contrasting with the grin that formed on his lips. "It was fucked," he said finally, and she could see his tongue drag across his teeth left to right behind his lip. "It was fucked," he repeated, not tearing his eyes away from her own. "Seeing them like that-" 

He shook his head suddenly, the movement making a strand of hair fall, brushing across his forehead, and she was hit then by the sudden urge to brush it back. 

She bit her lip, suddenly desperate to change the subject. "What's your name?"  

"Tom," he said, and she was almost sure he was thankful for it. She hoped he was, at least. "Tom Bennett."

She glanced down at the hand he stuck out, hesitating but a moment before taking it. She fought the urge to shiver as she did. The calluses on his palm rasped against her skin, warmth from his hand seeping into hers. He- no, Tom, met her gaze again, and she realized belatedly he had yet to drop her hand. She swallowed past the lump in her throat, reaching for her drink and savoring the burn of the alcohol.  

As the night wore on, they talked, time seeming to stop as she sat beside him, the bar surface before them littered with several empty glasses. Loathsome as she was to admit it, talking to him felt effortless in a way, words flowing from the both of them easily. A part of her, half guilt and half longing for something, wondered what it'd be like to kiss him; to press her lips to his and feel the heat of him flush against her. 

Her head lifted at the sound of the chiming of the clock on the wall, gaze finding the hands of it showing 11 pm. "I should be going," she murmured, shaking her fingers slightly, fighting the urge to sigh when he let go. 

"I could show you a good time, you know," he said as he half leaned against the bar. 

Half scandalized, she blinked, craning her head back to stare up at him, stumbling slightly as she stood, sucking in a breath when his hand shot out, clasping her elbow loosely. She all but ignored the warning look in Mary's eyes, feeling almost drunk on the alcohol coursing through her veins and the weight of his attention. "Tell you what," she exhaled, laying her hand on his arm, the material of his uniform coarse under her fingers. "If you're still here tomorrow, I'll find you." 

Her hand fell back to her side when Tom shifted, standing to full height. He seemed to fill the space, towering over her, the grin on his face making her heartbeat jump. Something fluttered in her belly at the sight of it. "Is that a promise, then?" 

"Maybe. Maybe not." Unable to resist, her eyes flicked to his mouth, the thump of her heartbeat echoing in her ears. 

She dropped her hand without another word, all but darting around him and making her way towards the door, putting as much distance between them as she could, feeling the weight of his gaze on her back as she moved toward the door on half unsteady feet, a gust of cold February air greeting her as she stepped onto the street. 

She tipped her head back against the wall of the pub as she exhaled a breath, rifling through her purse for a light, the orange reddish glow of it casting a warm hue over her face, watching the smoke from the cigarette she held loosely between her fingers wafting higher and higher into the night sky.  

#my fics #world on fire #tom bennett #tom bennett x reader #tom bennett fanfiction #tom bennett x you #tom bennet x reader #world on fire fic #tom bennett smut

[ghouljams]

The Price of Fire (Chapter 1) Rating: M Tags: John Price x f!OC(Lio/Witch), fae!Price, historic setting, magic, debts, witch oc, 3rd Person POV, slow burn, curses Summary: Ten years later Lio gets a house call from the man in the woods. Owing a debt to the witch-eater can't be good. prev part

Despite the weather raging outside the house, the inside of the cottage is warm. Lio tends to the hearth, the brilliant orange glow of it only matched in color by the mane of curls that sprout messily from her head. Over the coals a cauldron bubbles. The black iron is well loved and cared for, a heavy pot that hardly moves except to be taken outside and cleaned. Inside its black walls bubbles a milky mixture. Each bubble swirls with color before popping on the surface.

The cottage is small, but well lived in, homey. Just enough space for a family, or a witch of thirty with just the memories of one. Lio putters around the kitchen, occasionally stopping by the cauldron to give it a stir. She plucks herbs from the ceiling beams, counting the leaves carefully before dropping them into the bubbling mixture. It’s an easy dance for her, she knows the stems and stamens like the back of her hand. Each bottle and jar that lines her shelves has its name penned to the label in her careful hand, every herb wrapped by her fingers, and every spell woven on her lips. 

Lio stops by under one of the wood beams holding up her small second floor. She frowns and glances up, sighing when she notices that the symbol carved into it has been eaten through. The sharp edges of magic chewed up and worked off as the year rounds out. With a huff she goes to grab a chair from the kitchen, dragging the wooden thing over and digging her athame into the beam to rework the spell.

When she finishes she goes back to her cauldron, checking the mixture before going back to her work in the kitchen. She glances out her back window. The fence around her garden is covered in snow that grows thicker with every passing minute. Usually so lush with life, now her garden is only represented by the mounds of snow which have piled on top of it. Lio leans her elbows against the prep table to watch the snow fall. She’s always loved the winter.

A time of death, but also the turning over of the year wheel. The start as well as the end. Good for staying inside and enjoying the solitude between patients. She thinks she’ll make some tea, storms make it unlikely for anyone to venture out to her little stretch of property unless it’s something truly dire. It’s a good day for restocking her stores, prepping potions and poultices before there’s a rush. She should boil some of the snow for a bath later, work some of the week’s tension out of her muscles.

A knock at the door draws Lio from her thoughts. She sighs. Winter is a time for sickness. It’s only unfortunate to know this one is bad enough to warrant a trek through the storm. She brushes her hands over her skirt, and picks her way towards her front door. She shoves things into more presentable places as she goes. It’s not a large house, but somehow it always feels messy. If her mother saw the state of this place…

Lio tugs the door open and has to look up from the dark shirt that fills her vision. She feels the pull of something sharp in her chest, her eyes widening as she meets a face she never expected to see again. Ice blue eyes with a golden ring crinkle at the edges as he smiles.

“Hello little witch,” The fae man drawls, he seems amused by her surprise.

He looks the same as the last time she saw him a hair more than a decade ago. His shoulders are still pulled proudly back, barrel chested and well groomed. Lio is caught by the memory of how firm he’d felt when she’d been pulled to his chest, how powerfully his arms had held her, and the thick grip of his fingers. Just the same. The fae are never touched by the years the way humans are. Yet his eyes had creases at the sides, his smile was tighter. The years may not touch him but the weight of them was certainly felt.

The man’s hand catches the door when Lio attempts to close it on him. His tongue clicks impatiently, scolding her like a child.

“Now is that any way to greet an old friend?” He asks, holding the door open as he leans to look at her.

His voice is as deep as she remembers. Made to lure unsuspecting women to their demise with all the dark promises he must purr in their ears. Lio doesn’t buy it. He must need something, there’s no other reason to visit a witch. Which only makes him less trustworthy.

“You’re no friend of mine,” Lio replies easily, pushing her weight against the door. It doesn’t budge, the man’s strength more than she can match. She huffs and gives it another shove. “Do you mind?”

“Of course,” The man grins, and pushes the door further open. His smile makes her heart skip a beat, his teeth aren’t as sharp as she thought they’d be. That doesn’t make them any less dangerous.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten the debt you owe me.”

Lio winces at the word debt. She hadn’t forgotten, merely hoped it was too small to call on. After all, one little thank you is nothing. She knows people in the village that have stumbled into far worse. His finger wraps around the air between them, and like a curtain being opened, the veil is lifted. The golden strand between them glows brightly, a tight ache between her ribs that she knows she won’t be able to ignore by simply closing the door. Besides, she’s been rude enough to this fae, and the risk of further rudeness outweighs her desire to keep him in the cold. With a sigh she stands to the side and ushers him inside.

“I’ll make some tea, and you can tell me what you need.” She tells him as he moves past.

His steps are lighter and, Lio notes, he’s lost his wings. His horns are still there, darker now than they were before, and the soot on his fingers. It’s strange mourning someone else’s loss, Lio’s sure he had a good reason for getting rid of them. Curious, but it would be rude to press him. Instead Lio directs him to a chair, and sets about getting tea ready. She scoops water from a bucket into her kettle and settles it beside her cauldron over the hearth, taking a moment to stir the mixture. She scoops up a spoonful of the milky mix and eyes it, health tonics are so finicky.

“What should I call you?” Lio hums, still inspecting her potion.

“You know better than to ask that, Witch,” The fae responds. 

Lio frowns, sticking her spoon back into the cauldron. 

“If you’re looking for a spell I need to call you something.” She explains.

There’s a moment of silence as the fae thinks. Lio is patient, pulling bread and jam from her stores and settling it on the table between herself and the man. She takes her seat opposite him and smiles. He tips his head to inspect her, eyes dragging over her body in a way that makes her skin prickle. It’s not the first time a man has looked at her with such an intensity, but it is the first time she’s been unable to turn away. The fae leans back in his seat when he finishes his evaluation, his legs spread wide as he makes himself comfortable. Lio ignores the thick expanse of his thighs in favor of slicing a piece of bread for herself. That feels safer.

“Price,” Price says finally.

“You’re a collector,” Lio glances up at him.

She’s heard too many stories of fae like him. Fae that subsist purely on the favors they can curry with humans. Favors that can never be repaid, leaving their human prey trapped in a debt they’ll never be free of. Price, the name is fitting for a man like him. The sort that seems to take delight in calling on something so small as a witch’s thanks. He even seems to delight in the sway he has to be welcomed into her home. The space he takes up, like he’s owed it, seems to expand the longer he’s sat there.

“And you owe me,” He reminds her.

“Only something small.”

“I might have saved your life,” Price argues, his tone good natured but his eyes hard, “who knows what would have happened if I hadn’t turned you back.”

“But you didn’t,” Lio smiles, “and I distinctly remember thanking you for the advice, nothing else.”

Price’s eyes spark, the gold in them cracking with some strange darkness. Lio holds her ground, holds his gaze even as he sits forward to rest his elbows on his knees. There’s something predatory in his posture, so relaxed and yet she can see the way his corded muscle is tensed. Ready to pounce at the slightest provocation. 

“It’s not very polite to intimidate your host, Mr. Collector.”

That seems to startle him from his glowering. Price’s smile softens into something more friendly and he gives a short nod.

“Price is fine.”

The low timbre of his voice makes a shiver run down Lio’s spine, one she does her best to suppress.

“Then tell me what you think I can do for you, Mr. Price.” She says, choosing her words carefully.

It takes a moment for Price to speak again. The kettle whistles in that time, and hot water is poured over tea leaves. Lio doesn’t fault him his hesitance, but it does spark her curiosity terribly.

“I’ve been cursed.” He tells her finally.

“Shocking.”

The word slips from her lips without her meaning it to. She hardly knows this man, she’s in no position to go casting judgement on him. Only it’s too easy to speculate the reasons for it. Surely Price has no shortage of debts that would be glad to be rid of him. The raise of his brows tells her he isn’t likely to be forthcoming with the details of exactly who cursed him. Unfortunate, it makes dispelling curses easier when she knows where they came from.

“Cursed how?” Lio asks, trying to be polite.

Another beat of silence, before Price sighs and stands. His fingers tug at the crossed threads that hold his shirt closed, loosening them enough to tug the garment over his head. Lio averts her gaze quickly, but not before the recognition of ice pulls her eyes back to his chest. She stands quickly, knocking her shin against the table with a short hiss of pain. A curse indeed. She moves more carefully towards him, her gaze fixed on the pattern of ice that crusts itself over his chest, over his heart. 

“Didn’t notice it at first,” Price explains, “Thought it was just Winter ice.”

Lio presses her finger tips against the frost covering his skin. She glances up at Price, watching his face for any sign of pain as she examines him. She murmurs a warming word, her fingers glowing with the heat she pulls from the room, melting some of the ice. How long has he been living with this, she wonders. How quickly has this curse manifested that he decided to seek out a witch of all things. Lio’s hands smooth over his chest, the cool skin broken up by thick dark hair. She tries to feel for the root of the magic, the cause of all this.

“It’s my heart,” Price tells her before she can dig too deep. “Damn bitch,” He mutters to himself.

“Symptoms?” Lio ignores the comment, filing it away to turn over later.

“Ice.” Price says flatly. Lio is almost convinced he means it as a joke despite neither of them laughing. Price flicks his fingers, with a slight twitch to his eye. 

“I can feel the cold in my blood, it’s freezing my joints, making me slow.” He says finally, “Not just movement, but my thoughts too. Feels like every pump of this damn thing makes me slower.”

“Freezing you from the inside out,” Lio nods, “anything else? Magic doesn’t like to stay contained to just one system.” Price’s wince is more obvious this time, his lips tight and his brows furrowed.

“Don’t feel anything,” He mumbles.

“Physical sensation, or-” Lio runs through her herb list, curses are tricky things but not incurable.

“Emotions, like havin’ a blanket thrown over ‘em, can’t pick anything out even when I do feel something.” Price sniffs, his eyes drift to Lio’s cauldron. “You’ve got a cure-all burnin’.”

Lio turns quickly to her hearth with a shout and rushes to stir her potion. The bubbles are sluggish, slow and unwilling to pop as she waves her hand over the surface. She stirs the spoon through it, whipping the mixture into a whirl quickly, and releases hold of the handle to turn her attention back to Price. Well, half her attention, the other half hovers with the spoon, stirring it without her guiding hand.

“That’s what tipped you off,” Lio hums, tapping her finger against her cheek as she studies Price.

The first thing to do is beat back the ice, warm his core, then maybe a hex breaker once the magic has been weakened. She’s dealt with curses before, animals and children are usually the victims, and almost as usually they’re easily dealt with. This one feels deeper. There’s a darkness to it, a deep throbbing wound of the soul that she can’t sink her fingers into. The problem is Price’s own magic. Fae are such tricky creatures already, their magic more intrinsic, bound to different rules, mixing with humans is already dicey but mixing with human magic? Not unheard of, but certainly difficult.

“Where’d you get this curse?” Lio presses. If she had more information, a better understanding of the magic at play, then she could work more easily on it. If he’d let her try to assess the magic clinging to him-

“Does it matter?”

“It always matters,” Lio tips her head, trying to keep a critical eye on the ice that grows from Price’s skin and not the skin itself. 

“I only came here because you owe me a favor, if you can’t fulfill it I’ll ask for something else.” Price’s eyes are hard, unyielding. Lio meets his gaze with a raised brow, waiting on him to elaborate on what else he could possibly want from her.

“Plenty a man can ask from a woman, little witch.”

“Crude.” Lio replies shortly.

Price shrugs. It itches at Lio’s skin unpleasantly. A curse she can’t identify, a man who’s willing to keep bothering her, magic she can’t touch… It’s a recipe for disaster. Even if she helped she’d have to be overly cautious, and even then there’s no guarantee it would work. Which means an unfulfilled favor and another visit from her collector. She works the idea between her teeth, her lips twitching side to side, her nose wiggling. 

He needs her, she thinks, needs her in some way he isn’t saying. Why else would a fae man come to visit a witch? Not to mention she’s young, a crone would be better suited to this task. It must be convenience. She owes him, he can pull on that debt to avoid questions a more experienced witch might ask. It stings a little, being needed but not being the first choice. It stings enough to make her want to prove herself wrong. She’ll be the best choice, the only choice.

“Alright,” Lio tells him, and Price’s shoulders relax, “but we’ll have to be cautious.”

“Cautious,” Price repeats, like he hadn’t heard her.

“We’ll start small, see how you react, what works, and go from there.”

Lio turns away from him, her mind already pulling herbs into a mental mortar. She waves her hand, the glass jars on the walls responding eagerly. Lids open, leaves and roots pulled from their container, plucked from the air by deft fingers. Lio deposits a few red spheres into her stone mortar and tops them with salt. This is as safe as she can be: external magic. 

Price wanders to check her work, tugging his shirt over his head again. His eyes follow her movements, observational. He stops a jar in its movement to check the label. Anyone else and Lio might have thought they were curious to learn her craft, but she doesn’t get that feeling from Price. A man who would suffer a curse for months without notice is a man used to enemies. Poison, she thinks, he’s checking for poison.

Lio speaks as she works, “Sachets are a good first step. You draw a hot bath, toss it in and it works wonders.”

“Small magic,” Price grumbles.

“Not mine,” Lio assures him with a smile.

Somehow Price believes her. He can feel it in the air, can feel the warmth of her magic washing over him like the summer’s rain. It permeates every corner of the house, thrives in the corners, the rafters, the carved edges. He breathes deeply, inhaling the energy that weaves under her hands. All that potential from years ago, brimming to the surface with each passing day. The shallow pool he’d first felt when he met her, now felt as deep as a lock, the still waters stretching miles and miles deeper than the surface would suggest.

She’s growing into it, he thinks, growing stronger as her confidence matures. He always knew there was no sense in plucking unripened fruits, but this? This is proof of that. One little meal which could have fed him for a year at most, now laid itself out to him like a feast for decades. He’d be hard pressed to keep other witch-eaters away from his find, harder pressed avoiding his own appetite.

The witch holds up a bundle of rounded cheese-cloth bundles, each one tied tightly with a red string. They’re warm when settled into his waiting palm. Small magic, he tries to remind himself. The radiant glow of whatever she’d put in there already seems to be relieving the ache in his fingers. Price does his best to remain reluctant at the offered magic. The witch’s pretty face twitches, her brows furrowing ever so slightly.

“If it doesn’t work,” She tells him, “You can come back for something stronger.”

Wouldn’t that be a pity, a fae like him reliant on a witch’s kindness.

“I will,” He warns her, “a life for a life.”

“Just advice,” She grins, and it sparks something in his chest, a dull throb beneath the ice, “but if you ever do save me, I’ll be sure to repay you for that as well.”

divider by @/saradika

#x oc #cod x oc #1fae1 #fae au #oc: witch #captain price mw2 #captain john price #captain price #john price #captain price x oc #john price cod #john price x oc #female oc #anyway.... here's more of these two #because I'm in my depression era and can only work on things that have been outlined already

[justsescape]

"Where are the pumps, anon?! It's been over five minutes and the milk is going to burst out any second!"

Asuka’s presence in the living room inspired – nay, forced – a bit of creative remodeling. The coffee table, the television, the game consoles, the decorative plants; just about everything was shunted into your bedroom until it resembled a packed storage unit. Ironically, her overdeveloped breasts could fill one up as well. Maybe two.

“Hmph, what a moron… always losing the most important things…”

While your hurried search through various kitchen cabinets continued, Asuka let her arms spread out across the back of the couch like she was lounging in the summer sun. Her boobs, evidently, were just as carefree. To say they resembled beanbag chairs was to describe their texture and heft, but it was to vastly undersell their sheer size. There was a reason you had to move everything out of that room: you could practically hide a car underneath just a single one of her massive, massive tits. In fact, if she were to stand up and lose her footing, she could fall into her own cleavage and get swallowed up entirely like she stumbled into quicksand.

“And don’t complain about not being able to find my nipples again,” Asuka scowled, pointing a finger in your direction. She was only visible from the shoulders up; the rest of her was obscured by her gigantic bust like she was underneath a down comforter. “Just pick up the ends of my chest with a shovel and they’re right there, rubbing up against the damn carpet. Which you should do something about, by the way. It’s so uncomfortable against my skin! Why haven’t you done something about it already?!”

Your eyebrow twitched. Need you remind her of why she was here in the first place? Sightings of her being lifted by crane, or with her garage-wide bust stuck in the sliding double-doors at the local grocery outlet – such incidents racked up bills like you were intending to compete with the national debt. Not to mention the attention it drew. “She’s so big she can’t walk without her wheelbarrows,” one would bystander would say to another. “Do you think she sleeps on them like they’re a mattress?” Any attempt at a public appearance was met with this kind of commentary. And she has had more than enough of the “hyper hourglass” comparisons since she started attending college. It was more like her body was a cyclone: dangerous for most, a force of nature that walloped against buckling support beams and swung like wrecking balls, but always attracting a few foolhardy stormchasers.

Perhaps she’d be nicer if she was reminded of the privilege of being housed in privacy. Finally returning with the pump's accessories, however, did not inspire this sort of kindness.

"It's about damn time," Asuka said, her venomous tongue whipping up often enough to start a cyclone of its own. "Don’t you care about the floor in your own apartment? One day you’re going to be too slow and I’m going to leak all over it!”

Circumnavigating her chest – which required you to slide against the wall like a stealthy video game character – you eventually found yourself at the opposite end of the room. Staring down at Asuka was like being on the opposite end of a long dining table in a fancy castle. Except, instead of such a table, only her quaking boobs spanned the gulf between the two of you.

"St-stop looking at me and get to work, dummkopf!" Asuka crossed her arms over herself as if such a maneuver could still hide her chest. "I can feel it starting down there! Hurry up and find my nipples!"

You dragged towels across the carpet like you were a beaver dragging piles of wood in front of a lake. A shovel wasn't needed; you just handled her breasts by hand, letting her gelatinous flesh bulge and squeeze between your fingers and droop over your forearms. Asuka's skin was peppered with reddened rashes and surfacing veins alike. Occasionally, you would graze against one of the more tender areas and hear her try to mute her own instinctive squeals.

But with how big she had become, the search didn't last long. Nipples had long since won the size competition against manhole covers. Her areolae spread across her pristine skin until they each spanned the width of your outstretched arms. And speaking of stretching, that’s exactly what you had to do to fasten the plastic cups on to her unruly tits. Her breasts didn’t jiggle so much as they rippled like cresting waves.

"Mmmmnnf... nngnnngggh..." Asuka's hands were clamped over her mouth. Eyes shut, shoulders tensed; surely beneath her titanic boobs, her legs were squirming wildly about. When you were burying your arms deep into her underbust in search of her nipples, you could feel how the movement of her legs moved her entire chest around like it was a slinky.

The pump was an electronic device that had forever found its place in the corner beside you. Besides the couch, it was the only furnishing that wasn't allowed to leave this room. The hoses that connected it with the two plastic cups on her boobs were as thick as those that came off the side of a fire engine.

All it took was a flick of a switch.

WHIIIIIIIIRRRRRRR...

The hoses sprang to life in an instant, thickening up as milk flowed through them like they were connected to a fire hydrant. Milk pummeled the insides of the plastic cups like water dousing a windshield in a car wash. The sounds were crushing, deafening – but none of them grabbed your attention quite as much as Asuka's own uncontrollable whimpering.

"Nnnnghh... mmNNNnnfgh... haaah... haaah...~"

To visit a historic landmark; to look up at a rare eclipse; to watch how Asuka's ferocious attitude turned on a dime as the milk started to flow. Her delicate fingers dropped from her mouth and gripped the leather upholstery of your couch like she was bracing for some sort of impact. Sweat dripped from the tips of her eyelashes. Even her legs kicked involuntarily underneath the weight of her boobs like she was being tested for reflexes. There was no question about it. Her boobs ruled her entire body.

"...o-okay... y-you did it... hhNNnnngh... just in time..." She may have been on the other side of the room across a horizon of cleavage, but Asuka's smile was unmistakable. It was so warm that it could bring the sun up during the dead of night. "...I guess as... MMMNF... a reward... y-you can p-put that cowbell collar around my neck..."

#muse: asuka #breast expansion #lactation #drabble

[scoutswritingcorner]

The Hunter and The Hunted

Alastor x GN!Reader

TW:Talks of murder, cannibalism, deranged behavior, throwing up and vivid details of death, summoning rituals. TALK OF SEWERSLIDE AT THE END, IM SERIOUS IF THATS TRIGGERING DO NOT READ THIS AT ALL.

A ritual gone wrong and now you have a visitor.

The first time you saw him, scared the absolute shit out of you. His head had swiveled around 180 degrees with a loud snap of what you assumed to be bones breaking in the process. You flinched and tried to take a step back but the iron grasp your friends had on you told you to stay put. Then you watched the deer demon’s smile widening, his head snapped towards you. The red eyes staring right through you and into your soul, his grin widening showing you rows of yellowed sharp teeth that could rip skin to bone from seconds, a hum from an old radio was heard before it cut out with a loud ring that made you flinch as your ears started to ring.

In a flash, you let go of your friends hands and covered your now ringing ears, tears pricking your eyes as you stared up at this..demon- no MONSTROSITY. Your breath caught in your throat as he stared down at you, the smile on his lips ever growing as he took one long stride towards the edge of the salt circle, his clawed hands seemingly digging into an invisible wall. You ignored your friends yelling at you as you kicked your feet trying to lift yourself up, unknowingly breaking the circle as you got up and ran out of the abandoned house deep in the woods to your car that had been sitting quietly in the dark.

~~

The second time you saw him was when you were driving home from work and decided to take the backroads instead of the highways. You didn’t want to deal with the bright lights especially at night, you preferred the silence. As you turned down the dark road, your car’s radio started to change channels constantly. Sometimes it just turned to loud radio static that hurt your head. Glancing up back on the road for a moment, your heart stopped as you slammed your foot on the break and coughed horribly as your chest hit the steering wheel. In front of your car was the tall deer like man from three nights ago, his smile still plastered on his face as you felt your stomach drop. Everything about him was so uncanny as he stared at you causing you to subconsciously make sure the windows and doors were locked as he just stared and didn’t necessarily move from his spot.

You snapped out of your panic like dazed, threw your car into reverse and floored it to get as far away as you could. There was another road you could take but as you stopped to put it back into drive, the man or demon..whatever he was started to move quickly. Each stride putting less and less distance between you, you teared up and turned down the side road speeding through the empty roads, not caring if your car got scratched at this point. You looked through the rearview mirror his red suit jacket the only indication he was still behind you as dust and dirt kicked up from your driving. You sobbed out of happiness as you pulled into your house, you only grabbed your keys and phone before booking it into your home. Locking all the doors and windows you could, before barricading yourself in your room. You didn’t sleep that night.

He knew exactly where you lived now.

~~

It had only been a month of no sleep when you saw him again sitting in your living room that morning, the fear you felt was only a numbing sensation now as you went back to the routine of making a whole pot of black coffee and placing a steaming mug of it on the coffee table in front of the arm chair where he had resided. Your phone had been dead for days now, the landline phone had been cut, no doubt his own doing. Cups and dishes stacked high in the sink as your own table sat upright against the sliding glass door to your backyard. You stared at the figment of a man in the corner of the kitchen, back turned towards you as a soft plop..plop was heard. 

A dark red liquid puddled around his feet and it stained your once white kitchen walls a red. Your eyes scanned around the room, ignoring the soft tink as claws met the ceramic mug. Your eyes stopped at the lady sitting at your dinner table, head laying down on the table as blood leaked from her empty eye sockets as her body slowly slumped down, falling onto the floor and leaking more of the red sticky liquid as the body started to crawl towards you. Finally you made eye contact with the thing that sat across from you. Opening your mouth to say something to him but nothing came out as if he had already answered the question that was on the tip of your tongue but yet his mouth didn’t move and his teeth were still on full display as the corners of his smile pulled upwards. You closed your mouth and sat down on the couch, sobbing your heart out as you ignored the thing staring at you and how the cold hand of the body finally grasped at your ankle trying to tug you from your spot on the couch. 

You were so tired. So, very very tired.

~~~

ONCE AGAIN THIS HAS SEWERSLIDE IF YOU DO NOT LIKE IT OR YOU FIND IT TRIGGERING EXIT NOW. IM VERY FUCKING SERIOUS.

The last straw was inviting your friends over, the same friends that got you in this fucking predicament. You had cleaned up the best you could ignoring the ever growing pool of blood from the man standing in the corner of the kitchen. You even charged your phone and ignored every notification that popped up as you calmly texted the group chat. Your eyes unblinking as you read each response that popped up.

You were so tired and hungry but the thought of everything being all over soon enough pushed you to go a little further. You ignored your phone the rest of the day. You didn’t need much use of it anymore. That demon sat in the armchair and tilted its head with an eerie CRACK as it watched you pace and clean up something that wasn’t there but then his head snapped towards the front door as three loud knocks made you stop slowly turning your head towards the door. The guests have arrived in time. 

Pushing yourself up and throwing the soapy rag to the side ignoring how it only hit the wall with a loud thunk as you made your way to the door, taking a deep breath you blinked the sleep away as you plastered a fake smile to your face and opened the door with a greeting to your friends. Once more ignoring the red suited demon who watched everything, the radio static filled your head once more as the sound numbed your mind and senses. It was almost over..just a few more hours.

~~~

Your hands smeared blood onto your face as you sent a glare towards the red suited demon who stood closer to you now, watching as you struggled to feast on the flesh and organs of your friends. Body jolting with every handful you shoved into your mouth and chewed on like it was your last meal, you leaned forward and gagged loudly as tried to calm your breathing. You jerked your head away as memories flooded your mind, from birthdays to getting together with your friends.

You snarled and turned to glare at him, yell at him but the only thing that came up was a loud gag before you doubled over and threw up all the contents of your stomach. The man in the corner now having leaned back until his head touched the ground, his mouth cut into a forever grin as claw marks were slashed across his neck. Once again his eyes were gouged and the man started to groan loudly as it “watched” you catch your breath before digging back into the bodies now littering your home. The headless woman who sat at the dinner table now standing in the doorway holding her own decapitated head in her hands.

You don’t remember moving into your living room but the red suited demon was back in his chair, head turned towards you as he watched you grab the shotgun from above the fireplace mantle and load it. The last thing you ever did see was his ruby red gaze and the grin plastered onto his face.

Then it all went black.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel imagine #gn reader #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #alastor x you