Victors And Fools

THE WAY MY JAW DROPPED ALMOST INSTANTLY HOLY BLOODY MARY THANK YOU?!?!

YOU FELL FIRST, HE FELL TOO LATE ! ft. kazuha kaedehara.

pairings. kazuha kaedehara x gender neutral! reader.

warnings. pure angst no comfort, that's it.

synopsis. “she fell first, he fell too late” trope with the infamous wandering samurai Kazuha, in which he realized he loves you far too late.

notes. since im having a rough day, i decide to hurt all of you :) + angst are the only thing occupying my brain rn.

KAZUHA KAEDEHARA ! - wandering samurai.

he’s a wanted criminal in inazuma, he always travels with The Crux and coming back after a month. kazuha loves you but he simply doesn’t want you to always wait for him and he doesn't wanna make you feel neglected either, so you finally giving up on him is a good sign, right?

wrong instead of feeling glad that you finally gave up on him and focus on your life he felt sick to the stomach - something about not seeing you in the docks after the crux arrive after sailing for so long makes him feel crushed.

why does it feel like it wasn't supposed to be like this? why does he craves your existence and presence? why does he longs to see you in the docks eagerly waiting for him? the answer was always clear to him.

KAZUHA had always admired you - everything about you was entrancing from your eyes, hair, hands and your facial features - you look absolutely breathtaking. something that is worth to be written in a poem - something worth to be etched in his mind.

but no matter how much he longs to embrace you, shower you with affections, press his lips against yours he knows better than be with you - most people would say he is the ideal lover if you just ignore the tittle “fugitive” under his name.

he simply doesn't want to make you wait till he's back only to leave again after a month and he knows that you get homesick easily - and he doesn't wanna make you feel like you're being neglected either so he just decide to downplay your confession every time even if he also feel the same.

as The Crux finally arrive back in Liyue, the first thing that KAZUHA’S crimson eyes do is search for a familiar figure - something within him felt hopeful that you will be there and meet him after sailing for so long but he only sees a few people and you weren't a part of it. you weren’t there to meet him, unlike how you usually do.

panic rise up into his whole body as he hurriedly left The Crux and began searching for you, you we’re not in the docks waiting for him so where we’re you? We’re you busy that you didn’t have time to visit him? no, that can’t be the case - KAZUHA knows even though you we’re busy you can still make time for him so what change now?

it didn't take long for him to jump off from the ship and immediately started looking for you, asking people if they had seen you but to no avail - no one even know about your whereabouts or do they? Praying to the seven archons above that at least one person might know about where you are.

after what felt like eternity he finally found someone who really know about where you are, relief wash over him as he went to the place where you're currently are. feeling excited about seeing you after months of sailing away but that excitement soon faded when he saw you holding hands with someone - smiling ear to ear with the man you're currently and what hurts the most is that it’s the same smile you always gave to KAZUHA and to add salt to the wound the man gave you a intimate kiss in your lips, the same lips he wished to mold into his - he wished, no, he wanted it to be just a hallucination and it was not real, maybe he’s just tired from all the traveling, right? Maybe that's it!

but no he was seeing it all oh so clearly, he should be happy now that you’re moving on from him and finally found someone who would never leave you because of his dreams of traveling the world but it didn’t hurt any less to see the person he loved so dearly finally found someone - someone who isn't him.

what if he pushed those thoughts aside and just accept your love for him? what if he just didn’t let his over thinking get a hold of him and his emotions would he be the one kissing you instead? the one who will hold you in his arms and pamper you with the affections and shower you with affirmations that you deserve? the one who will be sending you haikus and letters while he was away? maybe it would if he hadn’t just played off your feelings and accept them early.

“Maybe I had loved you far too late..”

a soft sigh left the platinum blonde’s lips as his crimson eyes watched your figure with that man fades in his view, archons knows what will happen to the both of you - but he knows he can’t change what had happened so all he could do was wished you the happiest relationship you have but at the same time he wants you to want him too. to love him instead.

“I wished you a happy relationship, my dearest but I do hope you'll.. want me soon too.”

Interview With The Vampire - Masterlist

Movie and AMC Series

** = nsfw/explicit content | yes, there are/will be poly fics

last updated | 10.21.24

𝕴𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖛𝖎𝖊𝖜 𝖂𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖁𝖆𝖒𝖕𝖎𝖗𝖊 (1994)

𝑳𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒕 𝑫𝒆 𝑳𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒕

• no works here yet! feel free to request!

𝑳𝒐𝒖𝒊𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝑷𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆 𝒅𝒖 𝑳𝒂𝒄

• no works here yet! feel free to request!

𝑨𝒓𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒅

• no works here yet! feel free to request!

𝙳𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚎𝚕 𝙼𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚢

• no works here yet! feel free to request!

⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧

𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐕𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 (2022)

𝐋𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭 𝐃𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐭

ׂ╰┈➤ drabbles

ׂ╰┈➤ oneshots

ׂ╰┈➤ series

· The Roger To His Jessica Rabbit - ¹. He Makes Me Laugh** |

𝐋𝐨𝐮𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐞 𝐏𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞 𝐝𝐮 𝐋𝐚𝐜

• no works here yet! feel free to request!

𝐀𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝

• no works here yet! feel free to request!

𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐲

• no works here yet! feel free to request!

⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧

a/n : look at the cute edits I did pls, I worked so hard finding their damn faces and obviously you can see who I adore the most, sobs. Free use, anyone can use them for their own master list in the future!

SYNOPSIS: Kazuha, a well-known tailor in Inazuma, had a spouse. It's only a shame that his spouse is known for their 'infidelity' in his eyes. [ songfic ]

TW/S: Yandere tendencies, stalking, minor and major character death/s, emotional manipulation in a way, gore, violence, fire/arson, sewing... questionable fabric, unreliable narrator, shifting POVs, dead dove: do not eat, dollification, delusional thinking, Kazuha progressively loses it till the end, beheading, oh God this fic and tws are long Im so sorry―

NOTE: During the fic, it is recommended to listen to "The Tailor of Enbizaka". It will make sense when you read through this fic :)

(also, I apologize if this took a while for me to write. I got busy and writer's block hit me :( anyways, second work and its the best boy! Though, I hope you all don't blame me for fucking him up. Also also!! This is very much a long, LONG fic— like 2k+ long, so 🫡 gl soldier, I'll see if I don't need to make this to a 2 part series)

(update: this fic took 6k words, good luck y'all, this one is a WILD ride)

In Inazuma, there is a tale that is shared by many about a crimson clad man and his lover.

The others never settled on what he looked during the day before his death, nor were they sure what his prior job was before he became a tailor. However, they always complimented him for his looks and his skill, knowing that whatever he used as his own special fabric would be tailored and taken care of well.

Even with one full of holes and tears, he is gifted with the ability to patch them up till it was brand new. In the village he lived in, he was regarded for having such a talent, and he had his shop open and full of visitors.

However, the only thing that made people question him was his behavior. Despite how mild-manner the tailor was, he often comments on how his beloved darling refused to come home and continues to cheat on him.

Many those that still lived during the time said the crimson-eyed tailor acted delusional, but just how far can those delusions go?

No one knows but the man himself... And the one who persecuted him, too.

It was that year since I've seen my beloved after the accident.

A year that, when I saw them, I've longed to see them and speak to them about our time together as a married couple.

To begin with, I am Kaedehara Kazuha, or― as the townsfolk here call me, the 'Crimson-Eyed Tailor'. Although I am highly regarded for my craftsmanship, many told me that I am odd for my adoration for my beloved maple.

Why is it that odd? I thought all married couples do this, even if some think that it feels off.

Besides that, however, my darling isn't quite aware of my... Endeavors. More specifically, their streak of getting out for hours, perhaps days and weeks, and not even coming around to speak to me.

I am bound to them by an oath when we were married: we both drank sake together under that faithful light of the moon, with only nature watching over us. However, it would seem as if they have forgotten that, and ended up cheating on me in broad daylight.

Like they had no such shame.

Alas, I am but their husband, and I can't simply get mad at my beloved spouse. I know they did no wrong, for they sometimes meet with others as an act of being 'friendly'.

So while I focused on fixing the kimono, I've began to hear something that had been passed around in the village.

Something related to my darling's little ventures.

"I have spoken to [Name] about the matters in their marriage recently," one of the ladies spoke, her voice not so soft enough to conceal who she was speaking about as I fixed the fabric in my hands.

"And from what they told me, they're getting their kimono fixed for when their lover returns home!"

I simply continued on sewing, but the lady's next words had me flinch.

"Ah, they've been married for years, aren't they? And it seems they even have their shiromuku ever since their marriage to sir Kamisato Ayato. How romantic!"

...

The blood continues to spill on my finger, with the needle that I used pricking it when I've lost focus and got too careless.

How uncouth.

From the tale shared by the folks of Narukami Island, they talked about the crimson-eyed tailor's marriage with his supposed 'spouse': an immigrant of sorts from Fontaine, traversing to Inazuma to meet with their lover.

Their relationship together is strange. From the accounts of those with prying eyes, they said that he was the only one putting an effort to their relationship, and they wished to take it slow.

However, there are those that disagreed, saying that it had been the other way around— and it was he who wished for them to slow down.

No one can decide what the tailor had done, for they can't even tell if his desires were to rush or to slow down. But what can be confirmed is one thing everyone kept saying.

He doesn't like his trust being broken.

It had been days after hearing what I did.

I hadn't seen my dearest beloved in those days, and the day I saw them had been when the heir of the Kamisato clan had returned.

I had been busy as ever in sewing till I realized that I'm running out of thread. I don't have any spares, and I'm well aware that there are a few shops that sell supplies for sewing.

And so, on a lazy afternoon, I've got out of my shop in the hopes that I can catch the store to buy the supplies I needed.

The soft sound of wood hitting the pavement greeted my ears, alongside hushed murmuring and discussing with the commonfolk. I greeted a few that noticed me in passing, but they were swift to return to the people they were speaking to prior.

It was a mundane thing, really. But it was the type that felt familiar.

Turning a few corners, I managed to locate the shop I was looking for. Walking up the stairs, I waved at the lady taking care of the store—

—not before my ears perked up at the soft chattering in the distance.

My eyes trailed over to the source, and then, I see them.

My beloved maple.

I saw that they were conversing with the heir of the Kamisato clan, his hand reaching over to hand them a small gift: a small box, with the ribbon being the color of purple. I spot the gleam of gold on top of the ribbon, which eludes me to think that it is the insigna of the clan crested in gold.

How tacky.

I had to hold back the urge to stop them as their conversation was hard to discern, my focus back on the woman running the shop with the supplies I require.

"Hello, madame," I greeted, making the woman smile and nod in greeting as well. "Do you need fabric again, Kaedehara?"

I chuckled, but it was only to mask the bits of instability in my voice.

"Oh, not fabric, madame. I simply desire thread. I have ran out of red and black, and I didn't want to delay the commission I had from monsieur Lyney. Do you have any right now?"

"Red and black thread, hm? I can check at the back. Please give me a moment to look."

With a bow, the seamstress turned around to leave. With that, I let go of the breath I held and turned my gaze back to the bridge, just a few ways away from where my beloved sunset was at.

Watching the two figures, I couldn't help but simply stared at the attire that the heir wore.

Montsuki Haori Hakama: that usually means black or gray. I've known that colored kimonos were not worn with this in mind, and he certainly didn't wore anything that would be too straining.

Still, that shade of black is made of high quality. I'm not surprised if he wore it so rarely, as though to preserve the detail and its intricate work from his very own seamstress.

...

I wonder if I can take it?

Watching the two descend from the bridge, my eyes wandered back to the lady as she returned with the spools of thread, all varying in degrees of color and quality.

"Here you are, Kaedehara! These are the best I can find that fit the colors you asked for."

My eyes twinkled as I took the spools to my hands, my fingers turning and nudging the thread to see just how strong it is.

Interesting. Good quality, too... Maybe I can use this to finish that outfit I've been saving for a while.

"Thank you, madame," I thanked her, making her laugh. "Oh, it's not a problem, Kaedehara! You've done so much for this little town of ours, this is but a simple thing to repay for your efforts!"

With a nod, I paid the seamstress and turned back down to descend from the bustling upper part of the town, the sight of what happened in the bridge a bit further away bothering me from within.

No matter, Kazuha, I mused, carrying the items I required as I felt myself walk back home. Even if you want to get rid of him, it will be much too complicated. You simply need to be patient and wait till the opportunity comes.

...

Although, whoever made his clothes... I wonder if I can speak to them to inquire about their techniques.

The first case that started this was a cold one.

One that is related to a person no one knew so highly about, be it by their background, appearance, and even their name. All they were known for is being the 'tailor' for one of the clans.

There had been a lack of evidence and information about this due to how many tailors had been requested all across Inazuma at the time. It was understandable that people chalked up to them being missing as nothing more than an unfortunate case, not one worthy of being dug into.

Others had suspected that it had been associated with something else, that something (or someone) had done this deliberately. There was no evidence to this, but their claims were loud as they were bold, making it difficult to ascertain its authenticity.

However, the masses have all agreed that this was a normal occurrence. It was not one worth noting, because there had been a lot more that spoke of the same tale, always eluding to their fate being that they were murdered.

It was, unfortunately, the 'norm' of the village in the legend. A norm that, if the people of Inazuma heard it today, would have turned their heads in disgust for how abhorrent it sounds.

Still, many remained curious of the biggest what if that seem to echo in their mind.

Was the tailor associated with his sins?

The Kamisato clan has had it's ups and downs, and it isn't strange to see that they were seeking out talented tailors and workers to work under them.

What was surprising (to everyone), however, was that the head of the clan hired me to work as the Kamisato Clan's personal tailor.

The reasoning behind it was quite simple, especially with what the heir spoke to me when he and I met in the morning when I was to be summoned in the estate— due to his personal tailor (a family friend, he said) going missing for days, they were unable to track down his whereabouts and presumed that he has gone missing.

I was only hired as a "replacement" for the clan's special tailor till then, and he made it extremely clear that there was nothing else to it. Nothing that would spell the fact that I will permanently stay in that position.

Of course, to many, this may sound as an odd deal. There are so many tailors such as myself that would die to be consulted on, to work as the head of the clan's seamstress and work for their outfits. And perhaps, in their naivety, they may consider it as their efforts finally paying off in some way.

However, I have been in a clan myself before. This is nothing more if not a business deal.

A deal between one rising clan, and one whose surname has lost it's widely known heritage.

This only benefits the Kamisato Clan in the effort to save face. To save face of the potential backlash they'll deal with should any information of the missing clan's tailor be brought to light to everyone who remain blissfully ignorant of the innerworkings of the clan.

I would normally deny this kind of offer, mostly because there is no benefit for me to join and work for them. However, times have changed, and I simply reconsidered denying Kamisato Ayato's offer.

... There is a few benefits to me joining. It may be minimal, but it is better than scrounging around in the dark.

And so, I agreed to the offer.

The arrangements set for me to move was quite swift. I'm aware that that he is a man of his word, so it was quite easy for us to prepare my living arrangements and move to the estate.

With the supplies I get from the clan, it's been easy to stay put and gather information to the person I'm targeting.

... That was, until that day came.

I remember it clearly: it was the ends of fall, where the maple leaves fell more and more around the estate's grounds. This usually signified the coming of winter, so I usually savor the season by having time off to admire the scenery.

And in one of my walks, I had travelled from outside of the estate to see if things have changed.

Which, to my luck, I've encountered my darling beloved.

But just like last time, they were not alone.

In the journey of my wandering, I have seen them speak to the sibling of the older heir, Kamisato Ayaka, as they sit on the table outside of the Komore Teahouse.

From how far I am to the entrance of the teahouse, it gives me enough space to watch them interact like friends. The way that the Himegimi raised her fan to cover her face, perhaps from her eyes crinkling in amusement from what they told her...

... It was intriguing. Very intriguing.

So much so that I've felt the claws of envy grip in my chest, clutching its metal nails and making punctures on my already bleeding heart.

What a nuisance. Must you hurt me like this, darling?

I can hardly remember what happened after that. After all, my focus had been set on the two speaking to each other like they were simply companions, unknowing of what fate may bring upon them.

...

"Oh? Kazuha! I didn't notice you came to the Teahouse as well!"

My attention was swiftly pulled away from the sight of my dearest gem, and it landed on the familiar sight of olive eyes. From the appearance alone, many wouldn't think that an immigrant of Mondstadt would be a fixer.

Not even I would be able to see it happen.

However, this man had the skills to prove of his worth— after all, being Inazuma's 'fixer', he's often the go-to man to fix any and every problem that the Narukami Island and others may face.

Which makes him a glass canon— one that is volatile and unpredictable, even under the guise of a friendly face.

That is what Thoma is.

But this "glass cannon" has his weakness, and I know how to use it to my advantage.

Letting a smile slip to my lips, I chuckled, raising my hand to cover my mouth. "Well, I've been foretold by others about Komore Teahouse and it's history. I've been meaning to visit it, but I'm so busy fixing kimonos and making them to have time to spare."

A white lie, but then again, there are many of those that have been foretold in the waking of this world.

What does adding one do at this point? I'm already damned by the heavens the day I've seen the 'truth' of this fate of mine.

Just one lie wouldn't hurt, right?

"Haha, I can't blame you," the taller blonde seem to answer my query with his own, albeit he did seem to look more like he was at ease. Still, I needed to be weary; he can change sides if he so much as sensed that something is wrong.

"After all, with what the missing tailor in the clan circulating around the others in the estate, I'm even surprised that you manage to fill up in their position for months!"

... Oh? So he's noticed my talents, hm?

I shook my head.

"Oh, please. I'm just a humble tailor, Thoma," I reasoned, letting out a heavy sigh. "I have thought of asking them for advice on how they do their work, but since they're missing, all I can do is substitute for their absence."

He gave me an apologetic smile and nodded.

"That is true... I guess I'm just a bit too ecstatic to finally have someone that can fill in their role seamlessly. Lord Kamisato Ayato would've been panicking if we didn't have a replacement soon for his anniversary with his spouse."

... Spouse, huh?

"Hm... Is that so?"

I frowned in thought as I ponder over wanting to... Ask him for a favor. Sure, this one wouldn't do well on one's conscious mind if they knew, but it was simply for their sake.

It was all for them. I knew that.

It wouldn't hurt anyone if I asked Thoma to do this for me. At least, while I still have the chance to do so.

I can only hope the cannon does not think of shooting it's shot to me if I slipped up.

"Speaking of, Thoma, may I ask you for a favor?"

After the first missing case of the tailor, there had been more that were reported. The victims were all varied in their appearance, age, and even from where they used to live, be it in Narukami Island or even outside of Inazuma itself.

It was difficult to tell how many there were exactly, especially with how the legend is interpreted. Some said it was 20, while others said it was 50. This legend has been passed mouth to mouth, so details were not a key figure for a few to remember well.

However, every iteration has the same detail. The victims all had the same similarity as the tailor that simply went "missing".

All of them, in some way, were associated with certain individuals— one of them being his maple, where a few commented that they were the apple of the crimson man's eye.

From the legend and how it has been told, it is safe to assume that the motive was obvious from the first missing case.

It is akin of an open secret, if said secret was twisted to fit his ideals.

"Haven't you heard?"

"What? What is it?"

"The fixer, Thoma… He went missing just few days ago."

"What!?"

…

Ah, so he went missing like the others?

My ears had perked up at the news that we were told. Although Thoma is one many people never thought of being a 'target', the fact he went missing is... Odd.

"Perhaps he had done something," I heard one of the servants whisper amongst themselves, looking rather cautious. "After all, he's been very privy on a few things..."

"Yes, but he isn't the person I'd expect to vanish like that—"

"Shh—! People are going to hear you, you know! Keep it down!"

Hearing their footsteps echo as they take their leave, I turned back to what I have been working on. The sight of the kimono graced my vision as I raised the needle.

I began to sew the tears on it, letting out a soft hum while I fixed the black fabric from it's horrible state.

Slip, stitch, cut, sew.

Slip, stitch, cut, sew.

Slip, stitch, cut—

"Sir Kaedehara? Someone is looking for you."

...!

I felt the needle prick my finger, but I didn't say anything. With a quiet hum, I raised my head to see someone speak to me, their face grim as they shifted on their feet.

Ah.

Despite the feeling of blood pour onto the fabric, I smiled and nodded, putting down the fabric of the kimono I was fixing.

"I'll be right there. Please tell them to wait for me."

"Really? Oh, thank Archons. I'll get going."

Watching them take their leave, my eyes flit over to my scissors.

Still as sharp as ever, I mused, pushing myself to stand up before fixing my attire. Mayhaps today won't need it to be sharpened.

For now, I had to see what the client wants from me. It would simply be a shame if I leave them alone for far, far too long.

Mayhaps they're here to inquire about the kimono I made. I made sure to add my personal touch to it.

...

As I walked to where my client sought to look for me, I see a familiar sight befell in the grounds of the Kamisato Estate.

The himegimi is currently speaking to my betrothed like they are close companions, and the magician (Lyney was his name, I recall), had been listening to their discussion at hand.

His eyes seem to lit up when he saw me, offering me a welcoming grin.

"You must be the tailor that my sister assigned, aren't you?" he asked when I was close enough to hear him, making me chuckle. Taking a seat across, I simply nodded, keeping my professional smile and demeanor in fear of offending him.

"Indeed, I am that tailor. My name is Kaedehara Kazuha, it is a pleasure to meet you."

"Haha, please, the pleasure is all mine!"

The magician shook my hand with mine, and the meeting went as smoothly as one may expect. Although, I couldn't help but let my eyes wander sometimes to where my lover is.

You were speaking to Ayaka like she's a friend of yours. I shan't stop you, darling, but perhaps you aren't aware of the pain you put me through.

Still, I couldn't afford to raise my voice, nor can I think of hurting you with my actions.

How unfortunate. Mayhaps I need to teach you a lesson myself, my angel.

If there was one thing that the legend failed to elaborate, it is the state of the missing people. However, there were... Creative liberties to those that began to see if the legend was true; or, pray tell, associated with any real life events.

To the eyes of others, going missing is a serious deal. It sparks a lot of ideas for what could've happened to them, and especially if they are alive or dead.

Albeit many shrugged off the prior cases, this one was serious. After all, the one that went 'missing' is the fixer of Narukami Island— Thoma, the immigrant in the nation of lightning.

It is, after all, what sparked the eventual downfall of the crimson-eyed tailor and his beloved. Many had thought this was the turning point, but those that did were found to be wrong.

This, after all, was simply the beginning of such downfall. But it wasn't to his lover, the missing residents, or even his companions.

It was to himself, when he used the blades to commit a sin undeserving of forgiveness.

The news that brought upon the missing Himegimi greeted the Kamisato estate that day.

I remember how people were in a disarray. They were much more shaken as they tried to get any sort of lead to where she is, and for some, they were already thinking of quitting.

The estate is already shaken from when Thoma went missing, but now that the young heiress has up and disappeared— especially in winter— it was in chaos.

While I sew the kimonos handed to me, there was an obi that laid on the pile by my right. It was a bit worn, but it can still be saved.

I needed to fix it, and give it my own personal touch. That way, it wouldn't look as though it had been abandoned by it's past owner.

Alas, the noise is getting to me. I could feel the silk resting on my bandaged hand slip every once in a while, if it weren't for how tight I've been holding the fabric.

Slip, stitch, cut, sew.

Slip, stitch, cut, sew.

I needed to put my focus on what I'm doing. I needed to focus on the job.

Slip, stitch, cut, sew.

Slip, stitch, cut, sew.

I mustn't let blood nor dirt stain my creations.

That is what my mother taught me.

Slip, stitch, cut, sew.

Slip, stitch, cut, se—

"I apologize if the estate is in a disarray, detective," I hear a familiar voice speak amongst the hushed and panicked whispers. "The estate hasn't been the same ever since my retainer and my younger sibling had gone missing."

"Oh, it's alright! I'm sure this matter is too serious for you and the others to keep things organized."

"Haha... You can say that it is. Now, it's just right this way..."

... A detective is in the estate. How curious.

It wasn't right to snoop, but I was curious. Curious enough to have finished the kimono I was fixing before I stood to leave my quarters.

The others paid no heed as I followed after the two to Ayato's room, too focused to do what they were assigned to even bat an eye when I got close to where they were heading.

It was only when they were inside that I've stopped and simply bid my time, my focus set on what was happening by the shoji leading to his office. And it didn't took long till I hear things from the other side.

"Ah, so you think that someone is out for you?"

"Yes. Although I am normally adept in figuring out who it could be that's causing this to happen, I can't put heads or tails with how their presence eludes me."

"Man alive... And you said that it started when they went missing?"

"... Yes, detective."

"I see... Man alive, that sounds like it wasn't just a single, one-off case, then. I can help you, but this will take a while if there's no leads."

"I see. It's fine, detective. I'll pay you enough when you figure out where my retainer and sister are. I could hardly think that someone would take them without such consequence."

"Oh, no worries. With me around, no criminal will get out unscathed— I'll make sure to bring them here when I figure out who did this."

...

I see.

Perhaps its about time I have to settle this with him.

There was a time where I have thought that things will change.

Where these cases will be laid forgotten, perhaps even unresolved with the lack of hints.

I spent weeks on end, keeping my tracks short and erasing any leads that can lead towards me again.

I spent so, so long trying so desperately to hide anything resembling my crimes.

But alas... He found me.

It was the time where I had to dispose of those bodies. Although I had no heart to bury them under nature, I was not above treating them as though they were simply people.

Even in death, I wanted to make them feel like they look peaceful. Although, perhaps simply sewing their wounds left by my scissors was not something I can treat.

In the middle of the night, I was carrying the Himegimi outside of the abandoned houses I tend to with her retainer, Thoma. I had thought of letting her rest someplace else. Her attire has been sullied, and I needed to keep the two somewhere where no one can find them.

Corpses rot over time, and if it was possible, letting them turn to nothing in the likes of Tsurumi Island will be enough for my weary heart to rest.

With how adept I am of keeping my tracks hidden, I had thought no one would be able to tail on me. But alas, due to the missing cases I've caused, perhaps I wasn't expecting this to happen.

"I knew you'd be here, Kaedehara Kazuha."

I simply paused upon hearing his voice, my head craning back to see that it was Ayato. Despite how composed he looks, I can tell that the nights he spent trying to search for his beloved sibling and retainer wore him down.

His once flawless appearance was nothing but sullied, his attire feeling like its simply hanging off of him, and the way he staggered while looking at me without a shred of restrain is new. Raw for such a heir.

"And that body..." he murmured, his eyes glaring daggers when he found out who it was.

Perhaps it's her dress that makes her recognizable. Or the hair.

"... I thought I've erased everything that can lead back to me," I spoke, sighing as I placed Ayaka's body down. "What a shame. I was quite close to erasing any traces and signs of their whereabouts. It would be nice to only have them be marked as 'missing', not dead."

"So... You admit to it, then?" the heir asked, walking over with stride. "That you have done this, Kaedehara?"

I simply said nothing.

And I knew that was enough of a confirmation for him.

"I knew something was wrong with you," I heard him speak, which caught my attention. Turning my body to finally face him, I watched as he scoffed and continued, "After all, a man as serene as you often had the worst to hide."

"Oh? How curious. Why would you say that?"

I saw his lips curl to a smile.

"Why, I had someone tail after you," he answered, his tone sounding so blunt and his demeanor became more like he's simply 'teaching' me something. "Someone that is associated with the clan. I'm sure you know who it is."

... How uncouth.

"I see... And you confronted me now? For what?"

"A duel."

He unsheathed his blade, and raised it towards my direction.

"I do not usually participate in these, but I'd like to honor your tradition. If I win, you turn yourself in to the Tenryou Commission. Confess all of your crimes, and we shall call it even."

"... Very well."

I raised my own blade, as a sign to his own.

"I needn't state my own terms if I lose, as I can't let you get out alive. Now, let us settle this matter... To each of our graves."

Usually, such details cannot be recreated from interpretation alone.

However, this one was the few exceptions to it's inevitable fate due to it's popularity.

The legend had focused on keeping the existence and ties of the Crimson-Eyed Tailor up for the listener's interpretation. This scene, however, was directly associated to a case that had been tackled many years ago.

The case went as such: each resident of a town goes missing each week. No one knows when it happens, as the day is often random. The victims of these disappearances are also random, so no one could derive from it being a 'pattern'.

No matter how young or old one is, their gender, their living conditions, and even their past... When they least expect it, they simply vanish. Erased.

The only times where the victim was found, several eye-witnesses had different iterations. Some said that the bodies were buried, while others found it floating by riverbanks and the side of the sea.

But the most common— and widely known, of course— was that each victim were made to a doll.

Their limbs were nothing if not sewn with thread, cuts of various degrees being patched with thread of similar color to 'mask' it's oddity. Their eyes were closed, but those that were unfortunate to open it were only greeted with it being turned to the back of their heads.

In some victims, several pieces of their possession were taken. However, most kept theirs on their person, and were seen to not be tampered with.

No one knows what drove someone to this degree. No one can even comprehend such a fact that it was entirely possible.

But to someone who's mind was twisted to the point of no return... It was.

This case had a name, but every resident of Inazuma refused to speak of it. Each time one does, they were told of the legend behind this case.

They were told of the Crimson-Eyed Tailor, and they were warned of one thing.

"Do not look at him or his betrothed. If you do, you're as good as dead."

...

It had been a year since our fight happened.

I remember the chaos that occurred back when I finally erased that man. Although it did left his body in an undesirable state, I still fixed and sew him up so that he didn't look as such.

Even in death, I wish to give the heir some form of dignity. That, in some way, I wish to give him his final respects.

After all, he had simply misunderstood my intentions. He didn't knew that I was out for one person from the very beginning.

The downfall of the Kamisato Clan was imminent at that point. I've seen many flee, and witnessed the tragedy befall on the Narukami Island. Many of the people I've met had simply ran off to seek refuge, the terror grasping and choking them like they were unable to think.

However, I remain clear. And I simply continued to do my work diligently.

I have been working on something... Special. And with one last snip of my bloodied scissors, it was now complete.

My final and life-long work, all laid across and now in my hands. The fabric I chose was rather difficult to sew. I should have known that human skin would be too hard, depending on where I retrieved it from.

Dying it in black, I wrapped the obi that had been sewn with the use of the Himegimi's locks, and retrieved the crest of the Kamisato Clan. Adorning it on my person, I viewed myself at the mirror to see my handiwork.

"Finally," I murmured, feeling an odd sensation in my chest as I wore the fruits of my labor. "It is now complete."

With the chaos guiding me and masking my presence, I fled to head by the mountain.

I knew where you were bound to go.

I knew of your crimes long before you knew me.

I didn't paid much attention if anyone saw me. I didn't care if blood simply poured from my attire and to the ground that I'm walking on. I could hardly give a damn if some realized of my crimes in that blasted estate.

I had my scissors with me, and I only wish to fulfill my last wish before I leave this cursed world.

You murdered my family, [Name].

You were the one who caused that fire all those years ago.

I remember those burns you gave me. I remember just how much of a coward you were, fleeing from the scene you caused yourself.

How could I lose everything? And how can you keep your family?

No. No, that mustn't happen. I must set this right.

As your 'lover', I'll make sure you understand what you did wrong.

The culprit of the legend was caught, at least by the end.

All of the townsfolk had banded over to help the detective figure out who had caused such a stir, and it was only because of one eye-witness that said everything. That simply told the truth of the man behind it all.

It was the Crimson-Eyed Tailor, the one who was gripped with envy, that caused such a massacre to occur.

When they found what became of the last victim, his 'lover', they became a doll of his own. After killing them, the legend proceeded to speak of how he had simply 'sown' their skin alongside his, making them his perfect beloved doll.

One of the iterations even mentioned that his unnamed lover was in a Shiromuku outfit, eyes gouged so they may "never look at another man". At least, from what the tale has concluded.

Because of the severity of his crime, the tailor was sent to be on his death row. When the detective tried to get information out of him, they found out that he has lost his mind.

He became a shell of the brilliant man they knew, laughing and speaking that he has finally fulfilled his desire.

Even when he was dragged onto the guillotine, that day was marked as the end of the massacre, and those who were alive spoke of the man's chilling laughter up until his head was cut off.

...

And that was the end of the "Crimson-Eyed Tailor" and his legend.

Or, more accurately, the history of the known "Dead Man's Heart" case, and how Kaedehara Kazuha murdered the one he "loved" for revenge.

@.throw-letter-away | do not republish or repost my works anywhere | 2023

This got me feeling smth

If your still taking requests, what about a story where the boys have a mate (who came to them willingly, not by force), but she's really naive and not too bright. So they take advantage of her innocence by having her fulfill their fantasies while teaching her how fun sex can be.

"Yeah baby, sucking dick is great for sore throats. Didn't you know that?" that kind of stuff. Hope thats cool!

[A/n] To the anon who requested this, I apologize profusely for the delay! I received this prompt about a month ago and completely adored it, but I didn’t know how to execute it at the time. I’ve been working on it off and on for a while, finally getting my mojo going after brainstorming with a few mutuals. Thank you, @misslavenderlady and @that-girl-who-writes-sometimes, for the help! Anon, slide into my Ask Box and let me know if you liked it. I kind of went rogue with it toward the end. Hope you enjoy! 🙈

Smitten

[Poly!Lost Boys x Gullible!Reader]

[Modern!AU - Not set in 1987, but 35 years later.]

[Fic Warnings] 18+ MDI (SMUT) – Manipulation/Coercion, Dubious Consent, Dry Humping, Predator/Prey Dynamics, Violence/Aggression, Fellatio, Rough Sex, and Blood Drinking.

[Summary] You’re a naive little bird, and you make the mistake of allowing the boys to know how infatuated you are, something you’ll grow to regret.

All Rights Reserved. Please Do Not Copy, Plagiarize, or Reproduce.

The best prey was the kind that came willingly, foolishly wandering into their clutches with doe eyes. The boys loved the chase, the hunt, but they adored when prey foolishly put their trust in a predator. 

That’s where you came in. You were their next victim, pure and naive.

You were smitten by their manipulative charm and their irresistible good looks. They noticed you watching them coyly for weeks, googly-eyed and wanton. You worked at the local bookstore on the boardwalk, and the register had the perfect view of where they parked their bikes by the pier. 

You practically drooled when you laid eyes on them, the thundering quartet of their motorcycle engines blazing down the road, causing your innocent little loins to stir with life, slickening under your skirt. Even with that cacophony, they could hear your heart pound in your chest with unbridled lust. 

They couldn’t wait to have you moaning and writhing beneath them in sinful corruption and ecstasy. They had been patient for a while, teasing you by loitering in your presence until they were ready to lure you away, never to be seen again. 

The four hungrily slithered into your job like snakes with you in their crosshairs, intent on getting your legs open – and your blood into their bellies. 

You blushed and fidgeted when they approached the counter, your eyes cast down in delicious submission as they circled you with predatory precision. They hadn’t even worked their mojo, and you were already theirs. 

It didn’t take much for them to beguile you. They whispered a few sweet nothings, calling you ‘beautiful,’ ‘doll,’ and ‘babe,’ and you began sweating and stuttering behind the counter.

They led you to their bikes, helping you onto the back of David’s to whisk you away to their lair. 

Once there, getting you undressed was easy. You were such a silly little human! So innocent, trusting, and gullible!

All it took was some deviously slick words from Paul, and you dropped your skirt and removed your blouse in a panic, thinking a spider had crawled on you. 

“It’s okay, babe,” Paul cooed in mock concern as he soothed you, stifling a sadistic chuckle. “It’s gone,” he reassured as you sniffled in his embrace, wearing only your bra and panties.

He stroked your lower back, running his nimble fingers over your bottom before giving it a hefty slap. “Sit with David while I make you a drink,” Paul urged, leading you to his brother’s chair. “I’ll make you a White Russian. It’s delicious, trust me.”

You didn’t drink alcohol, and you timidly tried to protest as it fell on deaf ears, Paul grabbing Marko and dragging him to the tunnels, disappearing into the darkness with a bottle of Vodka, a bottle of Kahlúa, and a glass.

David leaned forward, grabbing your hand as he patted his knee. You reluctantly sat on the toned joint as you sniffled and continued wiping tears from your eyes. 

“It’s okay, dollface,” David soothed as he grabbed a tissue and began to help dry your tear-streaked face. 

“Thank you,” you whispered meekly. “Spiders are icky.”

“Yes, but don’t worry. We’ll protect you.” David purred as he lifted you by your waist, positioning you higher so you fully sat on his lap. “Comfy?” He asked slyly.

“A little,” you timidly responded as you looked at him with doe-eyes. 

“If you aren’t, feel free to get comfortable,” he suggested with a smirk as he eagerly leaned back in anticipation. 

You wiggled around until you found a soft spot on his lap that suited your comfort, but you quickly had to readjust because you felt a large bulge form beneath your bottom, prodding you between your fleshy cheeks. 

“Something’s poking me,” you muttered as you squirmed, causing David to groan with pleasure through half-lidded glacier eyes. 

“Are you okay?” You asked in concern as you watched the platinum blond voraciously eye you. 

“He’s just fine, beautiful,” Dwayne silkily replied as he stole you from David, grabbing your wrist and pulling you off his lap, causing the platinum blond to hiss with displeasure before he freed himself from his jeans, stroking his length in frustration. 

Dwayne pulled you towards him, lifting you by your waist to seat you just as David had. “This seat is the best one in the house,” he purred as you squirmed around to get settled again. But you nearly leaped two feet into the air when you felt the same uncomfortable bulge form beneath your rear – except larger and thicker.

“I’m being poked again,” you whined as you tried to remove yourself from Dwayne’s lap. The brunette wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you firmly into place as you unintentionally massaged his erection. 

Dwayne moaned, sliding his hands from your waist to your hips as you gyrated against him. You became flushed, your ditzy squirming causing stimulation for you as well. You both became slack-jawed as heat blossomed below the belt, your little loins moist and pulsing as Dwayne’s massive dick caressed your nub through his jeans and your panties. 

Unknown to the three of you, you weren’t the only ones in the midst of sweet stimulation. While David caressed himself and you cooed in Dwayne’s lap, Paul and Marko titillated each other in the tunnels, mutually masturbating until they were on the cusp of orgasm. They both eagerly came in your cup, spilling milky seed into a mixture of Vodka and Kahlúa, birthing your delectable White Russian. 

They tucked themselves into their pants, devilishly smiling, as they bounded back to the Main Cave to deliver your drink. 

The hurricane duo arrived to see you quivering in Dwayne’s lap, the brunette smirking as you twitched from orgasm, your dry humping having thrown you over the edge. 

You collapsed against his chest, nuzzling him as you panted from cumming. Dwayne had you spent, your innocent little body not used to such pleasures. But that was only an appetizer for their brother, Marko, Paul, and David could see that Dwayne was still ravenously hungry. They all were, but they had to tenderize you a little more before they dined on your virtue. 

“Here’s your drink, beautiful,” Marko cooed with a shit-eating grin as he plopped down on the couch, presenting it to you.

You stared at the concoction with sleepy eyes. “I don’t drink,” you informed the quartet drowsily, still dazed from your first orgasm. 

“There’s a first time for everything,” Dwayne muttered, jumping in to aid his brothers in tag-teaming you, something they effortlessly did when manipulating prey. 

They always worked as a unit in their malicious endeavors. 

You whined as Marko pushed the drink towards your face, Dwayne forcing you to sit up so you could imbibe. You took the warm glass in your hands, raising it to your lips as you reluctantly took a sip, pulling back as you made a face that showed your surprise.

It wasn’t bad; it was delicious with a saccharine zest, but it was strong, Marko going heavy on the Vodka, the alcohol burning your chaste throat. 

“It burns a little,” you complained as you coughed slightly, rubbing your throat as you drank. You finished the glass after their sinister urging, the four watching you suck down vampire seed disguised as heavy cream.

“My throat hurts,” you complained as your bottom lip jutted out in a pout.

“We have just the cure for that, babe,” Paul wolfishly replied as he unzipped his pants, releasing his rock-hard dick from his tattered white jeans. 

You stared wide-eyed from Dwayne’s lap as your eyes fell on the long, thick, pale appendage – cherry red at the tip and swollen as it wept. 

“What are you doing?” You asked in surprise as Paul plopped down on the chair across from the sofa, his legs wide.

“I’m trying to help you with your sore throat,” Paul purred while his brothers chuckled. “Sucking dick is great for sore throats.” 

“Really?” You asked in disbelief as your eyes fell on the appendage between his legs. 

“Yeah, baby, didn’t you know that?” He cooed as he stroked himself, beckoning you with a crooked finger. 

Dwayne coaxed you from his lap, whispering in your ear that he and David would ‘get you another drink,’ while Paul helped you with your sore throat. The brunette and the platinum blond disappeared into the tunnels with your glass, the liquor, and their erections while you knelt before a grinning Paul.

“I-I I-I’ve never, you know?” You stuttered as you looked up at the wild-haired blond. “Can you teach me?” You asked.

“Of course, babe,” Paul replied with a wicked smile. “Marko and I are the BEST teachers. Right, Bud?”

“Right, Paulie,” Marko agreed with a smirk as he nibbled his thumb, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Just open your mouth, babe; we’ll guide you.”

You bashfully parted your lips, flicking your pink tongue out to chase the milky dribbles that leaked from the blond before wrapping your lips around him. Paul sighed, throwing his head back as he became enveloped in the silky warmth of your mouth. 

“What do I do now?” You mumbled around his dick. It sounded anything but coherent, the sounds garbled and unintelligible. But with the boys’ pristine hearing and mind-reading capabilities, they knew exactly what you were saying. 

“Suck it, beautiful,” Marko urged as he toyed with strands of your hair. “Pretend like it’s a popsicle – a nice juicy popsicle. Get it all wet.” 

You did as you were told, bobbing your head up and down, using your tongue and saliva to slicken Paul’s length and sucking on him like he was your favorite ice cream treat.

“Grab it, babe,” Paul ordered through heaving breaths. “Massage it.”

You followed instructions, wrapping your dainty little hand around him and pumping, causing the wild-haired blond to writhe in his seat. You needed coaching, but you were a natural, your hot little virtuous mouth sending him to a frenzy. 

He locked eyes with Marko for a moment, he and the curly-haired blond exchanging devious thoughts as they plotted on you. Before you could register what was going on, Marko had pushed your head down, and Paul had grabbed your hair, his hips jackhammering into your mouth as he fucked your throat. 

You struggled against his groin, slapping his thighs and desperately digging your nails into his flesh in an attempt to free yourself. 

“Breathe through your nose, gorgeous,” Marko cooed as you moved to scratch at his hand, trying to untangle him from your locks. 

Neither blond budged, holding you in place as Paul fucked you, wet slapping and garbled glucking noises filling the room. 

Your eyes watered, and tears began to flow down your cheeks, pooling under your chin. You managed to get some air as you sniffled, Paul moaning and grunting as he bucked into your face with his eyes closed. 

The act felt like it went on for ages, only ending when the wild-haired blond came down your throat, warmth blossoming in your chest as you were forced to swallow his hot seed. 

He released you, laying back with a content smile as you whined at his feet.

Dwayne and David returned with your drink to see you sitting on the floor weeping into your hands, snotty and tear-stained, while Marko giggled like a madman and Paul smoked a joint. 

The two exchanged glances with raised eyebrows before investigating their brothers’ shenanigans. 

“What’s wrong, little one?” Dwyane asked with his melodic baritone. 

“Paul said sucking his,” you hesitated, “d-dick would cure my sore throat, but it only made it worse.” You sobbed. 

“Poor baby,” Dwayne purred as he knelt next to you, presenting you with your second 'White Russian,' a slightly larger serving this time. “Drink this; it will make you feel better.”

Naively, you took the glass, drinking the sinful concoction without hesitation. You grimaced. It tasted good, but it was apparent David and Dwayne had made this one stronger. 

Your stomach was empty besides the alcohol and their seed, Paul’s being the only seed you were aware of, and you were worried about becoming too tipsy. Your body was growing warm, your belly absorbing the liquor and sending it straight to your bloodstream, along with the proteins they donated. 

You didn’t have a high tolerance, so shortly after drinking your second glass, your body became languid and flushed as your pussy pulsed in need. 

David and Dwayne smirked. The first step was complete. You consumed their seed; now, you had to sacrifice your body. Dwayne passed the glass to David before gathering you into his arms, lifting you, and carrying you toward the tunnels. His brothers followed, shedding their clothing as they journeyed, leaving them nude once you arrived at your destination.

Dwayne laid you down on the bed, watching you with piercing chocolate eyes as you began to sweat and squirm – the alcohol and their euphoria of their seed taking hold. 

“She’s ready, boys,” David purred with a smirk as he crawled on top of you, looking down at you with his icy orbs. He lowered his lips to yours, kissing you deeply as you sighed in contentment, your eyes fluttering closed. 

With taloned fingers, David swiped at your bra and panties, shredding them to ribbons, exposing you to himself and his brothers. The four inhaled as your scent wafted through the air, the smell much more robust than it was moments ago. 

“This is going to hurt a little, dollface,” David warned as he mounted you, putting your legs on his shoulders as he lined himself up with your entrance. 

You nodded timidly, closing your eyes when you felt his manhood prod at your sopping wet opening. Your face twisted in discomfort, and your breath hitched as David forced himself inside, stretching you out painfully. 

The platinum blond surprisingly peppered your face with kisses, soothing you in hushed tones as you began to tear up. 

But that was the extent of his tenderness. 

David pulverized you, not bothering to take it slow because it was your first time. He took full advantage of your body, pounding, scratching, and biting you as he moaned in bliss. 

You were in pain – at first, but after a while, the platinum blond began to tease all of your tender spots, causing you to warble sinfully beneath him as his brothers paced around the bed like lions, awaiting their turn to devour your body. 

David didn’t care that his brothers were waiting; he took his time with you, savoring your velvety heat as you rippled and twitched around him, whining his name as you drooled. 

You came hard, splashing David’s stomach with your juices as you squirted. You collapsed into the pillows, spent from pleasure, but that didn’t spare you from the appetites of the others. 

When David unmounted from you after his release, another boy immediately took his place, manhandling you into the position they desired before they slid inside you. You panted, begging each of them for a break, but they granted you no mercy, rutting into you from behind, from the side, or however they wished until they fell over the edge, taking you with them. 

They fucked you for hours, the room becoming thick with the smell of sex. You could barely move when they were done with you. You were overstimulated and exhausted, laying in the middle of the bed, mouth agape in a dreamy daze. 

The boys crawled into bed with you, cuddling you as you settled down to nap in their embrace. You snuggled against David, your head on his chest as you began to drift off to dreamland – but he and the boys had other plans.  

“Do you believe in vampires?” David asked as he stroked your hair. 

“No,” you responded as the boys chuckled around you, but you were too tired to pick up on the danger – not that you could anyway. Your instincts were poor. 

“They’re just characters in books and movies. They aren't' real.”

David kissed you on your forehead, smirking against your brow. “So naive, you are, little one,” he whispered in amusement. “That's why we’re going to keep you.” 

You didn’t know what he meant. You were nearly gone, the Sandman having beckoned you long ago. You were snoring lightly when you squealed in agony, having felt a stabbing pain in your breast. 

You opened your eyes, screaming in fear, when you saw the boys with the faces of demons – blazing red eyes with golden irises, protruding brows, chiseled cheekbones, and fangs. 

They were vampires.

You wailed as they tore into your body – Marko on your breast, Paul between your legs, Dwayne on your wrist, and David on your throat. 

They drained you while you wept, your heart fluttering and slowing as they consumed your life. 

But they didn’t drain you dry, they pulled back as you began to fade in and out of consciousness, David sending Marko to retrieve the bottle.

You were propped up in David’s arms and fed their blood as you gasped and wheezed for air, the boys forcing you to fill your stomach before you slipped away from this life.

“Shhh – don’t cry,” Marko purred as he propped himself against the headboard, wiping your tears as David rocked you in his arms. “It’s okay. We have one more step in the ritual, and then you can rest.”

“Ritual?” You muttered weakly, frightened and confused by everything that was going on.  

“The mating ritual, little one,” Dwayne purred as he stroked your cheek. “We completed four steps; we have one more to go. So, don’t fight it," he purred. "Let death come.”

“No,” you mumbled as you felt yourself drifting away, unable to fight anymore because your number was up. You closed your eyes, dropping dead in David’s arms as your lungs released your last breath. 

The ritual was complete. You consumed their seed, sacrificed your body, gave your blood, consumed theirs, and gave your life. 

You were now theirs – their mate, their wife, bound to them for eternity. 

All because of your gullibility and your silly human infatuation. 

FIN.

Taglist:

@6lostgirl6 @the-faceless-bride @wowisksksj @britany1997 @pixielostboy

Yummy

open the door to another door

5+1 Ghost/Reader + Size Kink

13k words (the longest fic I've ever written).

Warning for canon-typical violence and lots of smut.

Thank you so much @stupidslavicguy for being my beta for the story :) <3

Simon was a giant man, so it really shouldn’t be all that surprising he had a dick to match his stature. It was long, thick, and slightly curved to the left. The color of it almost matched Simon’s face too, a fact that you were sure would make it hard in the future to look at him and not think of. 

“Woah,” you breathed, mentally kicking yourself for such a stupid reaction. You pulled your eyes away to look at Simon, a small smile stretching out your lips.

“Sorry,” Simon murmurs in response, a blush darkening his face.

“Sorry? For what?” Your hands cupped Simon’s face so your eyes could meet his. 

“I haven’t always gotten,” he pauses and lets out a sigh, “the best reaction,” he finishes, the words coming out quickly. 

“It’s,” you look back down, “intimidating I’ll admit,” your eyes go back to Simon’s before continuing, “but we get shot at almost daily. “This,” you take one of your hands away and wrap it around the hard length, “isn’t going to scare me off.”

Simon lets out a breathy noise as you give a slow pull on his cock, “yeah?”

“We’ll just have to go slow until I can take it all.”

“You still want it? All of it?” Simon asks, his hips pushing forward as your pace goes faster.

“Yeah–” Simon cuts you off as he swoops down to press his lips to yours. Your teeth clack together, but Simon makes it easy to ignore the pain as the sound of the moan he lets out fills your ears. Your lips stay locked even as Simon pushes you back, and then onto the bed when it hits the back of your legs. 

“I’ll make it good,” Simon breathes as he gets your pants and underwear down. His mouth is against yours once more as he wraps one of his large hands around both of your cocks, “get you open and ready,” he says when he pulls away again. 

“You’re gonna ruin me for anyone else,” you say around a moan. You couldn’t tell the future but were almost 99 percent sure of it.  

“That just means I get you all to myself,” Simon’s head moves down to your neck to suck a dark bruise into the flesh. His fingers tighten and your hips jump as you feel the edge approach. 

Simon lets out a shaky breath against the skin of your neck before his mouth is at your ear, “you can help me too,” he whispers into your ear. “I can never get the angle right when I try it myself.”

“Fuck, Simon,” you moan, one of your hands going to his hair to pull his face up so you can smash your lips on his, “gotta show me,” you say when you pull away. You fall over the edge to the thought. At first, it was building to the feel of his cock against yours, and knowing that soon, his big cock would be inside you. But now, it was also to the images flashing through your mind of Simon laid out on his bed with his thick fingers pressing deep inside himself, and his sweaty forehead pressed against his bedspread as he tried to get his fingers against his prostate. 

Simon came after you did in white splatters against your chests. You almost immediately regretted not getting your shirt off as most of it ended up on your chest, “sorry,” Simon whined as his cock pulsed and shot out white ropes, one of them just missing the bottom of your chin. 

“Was the hickey not enough?” You question, looking down to watch Simon’s cock shoot out spurts of white. “You’ve got to mark me like this, too?”

“Can’t help it,” Simon whimpers as the aftershock takes over. Your cock gives a twitch when the last of his mess ends up dripping onto your cock. He ducks his sweaty forhead into the crook of your neck to press against the mark he left there. 

“I’m only teasing,” you respond, and place one of your hands to the back of Simon’s neck to run your fingers through the hair on the back of his head. “As long as the others don’t see.”

You let out a grunt as Simon lets his heavy weight rest on top of yours. He lets out a sign of contempt that nearly sounds like a purr, “you think they’ll get jealous?” He asks. 

You laugh quietly, “we’d probably just never hear the end of it.”

Mouth

For the time being after that, you tried your best to keep what you had to yourself. As you suspected, it was easier said than done. It’s not like you were fooling around in other places around the base that weren’t your respective bedrooms, so you wouldn’t have to worry about that. What you did have to worry about was things that were more out of your control, like the absolute looks of longing you could see on Simon’s face whenever you would catch him staring. 

Gaz and Soap were the first ones to pick it up. You honestly thought what gave it away was the dark mark on your neck Simon had left a week before, but it wasn’t until after it had healed that you were cornered by them. 

It nearly looked like something from a horror movie the way they had matching smiles on their faces as they backed you into the corner of the kitchen. So close, yet so far from the pick-me-up you needed after rolling out of bed.  

You turned, armed with a mug and a few hours of sleep as you heard them walk up behind you, “I was about to knock you out! Don’t sneak up on me like that,” you hissed, your other hand covering your racing heart. 

“You wouldn’t have gotten us both,” Gaz nodded at Soap, “it’d break on his hard head.”

Soap swatted at the back of Gaz’s head, his smile falling from his face. However, When he looked back in your direction, it was back. 

“Was Simon too tired to come with you to the kitchen?” Soap questioned. 

“I haven’t seen him today,” you glanced over at Gaz, “I just woke up.”

“Didn’t you wake up next to him?” Gaz asked. 

Your brows furrowed as you looked between the two men and let out a laugh before responding, “I don’t have sleepovers like you two do.”

“They’re not sleepovers!” They both respond, making you laugh harder.

“Sorry, sorry. I forgot you call it spending the night,” you say as you set the mug down. 

“You still haven’t come to one, but we understand now,” Gaz says, and the two share a glance. 

If it was possible, your eyebrows would go lower to show your confusion, “understand what?”

“You can’t come,” Soap’s smile grows into a toothy smile, “because you’re dating,” he proclaims loudly. 

You slap a hand over his mouth, “we aren’t dating,” you hiss. Soap’s eyes go wide before they fill with mischief, “if you lick my fucking hand I’ll–”

“Easy,” Gaz says, one of his hands going to your shoulder, “we’re just wondering,” Gaz pulls his hand away when you glare at him. 

Soap pulls your hand away from the wrist, “we’re just happy we didn’t need to have the intervention we were planning.”

You don’t even want to ask, and you blame it on your lack of sleep when you feel your mouth form around the question, “intervention?”

“We could only watch the man pine for so long,” Soap responds. 

“Pine?”

Not even answering your question, Gaz responds, “you both can come the next time we spend the night,” his voice full of excitement.

“Like a double date?” You ask, a slow smile stretching out over your face as you look between the two men. “He can only pine for so long!” You yell at their backs as they both turn and quickly leave. 

Compared to Soap and Gaz, when Price finds out and speaks to you about it, it’s much more awkward. 

It happens in the same place, but you’re a lot less cornered. If you wanted to, you could have just left and avoided the conversation, but it was better to just rip the bandaid off you guess. 

“So,” Price says, dragging the word out, “you and Simon.”

“Oh my god,” you say into the cabinet, “you too?” you ask as you slam your mug down onto the counter. 

“We don’t have to talk about it,” he clears his throat before speaking again, “as long as you two are happy,” he says, placing a hand on your shoulder. 

“Thank you for your blessing,” you respond sarcastically before turning to grab another mug. 

“Is that for Simon?” Price asks after you set the other one down. The smile you can hear in his voice has you tempted to throw it at him. 

“You’re going to the kitchen next time,” you say once you’re back in your bedroom and away from Price and the stupid smile plastered on his face.

“That bad, huh?” Simon asks from the bed. He looks way too good for someone who just woke up with his sleep tousled hair and sleepy eyes. “Where’s yours?” 

“I changed my mind,” you say, placing the mug on the bedside table on Simon’s side of the bed. 

“Want some of mine?” He asks. 

“I’m okay,” you respond, sending Simon a tired smile. It was like all of your energy drained away once you had gotten out of the kitchen. Waiting for the inevitable conversation with Price after the one you had with Soap and Gaz had you on edge, so now that it was all over, you just wanted to sleep it off and gain your energy back. 

It was still early in the morning and the sun had just started to rise for the day, so the only thing that illuminated the space was the lamp on your side of the bed. The warm glow made you sleepy, and the feeling only intensified when you were back under the covers. 

“I didn’t add anything to it,” you laid your head onto Simon’s shoulder, “had to get away from Price,” you said around a yawn. 

‘I guess that’s kind of my fault,” Simon places the mug down lightly before the arm you’re laying against rises to wrap around your shoulder. 

“They did say something about you pining, but I think we’re both to blame,” you smile up at him sheepishly. 

“I wasn’t pining,” Simon responds, scoffing. He looks down before a small smile appears on his face, “I’m surprised you didn’t pick up on it,” he says quietly. 

“You’re not exactly easy to read,” you say, laughing fondly. “I thought you hated me at first.”

“You might’ve been reckless and headstrong and rushed into danger-”

“Okay!” You say, ducking out from under Simon’s arm to sit all the way up, “but?” You ask, waiting for Simon to say all the great things about you. After all, you get all of your tasks on  missions done, no matter how you tend to rush into danger and be reckless and headstrong like Simon just said. 

“But?” Simon asks in confusion. The expression melts away into a grin when you jab an elbow into Simon’s side, “but,” he rubs at his side, “you always come out on top. No matter how much it terrifies me.” 

His voice sounds like he wants to say more, but his mouth clamps shut and his eyes fall to his lap. You wait for him to continue, but before he does, he grabs at your wrists to pull you over into his lap. Your knees end up on either side of his legs, tangled in the sheets that pool around you. 

“On our first mission after you joined the task force,” Simon begins quietly, his eyes glued to the shirt you wore to bed, “when you pushed Johnny out of the way and took that bullet for him, for all of us,” he goes quiet again, one of his hands moving to your shoulder where the scar is, “I sat outside your room while you rested, waiting for you to heal.”

You don’t remember much of that moment, only remembering the bang out of the gun before you were tackling Soap onto the ground. It was all a blur after that, the pain medication making everything spotty and difficult to remember. 

What you could remember, or what you actually should say what you now realized from Simon’s words was that the shadows under your door that you thought you had been hallucinating in a medication filled haze was actually Simon.

“I thought you were a monster outside my door.”

“No, just me,” he runs his fingers softly over the cotton covering the scar, “Johnny kept laughing at me when he and the others would come check up on you,” he says quietly. 

“That was months ago, Simon,” you whisper, your fingers running back and forth along the back of his neck. 

“You’re still the same old guy,” Simon’s voice finds that same fondness again as his hand moves from your shoulder to cup your face, “but you’re mine now.”

You moved your hand from his neck to place it on top of his, “not much has changed, I guess,” you moved forward to press your lips to his to keep your mouth occupied and to keep it from saying the words at the tip of your tongue. 

Kissing doesn’t help, it actually only makes it worse. You love Simon, and you’re all his. 

You try again with another kiss, only to be met with the same outcome. At least while your mouth is occupied, it gives you less of a chance to let the words spew forth. 

Simon’s tongue tastes mainly of the tea he just drank, but also with a hint of minty toothpaste. He must’ve ducked out of your bedroom to brush his teeth while you were in the kitchen trying to avoid Price. You made a mental note to ask Simon what the combination tasted like. Maybe the minty taste would be hardly noticeable as it was washed away by the tea, or maybe it would combine to taste like how orange juice and toothpaste do. The thought makes you shudder. 

“Feel good?” Simon asks when he pulls away, 

“Yeah,” you breathe. You weren’t about to tell Simon that your reaction was to the thought you just had, and not his tongue. 

His hand moves to the back of your neck to pull you back into another kiss. His tongue was quicker than it was before to make its presence known. Simon’s cock also follows suit when you feel it poke at your hip. 

“Feel good?” You parrot, smirking when you see just how pink Simon’s face is.

You press your lips to the redness on Simon’s cheek before moving down to his neck. You’re tempted to do what he had done and leave a mark, but you had other wants. Instead, you simply press a kiss to one side, but let your lips linger. You pull away, but not before dragging your lips across his pulse before continuing lower. 

Simon’s legs spread to accompany your body, his feet all the way on either side of the bed. “Can I take these off?” You ask, looking up at him through your lashes. 

Wordlessly, Simon nods before he raises his hips to make it easier. 

“No underwear,” you softly laugh once his shorts are gone. Laughing is an easy coverup to the nervous feeling that runs through your body. He wasn’t even fully hard, yet his cock was still impressive. And now, kneeling between his legs, this is the closest you have been to the largest cock you have ever seen. 

“Can I-”

“Anything,” Simon breathes, cutting you off, “you can do anything you want,” he ends, his cock giving a twitch against his stomach. 

You hear him gasp above you when you run your hands up his thighs and through the soft hair. The next noise he lets out is a low whine when your lips meet the head of his cock. It soon begins to thicken and fill with blood when you go lower and run your tongue up until you’re back at where your lips just were. 

You wrap your fingers around the base, the saliva from your tongue making it easy to bring your fingers to your lips after you take the head of his cock into your mouth. You wish you could take it deeper and get it into your throat, but the most you can take only has the head, and a little bit of the thick vein along the underside resting against your tongue. 

Simon doesn’t mind, at least that’s what you assume by the noises he’s letting out above you. You hear the soft sound of his head falling back into the pillows as you try to go lower. Not to your surprise, it feels as if you’ve barely taken any more of his cock before you feel your gag reflex threaten to bring tears to your eyes. 

To compensate for what you can’t take, your forearm lifts from the bed and your hand goes down to Simon’s balls. Your fingers roll his heavy sack and if cock wasn’t going to choke you, the load his full, heavy balls would shoot down your throat likely would. 

Simon lets out a groan, the noise going straight to your cock. Trapped in the confines of the shorts you had worn to bed, the most you could do was spread your legs to grind your cock against the mattress. The feeling distracts you from the suction you had on the head of Simon’s cock as it pulls a moan from your chest. 

Under the feelings of your hands and mouth on his cock, the added stimulation of the vibration has Simon’s hips twitching up off the bed. The action catches you both off guard, setting off your gag reflex before tears are spilling from your eyes a moment later. 

To your astonishment, Simon’s cock spills onto your tongue as you pull away. The feel of it twitching sends a wave of want through your body to take it deeper into your mouth until you can feel it twitch and throb in the wet heat of your throat.

You suck in air through your nose as you try to swallow all that his cock shoots onto your tongue. As you lay still, swallowing bitter waves of his come, Simon too lays still as you listen to his muffled moans hitting the pillow. It sends a rush of affection through your body knowing that Simon isn’t trying to accidentally choke you again, and the feeling then burns into lust at the noise of fingers balling up the sheets as he tries to hold back. 

You drag your hips into the bed as a reward for causing Simon such pleasure. You let out another moan at the friction to your cock, and Simon answers with one of his. His hands unclench from the sheets slowly as the aftershocks of his orgasm subsides, his cock softening on your tongue. 

You pull off his cock with a gasp and then feel one of Simon’s hands on your shirt pulling you up. He moves to kiss you, but stops once he sees the tear tracks on your face.

“You okay?” He asks softly, his thumb running through the tears to wipe them away. 

“Yeah,” you respond, sending him a small smile, “sorry.”

“For what?” He questions, his brows furrowing, “I made you fucking cry I-”

“It was an accident,” you say, quickly cutting Simon off, “I wanted to take more, but I couldn't.” Your voice goes quiet, but you’re not quite sure why you suddenly feel so embarrassed. You had just made Simon come hard enough to still feel the warmth of it in your stomach, you had no reason to be embarrassed.  

“You’ll get there,” Simon pulls your pants down low enough to hook the waistband below your balls, “then I’ll fuck your face,” he pulls you into a wet kiss, his tongue mapping out your mouth so he can taste himself on your tongue. His fingers wrap around your cock to stroke at the sensitive flesh, “you’ll take it so deep I’ll come straight down your throat.”

“That’ll take a long time,” you moan and glance down at Simon’s soft cock before you’re pulled into another kiss. 

“That’s okay,” Simon responds before giving you another kiss. “Wanna take my time with you,” he murmurs. His soft words are full of promise that sends a rush of excitement through your body that ends at your cock. 

White ropes of come shoot from the head, coating Simon’s fingers, and like the first time, also his shirt. You moan into Simon’s mouth as he kisses you again, making it hard to breathe as you gasp and try to keep up with the kiss. 

“You’re coming so hard just from my hand,” Simon observes quietly, “I wonder what it’ll be like when I get them inside of you,” his fingers from your softening cock to your balls. Two of them sneak beneath your waistband to rub at your taint. 

Much like Simon’s had earlier, your hips twitch forward at the feel of his fingers. You groan, more of your come dribbling out of the head of your cock as your aftershocks end. 

Dirty and spent, Simon wraps his arms around you and pulls you to his chest. Your soft cock rubs against his, pulling a gasp from each of you. 

“You’re sensitive,” Simon observes. 

You roll your hips into his, laughing around the gasp that falls from your mouth when Simon whimpers, “you are too.”

Hand

Wanna take my time with you. 

Those words ring through your head every time you both have had a moment to yourselves after that. Your free time was sparse, and you wanted to spend every moment of it that you could with Simon. It’s not like you had time to get Simon’s fingers inside of you slow enough for you to take his cock, but you learned quickly that there were other things you could do that you could both enjoy. 

You knew that you wouldn’t have time to slowly try and take his cock deeper into your mouth and then into your throat, but you also knew that your mouth could get his cock wet enough that Simon could fuck your fist. 

Simon groans when you get back onto your feet and pull him into a kiss, “you like how it tastes?” He asks after pulling his tongue free from your mouth. 

“Do you?” You ask back. You raise your other hand up to his mouth, “spit,” you command, not even letting Simon answer. 

He spits into your waiting open palm, keeping his eyes locked to yours, “good boy,” you whisper as you run the wetness on your palm across his cock. 

You had to be quick. You didn’t even know how long it would be before you were called onto another mission or task to complete. You had just gotten back from one just nearly an hour ago and didn’t even give yourself the time to pull your gear off before Simon was pushing his balaclava up enough to press his lips to yours in a heated kiss. 

It was intoxicating seeing such an intimidating looking man all decked out in his gear knocked down and only able to fuck your fist as he chased his pleasure. 

Your cock was hard and aching in the confines of your pants, and though one of your hands was free, you kept it where it was and continued watching Simon. Luckily, the display is something you can’t take your eyes away from, so you aren’t even wanting to touch your cock. 

“Wish we had more time,” Simon whines before you press your lips to his to swallow the noise. He moans into your mouth and when you pull away, his lips chase after yours. He lets out a loud noise of protest when you step away, the noise making you let out a quiet laugh. 

You come back holding a tube of lube, Simon’s eyes glancing down to it then back to your eyes. He stares up at you when you push him back onto the bed. It’s messy and the sheets and blanket are all crumpled, but you’re too focused on Simon to care. 

Simon makes a low noise in his throat when your hand returns between his legs. The lube makes it much easier to stroke up and down his cock, and the squelch of the lube rings out through the room. You rest your weight on his back and hook your chin over his shoulder to get a better picture. 

“Better?” You whisper into his ear. 

Simon leans back into your chest and fucks his hips up into the circle of your fist you’ve made for his cock. “It’s a little,” his voice breaks off with a moan before he continues, “cold,” he whimpers, his hips pumping up and down. 

You laugh softly before nipping at his lobe, “sorry sweetheart,” you coo, “I’ll keep some in my pocket so it’s always warm.”

Simon’s head falls back onto your shoulder when you tighten your hand around his cock. You’re not even having to move your hand, Simon’s hips are doing all of the work for you. 

“What’re you thinking about, Simon?” You ask. “Are you imagining its my hole you’re fucking and not my hand?”

Simon lets out a groan and the vibrations travel down his back to your cock where you’re kneeling behind him on the bed. The stimulation makes you gasp and your hips twitch forward into the rough material of his gear. 

“Yeah,” Simon moans, “thinking about your cock, too,” he says, his hips speeding up.

“Yeah? Where, baby?” You ask, the pet name slipping free on accident.

“In my-” Simon tries, but his answer breaks off into another moan. 

“In your mouth, or your hole?”

Simon’s answer comes in the form of another moan as he comes over your fist. You stroke him through it until his cock begins to soften and he lets out whimpers of overstimulation. 

You pull your hand away and Simon lets out another noise, the rest of his weight falling heavily onto your chest. You wipe your hand onto the sheets, trying not to grimace. 

“Did you just-”

“You want me to wipe it on your gear?” 

Simon’s head jerks up, the skin of his neck that you can see from where he pulled up his balaclava is red. He clears his throat before responding, “no,” he says quietly. 

You press your smile into the back of his neck, hearing the obvious lie in his voice. Your smile falls and your body tenses when you hear the sound of movement outside your bedroom door. 

“Get your gear back on, we need to go, Now.” Even when muffled through the door, Price’s tone sounds just as commanding as it always does. 

Thighs

You could admit that it was frustrating not being able to take care of your erection before you were whisked away to your next mission, but it was always something that lingered in the back of your mind. 

You could only let out a sigh when you heard the sound of Price’s boots walking away. Simon looked at you like he either wanted to cry, or he wanted to cry for you. You couldn’t help but feel annoyed as you looked down at him when you got off the bed, his soft cock still hanging out of his pants. 

To occupy yourself, which actually meant to make your fucking boner go away so the others wouldn’t see it, you walked out of the room to the attached bathroom. Not every base you were stationed at had one, but fortunately, this one did. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you say to Simon when you’ve come back in with a wet cloth. 

“I wanted-”

You cut him off with a soft kiss, “we’ll take care of it later,” you say once you’ve pulled back. “Plus,” you run the warm cloth across his cock carefully before tucking it back inside his underwear, “I need this to go away, and hearing about all of the things you were going to do to me wouldn’t help.”

“You’re probably right,” Simon responds before he presses his lips to yours again.

Once you’ve been briefed and are in the transport, you feel Soap’s eyes on you. You glance over at him but quickly look away, not wanting to give him the reaction. You ball your hands up into tight fights, grateful for the gloves you wore to avoid the crescent moon marks that your nails would leave. 

You weren’t in the mood for his or Gaz’s words or looks, you just hoped the mission would go without a hitch. 

Once on the field, you let your frustration fuel your actions. You weren’t sure if it was necessarily smart or healthy, but it kept you focused. 

To no surprise of your own, you get shot at, which is normal, and do some shooting of your own. What does take you by surprise is when you feel a sharp pain hit your arm. Soap takes him down as you quickly apply pressure to the wound. You let out a sigh of relief when you’re able to find the hole in the wall where the bullet ended up, that’s the least you could ask for. 

When the mission is over and you’re back at the transport, you feel lightheaded, but you were going to blame that on how far you had to run, not from the blood loss. Under Price’s careful eye, Gaz patches you up lightly, knowing that it would soon be taken off once you were back on base before you took a shower. 

“All good,” Soap says when Gaz is done. He smacks lightly at the bandage and you swat his hand away. 

Simon, who was practically fucking vibrating with anger locks a hand around Soap wrist and pries it away. The noise Soap makes almost pulls a laugh from your chest, but you have more important things to focus on, like making sure Simon doesn’t fucking break Soap’s wrist. 

“It’s okay,” you say to Simon, wrapping a hand around his wrist, “you know Soap doesn’t hit that hard,” you reassure. 

“Hey!” Soap squawks, and this time, you can’t help but laugh at the noise. “Control your fucking boyfriend,” he grumbles, rubbing at his wrist when Simon lets go. 

You pull Soap’s wrist closer with your uninjured arm and look over the skin after pulling back the fabric that covers it. The redness of Simon’s grip is already nearly faded, “you’ll live,” you say and let Soap pull his hand away, looking like an injured animal about to go lick its wound.

You try your best to ignore the boyfriend comment, but every time you look at Gaz and Soap you’re reminded of it. You’re reminded of it not because of the close proximity of the two men, but because when you look at them, you’re reminded of your own relationship with Simon. No, Simon wasn’t fucking cradling your wrist in his hand like Gaz was doing with Soap’s, but the affection they showed each other made you think of your affection for Simon. 

You could now understand why they would give you such smug looks and then look at each other. At least you were actually injured, but you would let Soap have his moment. You shook your head and rolled your eyes at them when they looked at you. In turn, Soap sent a glare your way, but it quickly fell when you saw his eyes move away and look to Simon. 

Once back at base after all of the excitement has gone down, Simon acts as if he’s your shadow. You even had to push him by the shoulders out of the doorway to close the bathroom door. Not that you didn’t want to shower with Simon, you wanted to have a moment to yourself to breathe. 

The water at your feet runs red once you’re under the warm spray, though, it doesn’t take long for it to lighten to a pinker shade before it runs clear. You press your forehead to the cool tile and your eyes slip shut. You breathe in and out slowly, struggling at certain intervals when the water makes the wound on your arm sting. 

You clean yourself slowly, slower than you normally do before you turn the spray off. You dry off and put a clean, dry bandage over the injury under the fluorescent lights of the bathroom. A small jostle of pain runs through your arm as you put a shirt on, but you’ll take that over something that could have been much worse. Thankfully, it’s easier to put your pants on. 

You let out a sign as you place your hand on the doorknob, not knowing what to expect from Simon on the other side. 

He stands in the middle of the room, his arms crossed over his chest. He’s at least dressed down a little bit, with just his undershirt and pants being the remnants of the rest of his gear. He steps up to you quickly, panting. He must have been pacing, you thought, trying to let out the rest of his energy. 

“I’m-”

“Don’t!” He barks, cutting you off. When you both  flinch at his tone, he lets out a heavy  sign before he speaks again, “just let me check, please?” He asks quietly. 

“I just put on a new bandage,” you say, holding your arm out. 

He inspects it closely, holding it in careful hands. You feel a laugh bubble up in your chest when he holds your arm up to inspect the underside of your arm. A smile makes its way onto your face, but when Simon puts your arm down, he looks like he’s about to break down. You don’t even want to think about how he looked when he was waiting outside of your bedroom door. 

“Come here,” you command softly, opening your arms so Simon’s chest can fall onto yours as he buries his face into the side of your neck. 

You feel his breath on your neck as he breathes you in and holds you close. His arms are almost too tight around you, but you don’t say anything. When the silence does break, it’s from Simon, “if something would have happened to you-”

“Nothing happened to me, Simon.”

You couldn’t see his face, but could practically feel his eyes looking down at your arm.  

You brought your arm up to Simon’s head to run your fingers through his hair. It was wild and messy from where he had pulled off his balaclava. “It only grazed me.” After a few moments more of silence, you put some pace in between your bodies, just enough to place both of your hands on his shoulders, “I’m still here.” 

“I couldn’t be here if you weren’t,” he responds softly, his eyes looking away from yours. 

The words hit you hard, and there’s a voice in the back of your head saying you could say the same thing about him. When the words do come out, they aren’t the same as is, but you hope they put across the same meaning.

“I love you.”

Simon’s eyes widen as they look back up at yours. He claims your mouth in a kiss that has you feeling lightheaded again when he pulls away. “I love you,” he pants around the words when he says them, but repeats them over and over again as he backs you into the bed.

Simon wastes no time getting you naked before he’s ripping off the rest of his gear. When you’re both fully naked, you’re sent back to earlier in the day and you’re reminded of what you didn’t get. It gets you dizzy how quickly you get hard, but your hands stay wrapped around Simon’s neck as you keep kissing and kissing and kissing. 

“Can I try something?” Simon asks, panting after he pulls back from the kiss. 

It takes a minute for your brain to catch up and answer his question, but you give a quick nod after a few seconds. You sit down on the edge of the bed and watch as Simon opens the drawer to the bedside table and pulls out the bottle of lube you had used earlier. You almost expected Simon to get behind you on the bed and have a repeat of what happened earlier, but instead, Simon commands you in a soft voice to roll over. 

He presses a kiss to the side of your neck after he gets on top of you, and you smile into the comforter when he presses another one to the other side. His hands bring your thighs together before you hear the sound of the lube being opened. 

You let out a gasp when his wet cock is slowly making its way in between your thighs. Simon was right, it was cold. It heats up quickly though as Simon slides his cock back and forth in your thighs. His cock nudges your balls on each thrust that he gives, making you let out muffled moans into the bedspread. 

When you turn your neck, Simon presses his lips to yours. You let out a noise at the loss of air, it wasn’t like you were going to break the kiss to tell him you had turned your head to breathe, not for him to kiss you.  You could just breathe when the kiss was over, that would be okay.

When Simon pulls away, his hips still. You raise your ass up to be able to wrap your fingers around your cock, but Simon grabs your upper arm to pull it away. 

“Let me,” he says beside your ear before his hand replaces yours. 

“You’re going to crush me,” you respond, moaning as Simon bites into the side of your neck. 

“Do you not think I’m strong enough to hold myself up?” He asks, laughing in your ear. 

You knew he would be, but Simon was still a big man. Yes, there were times where the thought of Simon’s weight on top of you turned you on, but you didn’t exactly want to test out if you’d feel the same way after losing blood from an injury. 

“We’ll see,” you respond, hiding your smile into the bed. 

Simon’s huff hits the back of your neck before he keeps going. He grunts into your neck as his pace picks up. Occasionally, the slap of skin on skin rings out through the room, but each time the sound does, Simon slows down and places a kiss on whatever inch of skin he can reach. 

It gets to the point where you nearly want to yell back at him, to beg him to go faster, but when you open your mouth to do just that, a moan spills out as your orgasm hits you. It comes as a surprise as you spill over Simon’s fist. You press your face into the bed to muffle your yells of pleasure as you’re finally able to have the release you craved.

You turn your neck again to breathe, but this time, Simon doesn’t claim your mouth in a kiss. Instead, he pulls his cock from your slick thighs and tugs at his cock. Your skin doesn’t even have time to cool before Simon is shooting ropes of white that land on your thighs, ass, and back. 

For what feels like a long time, Simon stays kneeled above you, even after you fall onto the bed. You thought after you did, that Simon would rest his weight on top of yours and crush you into the bed, but the next time you feel him on you is when his mouth is on your thighs. 

He licks at the skin where his come landed, continuing up your body until he reaches the small of your back. He does the same at the small of your back before he moves down to the globes of your ass. His saliva cooling on your skin makes you shiver, and you press back on shaky legs into his touch. 

You doubt any of his come had landed on your hole, but Simon still spreads you apart licks with broad strokes. Your soft cock gives an interested twitch, still coated in the mess you made as you make a low noise in your throat.

Simon pulls away once he’s deemed you’re clean. Your hips meet the wet spot again, but you’re too tired to even move away from it. After he’s crawled back up your body, Simon does the work for you and rolls your back into his chest. 

“I should probably go shower,” he murmurs into the back of your neck as he tangles your legs together. 

“I’ll keep your spot warm,” you respond around a yawn. 

Simon presses a kiss to your cheek before he leaves. You’re even too tired to crane your neck and watch his ass as he walks the few steps to the bathroom. You fall asleep to the muffled sound of the shower, missing when Simon whispers a soft thank you when he gets behind you in the bed, his spot nice and warm. 

Just the tip

It feels as if Simon barely touches you for the next few weeks until your arm is nearly fully healed. Near the end of it, when your injury has scabbed over, it gets to the point you feel yourself getting hard when Simon lets his touch linger. 

It leaves you feeling so fucking needy that you’re stupid for it. Stupid enough you convince Simon to spar with you. Simon was a big fucking man, and though he was big, his size didn’t slow him down. He was faster and quieter than most people expected, information that he used to his advantage whenever he could. 

“Take him down!” Soap yelled from the side, stealing your attention away. You think Soap was still angry about his wrist.

Simon fixes you with a heated look that’s a mix of the glare he gave Soap, and determination. It takes everything inside you to not get hard. 

Simon charges at you, but you stand your ground. You dodge out of the way before going back in, Simon had bulk and he was quick, but you knew you could use that against him. Or so you thought. He’s quicker than you are,  easily getting his leg between your own to trip you up. 

You go down hard. Though there was a training mat laid out, falling onto the arm that was grazed by the bullet a few weeks ago didn’t feel good. You don’t even notice the stab was broken and you were bleeding again, until Simon’s eyes zero in on it. 

You glance down at it before you get back into position. You’re ready to charge, but Price places a hand on your shoulder, “as much as Soap wants to see you take him down, I don’t want you to get blood on the mat.”

You let out a huff, but you suppose he was right, “fine,” you grumble. You grab your towel and water bottle before exiting the room to your bedroom.

“This isn’t over,” you hear Soap say behind you, and don’t see the way he points a finger in Simon’s direction. 

Soap jogs up to your side before he’s grabbing your arm, “you okay?” He asks.

“I’m fine,” you respond, trying to keep your annoyance from your tone. You shrug your arm from his gasp before you walk through your bedroom to the bathroom to get to the medicine cabinet. 

You swat his hand away when he tries to help and he scoffs loudly before finally giving up. “Want me to beat him up?” He asks.

You make eye contact with him in the mirror before you look away to finish placing the bandage on your arm after cleaning the area, “as funny as that would be,” Soap’s face scrunches up in offense, pulling a laugh from you, “he took me down fair and square.”

“It was a dirty play,” Soap responds. He jumps when a throat clears from behind you, “see you later!” He says quickly and claps you on the shoulder before leaving the bathroom and exiting your room.

Simon watches Soap the entire time, only turning to look your way when he’s exited the room.

You walk out of the bathroom as Simon goes to shut the door, “don’t start,” you say once Simon has turned around. 

“You were bleeding,” Simon says softly as he steps close enough to grab your arm to inspect it. This close, he smells of deodorant and clean sweat, it’s intoxicating. 

“I didn’t even notice at first,” you place a hand on his face, “not until you were staring at it,” his face still looked stormy with negative emotions. “You were just trying to distract me so you could win,” you add, hoping that your joke would make him feel better. 

It works a little bit with the small smile that appears on Simon’s face, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “you almost had me,” he says before he lets your arm go. 

“Let’s finish it then,” you step closer until your chest is flush with his, “we’ve got the space,” you whisper against his mouth. 

Simon opens his mouth as if he wants to protest, but you cut him off by mashing your mouth to his. He goes easily when you flip him around and push him onto the bed. Still connected at the mouth, Simon goes down with a grunt that breaks off into a moan when you push your tongue past his lips. 

Realistically, it hasn’t been that long since you’ve gotten off, but without it being from Simon’s touch, it doesn’t take too long for your cock to be straining against the front of your shorts. 

You were surprised you were even able to get him to spar with you. Maybe it was because Price, Soap, and Gaz were also in the room and he was trying to avoid Soap and Gaz from being able to make jokes about there being trouble in paradise. Or maybe it was because he missed your touch just as you missed his, even though he was the one that established this unspoken rule that he was going to avoid touching you until your arm had fully healed. 

You had fun on your own, and even found entertainment in being loud enough for Simon to hear. There had also been times where it excited you over the idea of being caught, and whenever the feeling hit you, so did your orgasm. The clarity that came afterwards nearly made you forget, but it would always rush back when Simon would enter the room. 

It was always pretty obvious what you had been doing, from the salty smell of your come in the air, to sweat that shone against your skin as you cooled down from your high. You thought that the site would bring Simon closer, but it only made him keep his distance. It hurt at first, but after picking up on the looks he would give you and the way his chest would expand slowly after he would enter the room, like he was trying to relieve what you were just doing through the smell alone, it just made you want him even more. 

It drove you crazy with want and frustration, but at least Simon felt the same. 

“Don’t want to hurt you,” Simon grits between his teeth, like the moan he lets out is actually one of pain when you grind your hips down into his.

“I need it,” you whine into Simon’s mouth. Your need only gets worse when Simon’s hands go below your waist band to clutch your asscheeks in his hands. It’s a tight grip that’s almost too painful, but that pain is overtaken by pleasure when Simon grinds your hips together.   

You pull back from the kiss when Simon’s hands push the garment away to have better access. You raise yourself and look at Simon with lust filled eyes as you pull your shirt off. Your shorts are more difficult than your shirt, but it becomes much easier when Simon rolls you over and he’s on top helping you get them off. 

“What would you have done if you’d have gotten hard while we were-” he begins to ask when he sees your lack of underwear, but you cut him off with a kiss. 

“Hopefully this,” you answer, sliding your hands up his shirt. 

Simon claims your mouth in another kiss when you pull his pants off and throw them to join the pile of the rest of your clothes. He takes your lip with him with his teeth, “quiet,” he says against your mouth, knowing that you were about to comment on how he didn’t have underwear on either. 

You wrap your legs around his hips, high enough that when Simon grinds forward, his cock is sandwiched between your asscheeks. When he pulls back and brings his hips forward again, you both groan as the slick head of his cock catches on your hole. 

On the second pass of the head, his hips still, making you whine in protest, “please.”

Simon groans like your words hurt him, “I can’t. I haven’t gotten you ready with my fingers,” he says, his hands cradling your face. 

“Just the tip?” 

“Just the tip?” Simon parrots, his eyes light up, like your question caused a lightbulb of realization to light up above his head. 

If you thought it was crazy convincing Simon to spar with you, it felt as if you were out of your mind when he pushed your legs down and rolled you over. 

You lay with bated breath for Simon and bring your ass back closer to Simon. You arch your back and you’re almost to the point of losing all self respect and pulling your hands free from under the pillow and bringing them to your asscheeks and spreading them open.

“Breathe,” Simon whispers into your ear after he leans down. 

You don’t even realize how tense you’ve become until Simon’s whisper hits your ear. You let out a whine into the pillow when Simon’s cock is on your hole, rubbing the moisture of his precome around your hole. To add to it, Simon spits on your hole and rubs it around the tight pucker with the pad of his finger. 

You both gasp when he finally presses the head inside, “so tight,” Simon moans, his body blanketing yours. The sheen of sweat on your body makes it hard, but he grips your hips tightly in a bruising grip, keeping you still. 

You squirm against his grip, trying to get his cock deeper, even though you know you shouldn’t without the proper preparation. You could feel that your orgasm was there, all it needed was a little push. 

“Stop!” Simon holds you down into the pillow by the back of your neck, his tone sharp. 

His words make you freeze and you clench around what’s inside you. It makes Simon groan and pull his hand away to instead put it on the middle of your back. His other hand moves from your waist to below his cock. In between your balls and his cock, he presses his fingers to your taint. 

You come with a yell into the pillow, Simon’s hand pressing you down into the bed as you shake from the intensity. His other hand moves the tiny distance from your taint to wrap around his cock. 

He leans down into the crook of your sweaty neck to muffle his moans as he strokes his cock. It doesn’t take him long for him to come and once he does, you moan when you feel his spend hit your hole. Some of it goes in your hole, but the most of it splatters and leaks out, going down your taint right where his fingers just were. 

“You’re filthy,” he says, his voice deep and rough. 

You turn your head to pant open-mouthed, your cheek against the pillow. You wanted to repeat the same thing right back at him, but your brain has difficulty getting your mouth to get the words out. 

Your brain finally does catch up when you feel the bed shift as Simon leans down to lick at your hole. “You’re fucking filthy.”

“At least I clean up the messes I make,” he says before going back in. Unlike last time, his tongue goes inside as he licks out the mess his cock made. He groans deep in his chest when you bring one of your hands back to his head to get his tongue deeper. 

When Simon deems you clean, your hole now wet with spit, you pull him by the hand in his hair up to where you can get your lips against his. You make a noise into his mouth when his tongue presses inside, past your teeth until his tongue is against yours. 

“We should probably go shower,” Simon murmurs, though he really doesn’t look like he wants to, laying on the pillow beside yours.

You run a hand down his back. You’ll get up and take a shower after you’ve rested your eyes for a little bit. You feel Simon press his lips to the bandage on your arm before you feel the weight of his arm around your body as it pulls you closer.  

Hole

Normally, when it was time for you to go home, you were always excited to finally get back, but when Price finally told you that it was time for a much needed break that wasn’t on base, you were terribly nervous.

You thought it would be okay, it’s not like you and Simon had spent every waking moment together, but the feeling that hit you when Simon turned in the opposite direction of your bedroom to go pack up his own, you knew it wouldn’t be okay.

You stayed silent when Simon came back into the room with one of his suitcases, and when he went into your dresser to pull out a few of the shirts he brought from his room to yours, you bit hard into your lip, fearful of what might come out if you opened it.

“I don’t have much, but I hope you’ll have the space for it,” he says as he folds the clothing before placing it in the bag. 

You froze from your place beside him, wondering if you heard what he said correctly, “what?”

“Do you have space in your closet? Or I can shove it in a drawer if you need me to,” he answers, not looking up from the suitcase as he finishes folding his clothes. 

“Yeah,” you shake your head softly and smile down at your hands as they rested on the clothes you still had to fold, “I’ve got plenty of space.” The clothes could wait, you decided. 

Simon makes a noise of surprise when you turn his neck and press your lips together. His hands move to your waist to pull you closer as he responds eagerly to the kiss. He chuckles softly after he pulls back and you chase after his mouth. 

“We have to finish packing,” he says against your mouth. 

“We’ve got time,” you respond. Not really, but kissing Simon was much more enjoyable than packing. 

After the impromptu make out session that had to be cut short before your hands were down each other’s pants, it’s finally time to go. 

You let out a dramatic sigh when Soap steps up to you to say goodbye. You can’t quite tell if the way his bottom lip trembles is actually real, or if he’s just trying to be funny. You pull him in for a hug before you can think more on it. 

Gaz, who you had just hugged, joins in to sandwich your body between theirs. You nearly expect Simon and Price to join in, but they only stare at you. Simon just looks bored, whereas Price has a small smile on his face. 

When you’re on the plane, one of Simon’s hands finds yours, and his fingers rest on top of yours until it’s time to get off. 

Your key feels foreign in your fingers, but once you’re through the door, it all feels familiar. The air feels stale, but that’s something you could easily fix the next day by opening up the windows. 

It’s nighttime. It feels oddly permanent the way night always does when it feels like the rest of the world is settling in. The world being your area, at least. The feeling really only hits you at home. Back on base, it didn’t matter what time it was, you could be whisked away at any time to do what was asked of you.

“I’ll save the tour for tomorrow,” you tell Simon as you walk through your house to the bedroom. You almost want to slow down to make sure Simon is able to follow you through the dark, but the sound of his footsteps stays close behind you. 

You flick the light on and place your bags into a corner of your room. You grab your bathroom essentials before walking past Simon, letting out a laugh when you see the way he’s looking all around the room. 

You wait for Simon to join you as you toss your toothbrush into the cup near the sink and toothpaste onto the counter, “you can finish looking around if you want,” you say when you hear Simon enter. 

“I’ll wait for the tour tomorrow,” he responds as he wraps his arms around you. He hugs you to his chest for a moment before placing his toothbrush and toothpaste in the same spots you had. It makes your heart swell. When you arrived back on base, you didn’t expect to be coming home with another toothbrush sitting beside yours when you arrived home. 

You help each other undress before you’re stepping into the shower. It’s wet limbs and pointy elbows under the warm spray. You expect it to get on your nerves when Simon ends up accidentally elbowing you, but it only makes you laugh. Even after it happens again and Simon’s face is going red (but that’s just probably from the heat), you feel nothing in your heart but love. 

“Fuck,” you say under your breath after pulling the curtain back, “forgot the towel.” Your nipples grow hard from the change in temperature when you open the door and go through your bedroom to grab a towel from your bag. You could’ve checked under the sink, but you were going to wash everything in your bag anyway, so it really didn’t matter. 

Simon stands naked in front of the sink brushing his teeth. If he wasn’t so fucking good looking, you’d be annoyed as he dripped all over the bathroom rug in front of the sink. You towel off quickly in the doorway before he’s able to catch you staring.

“Cold out there?” He asks around the toothbrush, one of his hands going to your chest to pad his thumb across one of your hard nipples. 

You swat his hand away and step around him to pull on the shirt and shorts you also brought with you, “forgot to adjust the thermostat,” you say as you grab your toothbrush. 

Simon’s toothbrush makes a soft noise when he places his back into the cup. You watch with a soft smile on your face as he places the cap on his toothpaste and puts it neatly beside the cup. 

“Are you going to watch me?” You ask, your toothbrush held close enough to your mouth to smell the minty paste. 

“Yeah,” Simon answers, saying it like it’s the easiest question in the world to answer. He grabs the towel you just used and dries himself off as you brush your teeth.  

Back in your bedroom, you suddenly feel shy. Turning off the light makes it easier, especially with how sad it makes you to see Simon cover himself up. It’s only a pair of underwear, but still. In the dark, he finds your body as if on reflex and pulls your back to his chest. 

Simon lets out a sigh, his warm breath tickling the back of your neck, “what are we going to do tomorrow?” 

“Probably go get groceries after I check what’s left in the cabinets,” you respond as you run your hand up and down his arm. 

“Good. I think we left the lube back on base.”

“I’ll add it to the list,” you say around your smile.

You feel Simon press a kiss to the back of your neck. It makes you feel crazy knowing just a few minutes ago you had been nervous, and now, you were surrounded with a level of comfort you hadn’t felt in a long time. 

“I love you,” Simon whispers behind you. 

“I love you too,” you respond before you’re falling asleep. 

-

Soap calls a few weeks later. 

“Hello?” You asked into the phone. The caller ID said unknown, you probably shouldn’t have answered it in the first place.

Soap’s voice comes through the other line. Yeah, you shouldn’t have answered it. “Hey!” He says, his voice full of excitement. 

“Soap?” You hadn’t expected to hear from any of them so soon. “And Kyle!” You hear from a distance on the other side of the line. 

You were confused for a second before your brain was able to catch up, “hey, Kyle. Hey, Johnny,” you say, a smile coming onto your face. 

“How are you?” Johnny asks, “how’s Simon?”

“Good,” you glance over into the kitchen where Simon was, “we’re good. How’d you get my number?”

“Price gave it to us. He also told us to tell you that he was sorry. For whatever reason.”

You shook your head, your smile growing. You were sure you could forgive Price just this once. 

“Price? What, not on a first name basis?”

“Oh, we are. It’s just that I’m the better John so I refuse to call him that.”

You’re unable to contain the laugh that bubbles up from your chest, “I miss you guys,” you say into the phone once your laughter has died down. 

“Who do you miss more?” Johnny asks. 

“You ruined it,” you answer with a sigh. 

That sounded like he said Kyle,” you hear Kyle say. 

You’re tempted to hang up once you hear them start bickering, but with it being the most entertainment you’ve had since you got home, (outside of Simon) you stayed on the line and tried not to laugh too hard. You didn’t need to be roped up in their lover’s quarrel. 

“Trouble in paradise?” You ask. 

“Fuck off!” They both yell in unison. 

“Who was that?” Simon asks when you walked through the doorway of the kitchen. 

“Kyle and Johnny,” you respond as you lean against the counter. It looked like a tornado had gone through your kitchen with all of the cabinets being open, but you just blamed it on Simon still getting used to where everything went. Or maybe that was just how he liked to put things away. You were learning new things about each other every day. 

“How’d they get your number?” Simon asks as he chuckles. 

“Our commander betrayed me,” you said sadly. 

“You poor thing,” Simon responds. He closes one of the cabinets before he walks over to place a kiss on your cheek. 

“Gaz said he wants us to go on a double-date together,” you go to help Simon put the rest of the groceries away, but really it’s just because you want to stay close to him. 

“What kind of date?” Simon asks. 

“Don’t know,” you smile as you think back on what he said, “he said he thinks we’re lame for the walks we go on and we need more excitement.”

“I like our walks,” Simon responds, a hint of offense in his tone. It would be so easy to fall into a routine of staying inside the house, especially after how tiring the last few months were on base, so the walks were a great way to get outside.

“One night out won’t kill us,” you say as Simon finishes up with putting away the rest of what was in the bags, “at least I hope it won’t.”

“We have plenty of fun here,” Simon responds. The placement of his hands on your hips after he steps forward goes to show that he’s talking about a different type of fun. 

“That’s just with us-”

Simon cuts you off with a kiss that leaves you gasping, “I tend to keep it that way,” he says, his words full of heat and possessiveness.

It’s just another day when Simon finally gets his cock inside you. You weren’t really surprised though, it’s like you expected a grand romantic gesture with candles, rose petals, and chocolate. Truthfully, the only thing you expected was for a lot of lube to be involved.

Just from him getting you ready with his fingers, you feel fucking soaked from the lube. “Simon,” you whine when you pull away from the kiss his lips had you locked in, “we’re going to run out.” He ignores your words and swoops down to kiss you again.

“You didn’t buy any when we were at-”

“No!” You moan as his two fingers brush against your prostate, “I’ll never be able to get the lube out of these sheets,” you say as you feel the lube that drips down your taint joins the small puddle between your legs. 

“I’ll clean them, baby,” he says against your mouth, “just let me get you ready,” he whispers. You both hold your breath as a third finger, coated in too much lube in your opinion, presses to your hole. “ So fucking tight,” Simon looks down to watch his finger go slowly inside, “not going to last when I’m actually inside.”

“You won’t be able to get inside if you use all the lube,” you bite back. 

Simon chuckles, his other hand goes to one of your nipples to pinch it, “cheeky little fucker,” he growls. His fingers move in and out of you slowly, but at the sound of the moans you let out, the speed of the thrusts of his fingers increase. 

“I’m ready,” you say to Simon before he tries pressing in a fourth finger. The thought makes your cock throb against your stomach. With the pace Simon was going, you were sure he would slowly work you up to it, to take his entire fist and not just three of his fingers. 

The thrust of his fingers slows down before he pulls them out. Your hole feels open and ready for his cock, and you feel a rush of excitement when the wet head of it kisses your hole. Your legs tighten around Simon’s waist and you hold your breath in anticipation. 

Above you, Simon’s eye clamp shut as he breathed heavily through his open mouth, “are you ready, Simon?” You question as you reach your hands up to cup his face, “we can stop if you want,” you say softly. 

Simon leans down to press his forehead to yours, “don’t want to hurt you,” his voice comes out soft.  

“I can handle a bit of pain,” you say, a small smile on your lips. You lean up to press your lips to his in a chaste kiss.

“I know you can,” he responds with a small, sad smile. He moves down to press a kiss to the scar on your shoulder, and then to the scar on your arm. “I love you,” Simon whispers after he comes back up. 

“I love you too,” you say back, your arms wrapping around his neck. 

Simon smiles again as he reaches a hand down to press his cock against your hole once more, “I meant it about not lasting long,” his mouth falls open as his cock slowly goes inside as he inches his hips forward. 

“That’s okay,” you reassure, “I probably won’t either.”

“Yeah?” Simon asks, his cock still going inside your body, “I’ve wanted you for so long. Wanted this,” he moans as he finally bottoms out. 

“This is all yours, Simon,” you say back. You clench down on his cock, the both of you groaning from the feel of it. 

Simon pulls out almost as slowly as he went in. He keeps his eyes locked on yours when he pushes back inside. His balls rest heavily on your ass and it’s almost hard to comprehend that you finally get to have this. It brings you back to months ago when you first sucked his cock and the amount of come went down your throat. It’d probably leaked out of your hole as he came to join the mess of lube on the bed, but this was a stain you didn’t mind. 

As Simon’s thrusts pick up, you can already feel your edge approaching. The fat head of Simon’s cock hits your prostate, bringing you closer and closer to coming. Your hand goes between your bodies to wrap around your aching cock to stroke to the rhythm of Simon’s thrusts. 

The bed creaks as Simon fucks forward into your hot, willing body. The headboard bangs against the wall, and the volume of it matches the sounds you each make. 

Once you start stroking at your cock, it doesn’t take long for you to come. Your other hand digs into Simon’s back as yours arches off the bed, like you’re afraid the rest of your body will come off the bed too. Your mouth falls open into a soundless scream as your cock shoots ropes of white up your chest. 

Unaware that you closed your eyes, they open to watch Simon above you continue to thrust inside your body. You pull your hand away from your cock, the mess of your orgasm evident on not only your chest, but Simon’s as well. Mixing with your spend is the sweat on Simon’s skin as his pace increases before stuttering off. 

Simon’s thrusts come to a halt before he switches the position but moving your legs until they’re on your shoulders. His eyes are droopy and filled with lust as he raises himself up onto his knees enough to watch his thick cock disappear into your hole. 

“Simon,” you call, a smirk appearing on your face when Simon doesn’t pull his eyes away, “Simon,” you repeat. “Feel good, baby?” 

Simon nearly folds you in half when he leans down to kiss you, his tongue fucking into your mouth like his cock was. He pulls away to answer, but all he can muster up as he moans is an enthusiastic nod. 

“Gonna come for me?” You ask, your hands going to cup Simon’s face. When Simon starts up his brutal pace again, you almost think you’re about to get hard again as his cock goes deeper than it was before, but Simon’s stuttered pace continues before his head falls back. His hips come to a halt as his heavy balls draw to his cock as he pumps you full of his come. 

Simon’s head falls to your shoulder as wave after wave of his orgasm washes over him. His moans turn to whimpers as his hips give an occasional twitch as the aftershocks set in. You don’t feel him pumping you full of his come like you had thought of earlier, but you can sure feel the way his cock throbs and twitches before it starts to soften. 

Simon grunts when he moves your legs off his shoulders, his soft cock falling free from your hole. He presses a kiss to your ankle when he puts down the second. He falls down on top of you in a sweaty heap, your body having no choice but to take his weight. 

It soon sets in how gross you feel from the sweat all over your body and the drying come and lube on your skin, but when you start to feel his come leaking from your hole, a warm feeling rushes through you. 

You feel Simon let out a chuckle above you, “I’ll need some time before I can go again,” he says after your cock gives a twitch at the feel of his come leaking out. 

“It’s not me,” you respond, one of your hands running up and down Simon’s sweaty back, “it’s got a mind of its own.”

Simon laughs again as he rolls off of your body and onto one of the pillows, “you okay?” He asks softly, one of his hands runs up your chest. 

“Yeah,” you say, sending him a smile. You turn on your side to face him and place a hand on his cheek, “are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he responds as he leans into the touch. “I’ve never done that before,” he says quietly. “Never been inside someone, I mean.”

“Yeah? Have you ever had anyone inside of you?” You ask, your voice just as quiet. 

“Just my fingers,” he responds, a blush rising on his cheeks below your fingers. 

“I’ll take care of you like you took care of me,” you respond. Your cock gives yet another twitch at the fact that you’re learning you have been and will be Simon’s first. A hot flare of possessiveness and jealousy runs through your body all at the same time. Knowing that someone has gotten to have Simon in the way you’ve had him and made him feel insecure enough to warn you about the size of his cock makes you angry. You would make sure to never make him feel like that.  

“I know,” he responds before pressing his lips to yours. Before the kiss can become wetter and more open-mouthed, he pushes you onto your back by your shoulder before he makes his way onto your chest to lay down. 

You let out a grunt at the weight but you wrap your hands about him to keep him close. One of your hands traces imaginary patterns onto his back, while the other goes to his head to run your fingers through his hair. 

“Before we go out with Johnny and Kyle,” Simon’s voice goes quiet and shy, “I want to take you out on a real date. Just the two of us.”

“We can do that,” you say around a yawn as your exhaustion sneaks up on you and your eyes fall shut. The last thing you feel before falling asleep is Simon’s smile against your shoulder and his soft lips against the scar as he kisses the skin.       

Bonus

“Ready?”

Simon gives a nod against the pillows. You could tell he was nervous based on how tense he felt, but his face didn’t show it. 

“It’s okay to be nervous,” you say to him quietly before leaning down to kiss him. 

“Not nervous,” Simon responds, but his face finally gives it away when a blush rises up his face, “just excited,” he whispers. 

You laugh against his mouth,” I can tell,” you say after pulling back, your eyes on his half hard cock. You run a finger from his balls to the head of his cock. Once at the head, you drag your finger through the precome at the slit, and when you pull your finger away, a string of his precome follows your finger. 

That finger is the same one you use to work Simon open. You don’t use as much lube as Simon had with you when he first fucked you, but you made sure you had plenty. 

Simon’s legs spread further, his feet nearly hanging off either edge of the bed. You run your other hand up and down his thigh soothingly when you press your finger to his hole, “ready?” You repeat.

“Yeah,” Simon whispers, and then your finger breaches his hole. 

He’s tight and warm around your finger as you go slowly inside. You keep a close eye on his face as you work your entire finger inside. Simon looks more relaxed than you expected him to be, but it’s really only because he’s hiding any discomfort behind the action of biting his lip. 

“Can I hear you?” You ask Simon before placing a soft kiss to his lips, “please?”

After Simon nods, you press another finger inside. His mouth opens as he lets out a whine, and when you crook your fingers, his whine turns to a loud moan. 

A slow smile spreads across your face, “feel good?”

Simon nods, but before he can respond, you press your fingers into his prostate again, just to hear him moan again. He finds his words when you pull your fingers free and replace the two with three, “what do I do?”

“Just lay there and let me take care of you, baby,” you respond. “Want me to touch you here?” You question, running your free hand over his cock. 

Simon lets out a groan when your fingers glide over his cock, “want your mouth,” he says, his hips raising off the bed. 

You lean down and run your tongue along the length of his cock, starting at the root, and ending at the tip. You moan when the flavor of his precome hits your tongue, as does Simon when you run your tongue around the sensitive glands on the crown of his cock. 

Simon lets out another moan when your three fingers are going inside of his hole. His hips move again, but this time, they’re moving to fuck down on your fingers. His cock lets out a glob of precome onto your tongue when your three fingers are on his prostate, and you press them to it over and over again to see if you can get some more of the taste. 

Instead, what you’re rewarded with is his cock gushing come into your mouth. It catches you off guard, but you do your best to swallow down what his cock lets out as the sound of his moans fill your ears. The sounds make your neglected cock throb, but you keep in place until Simon’s moans subside and his hole relaxes around your fingers. 

You pull your fingers free slowly and press a kiss to his hip bone when he whimpers. He pulls you up with a hand around the back of your neck to get his lips pressed to yours. Simon groans into your mouth when his tongue runs along yours, tasting himself all over your mouth. 

“Your turn,” Simon’s voice is rough and gravely, way too low in your opinion for a man that just had his first prostate orgasm and should be tired. 

“Are you sure? I can just-”

Oh, Simon was so sure. Sure enough in fact that minutes later, your cock is in his mouth.

He gets you sat on the edge of the bed and makes his way between your legs before taking your cock into his mouth. He had moaned at the flavor on your tongue when he had kissed you, so it was no surprise that when he got the head of your cock in his mouth, he was moaning around it as he tried to take you deeper and get the flavor further down on his tongue. 

You gasp when he puts your legs over his broad shoulders, to make it easier for his fingers to dip further down between your legs. You open your mouth to try and question him to see what he and his fingers are up to, but all you can do is let out noises of pleasure as Simon’s fingers go past your balls to skim over your taint. 

One of your hands sits stretched out behind your body, so you can stay up and watch the display of Simon’s lips stretched around your cock. The other hand goes into his head to run your fingers along his scalp, “so good, Simon,” you moan as your fingers run through the soft strands of his hair. 

Simon looks up at you with his dark, tear-filled eyes. They spill over when your hips twitch forward, feeding Simon more of your cock when Simon’s fingers go lower to brush the dry pad of his fingers across your hole. 

Your body bows over his head as your hands move to grip his shoulders tightly, trying to keep your body in place as your orgasm racks your body. Simon obediently swallows down what shoots from your cock as feelings of euphoria rushes through your body. 

You open your eyes as your body uncurls from around Simon’s head, panting as you try to calm your racing heart. “Fuck, Simon,” you whisper down at him as you wipe the tears away from his face. Your soft cock falls from Simon’s mouth with a wet pop before Simon is joining you on the bed. 

“You okay?” You ask Simon, his naked thigh resting beside yours. 

“I’m good,” he responds, his voice rough. A few minutes later, when Simon has you laid on his sweaty chest, he lets out a sigh before he speaks again, “I got a message from Johnny the other day.”

You raise yourself up on your elbow to look at him, “what’d it say?”

Simon rolls his eyes before answering, “that he’s excited for our double date.”

You lay back down onto Simon’s chest, laughing as he lets out another sigh, “why’d you agree to this again?” Simon questions as his warm hand settles onto your back to run soothing circles over your skin.      

EXACTLY‼️‼️‼️🗣️🗣️💪

Men who slip a wedding ring on your finger while they're fucking you dumb. You're as married in his mind now

Tag your favourite fictional man

Lets break tumblr again 😈

how’s everyone doin tonight i just broke tumblr

jimsonweed

@meo-eiru's Micah

"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned."

Silence regathers for a quick moment as Micah haphazardly waits for her to finish and fill him in with the time elapsed since her last confession, until he at last recognizes the disembodied voice. His chin changes place with the cheek on his palm as he casts a sideways glance to the latticed window, sparing the effort to withdraw his elbow from its seat on the sill. Through the gaps of the screen and his feathery, pale eyelashes, he manages to make out the curve of a head tilted over prayer hands, their fingertips grazing the hairline.

"Let the Lord know what weighs on your conscience, child."

He hears her shuffle from one knee to the next as she kneels, and a note to remind the custodian to replace the fraying carpet flickers in his mind. He extends and relaxes the muscles of his calves and in his ankles, just enough to stop his legs from falling asleep within the cramped space of the confessional booth. Although his pristine church was far from detoriating, having subsisted off ample donations over the years, stick him in the booth long enough and he sometimes has half the mind of tearing out the structure from the floorboards himself like a tooth from its maw.

"I caught myself asleep while caring for the courtyard today— I immediately snapped myself out of it and was able to finish with my chores, but I fear this incident arrived too close after the nuns' last reprimand of me. They have took a notice of my idleness as well."

The choice of 'nuns' instead of 'sisters' is the only thing that stands out to him from the rather bland admission. He suspects that that lack of familiarity she addresses them with would be the final extent to which she would express, likely subconsciously anyway, any discontent she harbored with the nuns' maltreatment of her.

When he opened that particular letter bidding him to permit their daughter to take her vows, he too felt a bit of mild surprise, but that dissipated as quickly it had came. Detachment over worldly affairs and petty gossip alike aside, he did not anticipate the extent to which curiousity over her pedigree would cement into controversy for the rest of the convent.

But then again, perhaps that was lack of foresight on his part, since controversy was what her family was mired in. It was not the first or the last instance that their prominent surname was uttered about in hushed tones, but the one that did them in was when a certain head priest and nun left in dishonor from the very churchdoors that separated his convent from the rest of the world. Although the guilty party in question was from a generation that seized to have survivors quite a while ago, as it would turn out she would remain as their legacy in the eyes of the less charitable. While her family became a generous benefactor for his church over the years and was now at least formally under its good grace, it still stood amongst the community the impression that charity was the only virtue that they partook in, wontingly circumventing every other.

"Have you any trouble sleeping at night?" he treads, subtly leading her to break the anonymity the booth is supposed to afford. Although he had intervened to replace the meagre room and board that the sisters had provided her, he would not be the least bit surprised if they were still somehow behind her restless nights. Once he had seen her atop a wobbling ladder as she shakily dusted the cornices of the sanctuary, and believed it was a foolhardy attempt she had herself contrived to gain the approval of the convent. However, when he got her to step down to safety she informed him that it was basically the sisters' idea to risk stumbling onto her neck with no one to watch her in case of such an accident. Not only that, but it turned to be only an instance in a laundry list of Herculean labors that they shelved for the girl. He understood that the nuns would naturally require novices to prove themselves, but this mild hazing had long run its course, if it even could still be called that. From all accounts, she was a rather plain girl, and her arrival at the convent did not dissuade that impression he had of her at all. The nuns on the other hand seemed to insist that she was a 'spoiled princess who needed to be taught a lesson or two', a conclusion they arrived at long before she did.

"Not at all," she responds, "I find the nights here to be quite peaceful and quiet. I guess it is on account of indulging in both that I've started sleeping later."

A plain answer from a rather plain girl.

"There is one other thing I suppose."

Micah makes a non-commital hum. Truthfully he usually acts much more engagingly with his parishioners and convent no matter how mind-numbingly insipid the interactions are, masterfully cajoling them to air out their grievances and guilts under his confidence, as his duty dictates. That and her being the member of family of particularly influential parishioners should really press him into wearing his best face, even with the latticed barrier between the both of them. There is something about her, though, that makes him comfortable with withdrawing such airs. If she has nothing critical to say of the nuns, he rationalizes, then his current conduct would likely not cause him to withdraw from her favor either.

"I fear that I may also be too attached to worldly possessions. I find myself often missing a personal effect I had to give up when I arrived at the convent."

He wonders if it is the silver spoon the nuns were so keen in finding on your person.

"Ah," he half-remembers. "The toy stereoscope with the moths?"

"Oh- yes," she affirms, and he hears her hands slide up and down along the skirt of her habit before meeting each other again. His cassock begins to feel itchy. "I had had it since I was a kid. I liked to- to flip between the images. Of the moths." He hears the gears shifting in her brain as she figures, yes, of course, the personal effects would eventually makes its way into the hands of the head priest, who had a vested interest in all who come to his convent to take their vows. He straightens his spine as his arms fall to his side, and resists the urge to crack his knuckles. His mind blanks on what to follow up with, and hers apparently as well, and this quiet disturbs him more than it should as his predictable inclination for the upperhand in any conversation and its flow rears its head again; perhaps it is more surprising that it had laid dormant for any amount of time. The awkward silence that follows causes him regret the breach of impersonal formalities that he was responsible for encouraging in the first place.

"The garden is especially beautiful at nighttime this time of year," she ushers out the hush that had fallen.

He hums again.

"It's lovely all day long, but the moths wake up in the evening and after which you can really see them out and about. They're especially attracted by the flowers— the groundskeeper mentioned that you're particularly careful with caring and choosing for which get planted."

"Do you have a favorite?" he abruptly asks. The waning daylight finds its way through the perforations in the door of the confessional booth, and he watches dust dance with each other before putting his palm in front of his eyes, resting his index finger across his browbone. Despite his interest in florticulture, seasonal allergies the one ailment he was invincible against since birth, that question is one he seldom broached with others. When he was much younger, he entertained the idea that you could tell a lot about a person's psychology by their preference in flowers, only to discover that oftentimes this choice was guided by the same mindlessness that usually governed the rest of their passive life. Still, he patiently waits as she pauses in contemplation.

"A feathered thorn, maybe."

His brow momentarily knits in confusion under his hand.

Oh.

She is referring to a moth.

"Thank you," he says, though he is not what for, perhaps belatedly acknowledging the compliment she gave to his garden.

"Of course, Father."

Another pause.

"Your penance is two Hail Marys, one Our Father."

"Thank you, Father."

Micah peers down on the overturned earth where a datura had once made itself home. Cold apathy wraps itself around his heart, as he remembers the detachment his father offhandedly addressed with what had once been his mother's garden. Micah's garden. The so-called queerness of flowers and foliage that were too busy resting when it came to greet daytime visitors, but awake just in time to welcome unwanted ones. Micah having to shed unnecessary externalities while he prepared to enter seminary, was reaching that age where he would become a man. He recalls his own response of selective muteness, knowing distinctly the position of a boy of twelve and his personal thoughts within the household.

He shuts his eyes, and a hand tightens around a rosary, a thumb running along a ceramic bead.

His voidlike pupils emerge from that violent blink, and he walks back into the house with placid movements, soundlessly closing the door behind him. He tears off his scarf as if it was moth-eaten.

His mother's face when she caught him pressing his chafed fingers on the delicate petals of a morning glory, careful to not tear away at them.

Micah's hair might appear endlessly soft to the touch, but it is anything but. The strands are so thick, that if one was not deliberate enough when handling them a few would inevitably pierce the skin. One of the earliest responsibilities he bestowed on himself was learning to do his own hair, sparing his mother's hands from the splinter-like cuts that would occur whilst braiding or trimming it. He could still perceive the smack of her palm against the back of his head when he ran his inflamed fingers along the stained glass windows of the church for relief. When she had startled him by calling his name as he caressed the morning glory, he instinctively expected a similar reprimand, even an echo of his father's lectures on becoming a man. As he looked up at her face with his knees digging into the ground, the only thing beating down on him was his mother's smile.

When he was smaller it was not abundantly clear to him the connection between her concern for his sickly health and her devotion to the church. Much to his father's chagrin, his mother spared his early childhood from both hard work and hard play on account of his frail constitution. Even leisurely explorations of the outside world in daylight remained scant, his pale skin and white eyelashes rebelling against the sun which punished his insolence with rashes from its heat and migraines from its brightness. The attendance of mass, however, as well as the receiving of blessings from any priest that she could seize the attention of, was an exception, and a non-negotiable one at that. Prayer, was his constant companion that formed the monotony of his life which replaced both childhood friends and the daily sunrises, save for Sunday mornings when his mother would wake him up early to attend church and catch a glimpse of bored neighborhood kids who he could not exchange a word with as they rubbed the sleep out of their eyes listening to the priests speak. So when she woke him up again at around the same time the following day, the sun still hibernating as late winter only had just began to converge with early spring, he confronted the task of cleaning the courtyard of weeds and dead leaves without question and with a vigor out of place in the frigid landscape.

Lamb's ears. Vervain. Moonflowers. Four o' clocks. Artemesia. Angel's trumpet.

Their names would have to press into his memory for quite a while before their faces could. If they pressed on a bit harder, he supposes, he would have figured out his mother's design a bit earlier. Nonetheless, underneath the watch of his widebrimmed hat, his early mornings and then his evenings too were preoccupied with watering and pruning and fertilizing, constant monitoring in general, so much so that short term changes animated him more than long term prospects would. The stems for arms and leaves for fingers that extended themselves to the sky, the vines that groped their way up trelisses and across walls. The buds which had tentatively peeked out like the head of a turtle from its shell after a long winter. These were all rewards in themselves.

It felt in some way that not only his mother, but the world, was imparting a mystery on him and that he was also a part of.

The lamb's ears would be the first to bloom, in the late spring.

Well not quite.

Micah was disappointed when his mother had informed him that despite the inexorable spread of its creeping stems as they took root in the claylike soil, it would only start to flower in its second year. She had comforted him though by reminding him of its name and that its silvery leaves are the primary reason for its residence in the gardens in which it presides, as was the case with the Artemesia that would actually blossom that mid-summer.

Further respite was that the angel's trumpets that his mother had been caring for for the past nearly five years would finally bloom in the coming months during that very same time. Micah had not even been aware that the nightshade was capable of producing flowers, and once or twice had silently questioned of such an inconspicuous plant in the garden, the sole one at that time, which also needed to be brought home inside every winter. Once he had asked his mother if she liked it because it was mentioned somewhere in the bible, and she only laughed at him although he had broached the topic in complete seriousness.

The vervain and moonflowers ended up being the first to bloom, and in tandem. He had been awoken from a nap at a call for dinner when he had decided to check the garden first, and discovered that the buds of each plant had simultaneously burst open. His heart had swelled at the sight of the bubbles of tiny purple trumpets and the giant rounded white stars swaying in the evening breeze. When his mother had come out to see what was taking him so long to set the table, she practically had to pry him away, making him rub his hands on her apron on account of the latter's poison.

When he did make it to the dinnertable after thoroughly washing his hands, he could barely contain his excitement at the new developments. Although children were raised to be seen and not heard in his household, with little restraint he waxed about the garden and repeatedly asked his mother when he could expect the rest of the blossoms. It was a conversation between mother and son mostly, as his father remained characteristically quiet after he had said grace. It seemed for the most part that he silently approved of the manual labor his son was undertaking, having spent most of his boyhood without physical exertion.

His excitement dulcified into satisfaction for the time being so he had slept well and without break that night, but when he returned that following morning to the garden, he was startled to see that while the vervain still undulated in the wind like bubbles of sea foam, the moonflower had closed up shop as quickly as she had arrived. When he scuttered back home to find his mother and tell her that something had happened to the moonflowers, a look of confusion laid on her face before blithe composure returned at his description. She briefly chastised him on his lack of discernment, because if he could not at least recall that she had already mentioned it to him, he could surmise from the name that the plant prefered moonlight over the sun. He flushes at his previous panic, as he belatedly remembers her alluding that the flower only bloomed at night; him, being mistaken that the blossoms burst forth from the buds during a particular evening, then continuously blooming for the next few months.

In June the clock would finally strike four. Their architecture was that of the poisonous moonflowers though on a smaller scale, but much more colorful, as if someone took a paintbrush to make streaks of magenta across their white and yellow basecoats. It also would bloom later in the day, though a bit earlier than dusk, and his mother joked if he needed an exact reminder of when. The humidity of the season's evening pronounced its otherwise delicate smell, until it had become synonymous with summer nights for him.

The advent of the artemesia and the angel's trumpet in mid-August would complete this party of parioshioners that would attend Micah's midnight mass. Tiny, yellow clusters abutting the lobed, white fuzzed leaves reminded him of wreaths of winterberries, the sweet, fruity quality of the flowers marrying with the camphorous, sagelike aroma of the foliage. His mother's long-awaited nightshade on the other hand was beyond comparison, hanging downwards like a sunset-colored bell that would only ring at dusk, or a trumpet directed at a headstone to awake the dead. It seemed either that the third time was a charm, or he required the whole before he could understand the unity of its parts, but was his mother's moon garden, at any point, truly incomplete? On moonless nights when the silvery foliage would glow a little dimmer? Before a moth with tea-stained wings, the same color as blood dried on strands of white hair, would stir from its slumber to visit one September evening, and have its final rest on the arbor of a clock? At every midnight mass that did happen to take place, because the lamb's ear would be cut down prematurely, without any blooms?

Unfinished, maybe, but not incomplete.

Had to make another Masterlist because each one can only hold 100 links

Trigger Warning: Yandere, Obsessive behaviour, Possessive behaviour, Clingy behaviour, Manipulation, Kidnapping, Murder, Violence

Shenhe Headcanons

Breaking up with Childe

Jing Yuan, Blade, Luocha and Caelus with Noelle reader

Ayato, Itto and Kafka with a reader who confesses then runs away Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Blade, Kafka and Silver Wolf with attention needy vampire

March 7th, Himeko and Dan Heng with reader that has Silver Wolf powers

Breaking up with Himeko

Lyney, Freminet and Lynette with mermaid reader Part 2

Aether, Kafka and Venti with reader who refuses to eat

Jing Yuan, Dan Heng and Blade with Nilou reader

Blade, Kafka and Silver Wolf with a baker reader

How Silver Wolf, Blade and Kafka celebrate your birthday

Zhongli with an adeptus reader

Neuvillette with a Kafka reader

Nanook, Imbibitor Lunae and Dan Heng with flirty reader

Tingyun, Navia and Yoimiya with chubby reader

Tighnari, Venti, Freminet and Wanderer with reader who likes taller people

How Himeko will get reader dependant on her

Furina with a clingy reader

Kafka, Hu Tao, Yae Miko and Silver Wolf with a reader who wants a collar with their name on it

Raiden Ei, Furina and Lumine with a reader who makes plushies Part 2

Columbina, Arlecchino and Jing Yuan with a foxian reader

Breaking up with Natasha

Kokomi with a detective reader

Jing Yuan and Luocha fighting over reader

Himeko, Silver Wolf, Stelle and Bronya with Lumine reader who has a breakdown

Furina with willing reader

Breaking up with Diluc

Arlecchino and Kafka with weak reader

Breaking up with Wriothesley

Witch Natasha with Princess reader

Aether, Venti and Kafka with a sick darling

Stelle, Lumine and Paimon with ghost child reader

Zhongli, Dottore, Neuvillette and Tighnari with a reader who doesn't want children

Arlecchino, Natasha, Himeko and Kafka with a reader who dies

Svarog, Luka and Blade with Klee reader Part 2

Blade, Jing Yuan and Topaz with Ghost catcher reader

Asta with Himeko's younger sister reader

Breaking up with Hu Tao, Lyney and Lynette

Kafka and Silver Wolf convincing reader to join Stellaron Hunters

Imbibitor Lunae, Venti and Aether trying to get reader back after a break up Part 2

Venti, Aether and Wriothesley with an escaped reader

Breaking up with Abyss Prince Aether

Natasha, Yukong and Topaz with a Stellaron Hunter reader

Jingliu, Jing Yuan, Blade and Imbibitor Lunae with a reader who looks like Baiheng

Breaking up with Kazuha and Lisa

Yandere headcannons about Hajime Hinata and Kokichi Ouma

Alhaitham, Signora, Jingliu and Hubert with reader who thinks they are unhappy

Marianne with an outgoing reader

Arlan when his partner gets injured

Yandere Headcannons about Mikan Tsumiki

Wishing happy birthday to Kazuha

March 7th, Stelle, Seele and Tingyun when reader takes a hit meant for them

Paimon reader: Part 15 Part 16 Part 17

Albedo fic: Attempt 7497

Bennett, Keqing and Lynx when no one comes to your birthday party

Hope you'll enjoy😄