#(cannot even begin to tell you if this counts as 'well' or not but either way I am going the fuck to sleep)

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Practice On Me — Part Nine — Azriel x Reader

Summary: Roza’s arrival in Windhaven brings some home truths crashing down on Reader. She just needs a hug, someone to talk to, but it all goes very, very wrong…

Word Count: 3k.

Warnings: None.

Chaos evades logic.

There is no rationality to be found here. No sense to be made of the ample feelings that begin to chew you up and spit you out.

All you know, as you lace your breeches up and correct yourself, is that you feel like you’ve been punched in the gut.

“Are you decent?” Roza calls, her back still to you.

You tie the last lace. Clear your throat. “All good.”

The closest person you’ve ever had to a mother figure turns on the spot. She’s absolutely beautiful — fucking glowing — her swollen belly visible through her thick coat, and her eyes alight with a quality you’ve never seen before.

Rhysand really is the mirror image of her.

“I actually cannot believe I just witnessed that.” She grouses. “And just when I thought the morning sickness had finally come to an end, too. My poor, poor eyes.”

Cassian makes a noise. “Roz, that’s a bit dramatic—”

“You be quiet.” She points a finger at him. “Your mouth has done quite enough tonight, thank you very much.”

The two of them stare at each other — Cassian wanting to be a little shit and push his luck, and Roza wanting to…

Well, to gouge her eyes out with a rusty spoon, probably.

But then Cassian cracks a grin, and he’s bounding over to the female like an excitable pup. “Fuck, I’ve missed you.”

“Watch your language.” Roza scorns, but she happily accepts the hug that Cass yanks her into. “Gods, you’ve grown even more.”

You…you are rooted to the spot. Unable to move.

You want to go over there, too. To embrace her. But…but just seeing Roza makes the previous couple of months come hammering down on you in an unwelcome downpour of unwanted realisations.

You think: Roza caught me fooling around with Cassian.

And then you think: Fucking hell, I fooled around with Cassian again.

And then you’re wondering how — how you’ve let the recent events of your life veer down such a beaten, broken path.

It’s like Roza’s appearance brings a clarity that has been very much absent as of late. She’s always been a figure of reason and wisdom, always stopped you from spiralling.

And now she’s here, you’re looking at Cassian — your damn friend — and wondering just how much damage you might have caused.

He’s mid-conversation with Roza when he seems to notice you staring at him. Roza notices, too.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” She says.

You open your mouth, unsure how you intend to respond. All that slips out is a rasped, “I’m just…so glad you’re here.”

Cassian snorts. “Tell that to your face.”

You can’t bring yourself to laugh at the jibe. And it would seem that Roza can’t, either. She’s studying you in that assessing way you’ve seen her wear a thousand times before — the one where the motherly instinct kicks in, and she’s sensing something is wrong. It seems to be a subconscious act, the way she slides her hand over her bump.

“So what are you doing back here, anyway?” Cassian asks her, slinging an arm round her shoulders. “I thought the High Lord wanted you to stay in Velaris for the pregnancy.”

“He does.” Roza says. “But then I found out Y/N had somehow ended up homeless and that he hadn’t bothered to help, so he and I aren’t on the best of terms right now.” She eyes you again. “I’ve come to move you properly into the cottage — including retrieving your belongings from your father’s house. I will not have you freezing your ass off in this dump.”

Gods, you love her.

She’s so fierce, so passionate. This is a female who housed three lost, rowdy children under her roof and offered them the same amount of love as she felt for her biological son. This is a female who does what she believes is right and damns the consequences. This is a female who doesn’t hesitate — not for one second — to help somebody in need.

She’s the exact kind of female you want yourself to be. And she’s the only person you wish to see in that moment.

“Perfect.” Cassian chirps brightly. “I’ll help. Let’s go fetch Y/N’s stuff from the bastard’s house right now.”

He takes a step towards the door, but Roza is laying a hand on his arm. She doesn’t look away from you once. “Cassian, my darling, I love you endlessly. And so, I say this with the greatest of adoration — fuck off to the mead hall, or something, and leave Y/N and I to have some girl time alone.”

“What?” He squawks in outrage. “But you just got here.”

“And I promise you we’ll catch up properly later. But right now, Y/N and I need some time alone.”

“But—”

“Do you want to stay and discuss the ins and outs of childbirth?”

Instantly, he falters. The change of tune would be comical if you were actually capable of feeling anything but despair in that moment.

“You know what?” He cracks a grin. “The mead hall sounds great right about now.”

Roza chuckles. “I thought it might. I’m taking Y/N back to the cottage. I’ll come and fetch you when we’re done. And if you see Az or Rhys, be sure to tell them to stay away, too.”

Oh.

This is going to be a serious talk.

You can’t remember the last time Roza was so insistent about it just being the two of you.

Probably when you got your first ever cycle, and she held and soothed and bathed you through it.

Will she still be so tender when she hears of the full scope of the mess you’ve created for yourself? You’re not sure you’d deserve it.

“Go easy, Cass.” Roza warns. “Don’t get into any fights.”

“Pff. As if I would.” Your friend lands a kiss on her cheek. “You look beautiful, Roz.” He says, and then he’s bustling out of the door without a care in the world.

You stare after him. Wish you could be that carefree. It feels…it feels impossible.

Gods, you just want to fucking cry.

Roza can see that. She holds a hand out.

“Come, my little dove.” She says. “Let’s get you home.”

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

It kind of feels like walking into the cottage for the very first time, all over again.

You remember that night like it happened only yesterday. Remember how the cold had felt as you’d followed Azriel through the snow. The noises of bickering coming  from behind the door.

Even at eleven, Az had always seemed so much taller than you. You’d noticed that as he’d strode ahead and led you inside.

Roza had been standing in the kitchen, and she’d turned to you with a curious expression. “Oh.” She’d chirped, with more warmth than you’d ever heard from your own kin. “What have we here, then?”

You, Azriel had explained to her, had been set upon by a group of males far older than you. Az had defended you, and then he’d invited you to share his dinner.

Roza had taken one look at the dirt packed beneath your fingernails and told you to thoroughly wash your hands before taking a seat. You’d done just that.

And it was at that very table that Rhysand had introduced himself.

“I’m Rhysand. My father is the High Lord.”

Roza had scolded him for showing off.

And it was after that that Cassian had eyed you with a wild, feral look and simply said, “I bet I could beat you in an arm wrestle. I beat everyone.”

“Not at my dinner table, you don’t.” Roza had put a stop to that immediately. And then she’d placed a steaming pie in the centre of the table, and High Lords and arm wrestles were all but forgotten, and Azriel had been quiet and shy at your side, but dutifully offering you different foods before he took any for himself—

Standing at the threshold of the cottage, now…it’s like watching that entire scene play out before you. The ghosts of your younger, wayward selves feast greedily on a wholesome meal that lets you forget your harrowing experiences for a little while.

How things have changed.

You finally step in. Kick the door shut behind you. The smells and warmth of your sanctuary envelop you, and you know — you fucking know that you won’t be able to keep a lid on your tears for long.

“Don’t know how many times I’ve told those idiots to put the fire out before they leave the house.” Roza mutters, but she goes striding straight towards that burning fire and welcomes its warmth. “Although, I must admit, I’m a little impressed. I expected this place to be far messier in my absence than it is. Don’t tell me they’ve actually been cleaning—”

“Roza.” You cut in, your voice shaky, desperate. “About what you saw—”

She turns back to you. Says nothing as concerned, violet eyes sweep the length of your body. She’s letting you speak, but you don’t know what the fuck to say.

You open and close your mouth as though the act will make some sense of…any of this.

It doesn’t.

“I didn’t realise you and Cassian were…” Roza clears her throat. Pauses. “I just…what of Azriel, Y/N?”

You blink at her.

Roza’s very good at knowing things she hasn’t been told, but for her to know about you and Az when she’s been in Velaris this whole time, and when, as far as you’re aware, these things have been strictly kept between you and Azriel only—

“What?” You breathe.

“Perhaps I’m wrong, I don’t know.” She frowns. “But I always suspected that you and Az would be…something more. Your connection with him has always run a little deeper than with anyone else. That’s why I was so shocked when I found you…and Cass…”

Is she wrong?

No.

And fucking damn you for taking all these years to see it. Fucking damn you for only realising you wanted Azriel as more than just your friend when somebody else began to recognise his brilliance.

Fucking damn you for all of this, and damn Azriel, too, and damn everyone.

It all comes showering down on you in an instant, harsh and unwelcome.

You love Azriel. Not just in the way you love Rhysand and Cassian. You’re in love with his soul, his spirit. Who he is will always be tethered to who you are, even though he isn’t yours to cling onto. It’s been that way since you were old enough to harbour such feelings, and you’ve been burying it all these years, burying it under bad choices and regrettable actions, because all of that seemed easier to face, than…this. The fact that you were never able to control your heart, stop it from feeling such things, and now you feel them so intensely that it hurts.

Had your deal with Az ever really been about helping him, or had it been a selfish ruse under which you could have some small experience to remember him by when he inevitably gave his heart to somebody else?

Because you are just Y/N. You’ve always just been Y/N.

You are not Kaeda — Kaeda with the wings, and the strength, and the excellence.

Just Y/N. Just Y/N—

“Speak to me, my love.” Roza steps closer. “I’m worried about you.”

Your eyes blur with tears. Your legs buckle, and you’re bracing one hand on the back of the couch while the other flies up to cup over your mouth.

“Oh, gods, what have I done?” Your voice breaks.

“Speak to me.” Roza says again.

“This is all such a mess.”

“What is, Y/N?”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I don’t know what—what to do!”

“You need to breathe.” She responds firmly. “Deep breaths. Now.”

You try. Gods, you try. But your chest is constricting, and the air won’t reach your lungs, and all you can hear on a constant loop inside your head is one, bellowing sentence.

Everything is irreversibly changed.

Roza closes the gap between you and cups your face. The touch is soft, but firm. She forces you to look at her, and her face is blurred by your tears, but you know she’s looking at you how she’s always looked at you — with love.

“Tell me what’s going on, and I can help you through it.” She pleads.

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.” You sob back.

She yanks you close, arms wrapping around you. She’s held you like this through so, so much. This is no different.

But it feels different, in that it feels worse. Not only is it possible that your actions could change your relationships with both Cassian and Azriel, but also that they could change their relationship with each other, too — change the strong, steadfast dynamic between your three closest friends.

You tremble, clinging to Roza like you may just collapse. Your heartbeat gallops in your ears like rhythmic footfalls.

“Y/N—”

“It all turned into a total mess.” You choke out. “I was feeling things — I am feeling things — and then Azriel had Kaeda and I was jealous and stupid and I — I shouldn’t have done it. I shouldn’t have slept with Cassian.”

“You did what?”

Those three, outraged words are not spoken in Roza’s voice. The sudden interjection of Azriel’s is enough for your sobs to catch in your throat.

Every single inch of your body goes cold as you step back to look at him. Blink at him. Roza fights to keep hold of you.

Normally, he would have hurried over to embrace her. But he stays rooted to the last step of the staircase. He’s staring at you. Only you.

You’ve never seen him look so pale.

“Az.” Roza sighs softly. “We didn’t realise you were home.”

He doesn’t look away from you — not once — as he asks, “What did you just say?”

Roza inches towards him. “I think we all need to sit down and talk about this—”

“You fucked Cassian?”

Tears spill over, roll down your cheeks. Your voice doesn’t want to show itself as you croak out, “Az, I can explain.”

“You fucked Cassian?” He’s repeating it like…like he needs to. Like it won’t get into his head any other way. “You had sex with him?”

“Yes, but—”

“Around the time you and I were doing similar things?”

Roza’s head whips round to you in surprise. You’d failed to mention that bit. After a moment, she rights herself once more. “Azriel, you should let her speak.”

“I can’t fucking believe you.” Letting you speak is the last thing on his mind as he steps down, storming past the two of you. You reach out for him, but he’s jerking away, heading for the door.

“Azriel, please.” Your voice cracks. “Let me explain.”

“Explain that you fucked Cass? At the same time that I was sharing such…such huge things with you—”

“At the same time you were sharing them with Kaeda!”

He falls still, hand faltering on the doorknob, shoulders hunched.

And then he glances over his shoulder at you with an expression so bleak, you’d do anything, make a bargain with anyone, to wipe it from his face.

“Except that I’ve never touched Kaeda like that.” He says. “Not once. I couldn’t.”

Before you’re capable of summoning an answer, he’s yanking the door open and thundering out into the snow.

Shock pulses through you, ice-cold and harrowing. You blink, and blink and blink and blink, and you think Roza might be saying your name, but you can only choke out another sob that grates against your throat, and then your legs are moving forward, stumbling out of the door.

“Az, wait!” You cry, but he’s already striding far into the distance. “Please!”

You try to move, but it’s like the snow is binding your ankles, grounding you firmly to the spot. You sob. Try to move. Fall. Get up. It’s cold and wet. You’re hurting. Everything’s hurting.

And somebody’s yelling — yelling at you.

“Hey!” You know the voice. It’s a voice you don’t like. But you can’t put a face to it until its owner is stopping in front of you, sneering at you. Lord Devlon. “What did I tell you about staying away from these parts, girl?”

You’re incapable of answering him. You’re not even looking at him. You just stare and stare in the direction that Az disappeared in, fat, hot tears rolling down your cheeks.

“I’m talking to you.” Devlon grabs your chin between his fingers, hard. “Insolent female—”

“Remove your hand from her face at once.”

He blinks at the sight of Roza stepping out of the cottage. Clearly, he had no clue she’d returned. And even he won’t speak out against the High Lord’s pregnant mate.

He drops his hand immediately.

Roza steps up to your side and narrows her gorgeous eyes at him. Her hand sits on her swollen belly. “Look at you, Lord Devlon — following orders like a good dog. Now, go on. Fuck off.”

There’s a slight twitch of a muscle as he clenches his jaw. He hates every second of it, but he obediently turns away from you.

“Oh — Lord Devlon?” Roza calls after him.

He stops. Turns. “Yes, lady?”

“I decide who can and cannot live in my house.” She stares him down. “That call is mine and mine alone. And if I hear of you giving Y/N any more trouble? I’ll rip your fucking throat out.”

She turns her back to him with utter dismissal. If you weren’t so devastated, you might laugh at his stunned expression.

But Roza sees the pain in your eyes, and she pulls you into her arms.

“Come, my love.” She murmurs  softly. “Let’s get you inside.”

az tags: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sirenpearldust @queercodedcharacter @azriels-shadowsinger @ruler-of-hades @demi03 @magicaldragonlady @abrielletargaryen @ralsieq @v3lv3tf0x @achase2002 @feyretopia @hayrunnwr @don’t-feed-the-hipsters @brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @bloodicka @acourtofinkandpapyrus @riri-is-agirlie @siriusement @4valyries @socmono @azriels-mate123 @acourtofbatboydreams @katherinearcheron @nesemi @lupinswolfsbanes @dreaming-unafraid @dxnniiix @cyrygher @liddyr03 @lmllsl @nightless @teenageeggscissorslawyer @brighterthanlonelythoughts @blitz-fall @maybefoxysouls @mschanand1erbong @juiceboxreads @bangtanbecks @florencemtrash @hyemishii @obixix @thenovarose @meshellexplosionmurder @angzlxna @lissy31xoxo-blog @supernatural99 @positivewitch @art3-m1ss @milfhunter-pdx @bbuckysbeardd @coralseacourt @towhateverend87 @sspookz @bird-on-the-wire33 @morrie-rose @megwan @catscanteleport @sevikas-whore @thickthighs-sadeyes

#azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #shadowsinger x reader #azriel acotar #azriel x you #azriel fic #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fandom #acotar x reader #acotar writing #acotar fanfic #acotar headcanon #acotar smut #acotar series #acotar fic #azriel fanfiction #azriel fanfic #reader insert #illyrians #rhysand #cassian

[novantinuum]

Steven's Breakdown Was Inevitable From the Very Beginning

I feel like the thing that fucks me up the most about Steven Q. Universe and how well conceived he is as a character is that the fundamental building blocks of why he reached his breaking point in SU: Future were laid out as clear as day in the span of legit only the first four episodes of the original show. The writing was literally always on the wall that future him would struggle with matters of self worth and identity in relationship to the others around him.

Let's take a look:

Gem Glow

"Awesome! What are these things?"

Foundational Trauma #1: Steven's home is always either under threat or actively being wrecked by antagonistic forces/beings, and he constantly copes with this by pushing down his fear in favor of a curiosity and silver linings based mindset.

Look at his initial shock when he opens the door and gets tackled by one of these things, and then his response when one of them spits acid:

The kid's freaked the hell out about all this, and while I do think there's a part of Steven that genuinely IS curious about what these lil critters are, I think he's subconsciously using that curiosity as a way to distract himself from his own fears and anxieties. This is Steven actively learning how to ignore the deeper problems in favor of emoting a facade to the others in his life that he can totally handle himself in scary situations like these.

The underlying reason why is incredibly apparent, when you look at the example from the next episode-

Laser Light Canon

"I don't know what a magic lady like her ever saw in a plain old dope like me..."

Genuinely- from the bottom of my heart- I think the above quote from Greg is a moment where his own insecurities around the Gems actually rubbed off on Steven.

At this point in time, Steven may be living with the Gems... but he hasn't started to harness any of his powers at all, so in his own head he might as well be the same as his dad- another human, just one who happens to have a gem! But the way Greg talks about himself... given Steven was living with him in the van for years before moving in to the beach house, he had to have heard negative self-talk from his dad like this before.

And then there's the rest of the Crystal Gems... always speaking of Rose with such reverence as if she were an all-powerful goddess... and Steven can't help but look back at himself, and his gem that won't work... the gem that the others still identify as Rose's...

"Your gem-! You have Rose's gem!"

And maybe he starts to wonder if- without any working powers- he's just a plain ol' dope like his Dad, too.

"Please work... Unlock! Activate! Go! Please-!! Everyone's counting on you, you can't just be useless!"

Foundational Trauma #2: Steven has Rose's gem, and as such, is constantly living under the silent expectation to live up to a standard that he simply cannot ever hope to achieve, because he doesn't KNOW her and he never will.

I want to highlight one of Steven's expressions while his dad is talking about Rose- look at that sad look. My god, I just wanna hug him. This is the expression of a child who has already come to terms with the fact that his only relationship with his mom is through the rose tinted stories that other people tell him about her.

Cheeseburger Backpack

So. Steven has learned so far that he needs to push down his feelings and emote a false veneer of cheer and bravery even when he's afraid, because the rest of the people in his life have expectations and hopes for him due to the legacy of his parentage and he can't bear the thought of letting them down. (And in a sad way, at this point "letting them down" literally just means... being an ordinary human boy. I believe Steven at this stage of the show is flat out scared to be human, because to be human is to fail at being a Gem, and no amount of love and sacrifice in the name of humanity in the seasons to come could've ever saved him from the fundamental fact that the wedge between him and this whole half of his being was already drawn long before the events of season 1 even started. But I digress.)

Let's see where we go from there. Let's check out Steven's first "mission." Or as Pearl puts it about 35 episodes later, his first "test."

"Yeah... they can't all be winners."

This episode is tinted with a little bit of tragedy for me on rewatch, because I genuinely do think the Gems handled the situation as well as they could've. They were supportive of Steven's successful ploys, and (for the most part) responded with grace when he majorly blundered and left the Goddess Statue at home. The main problem, however, is that Steven has already developed a bit of a complex about impressing the three of them-

Foundational Trauma #3: Even when they claim otherwise, Steven has convinced himself that affection from the Gems is transactional, and that when he messes up he's not truly a part of the Crystal Gems.

Of course we the audience know this isn't true- I mean, hell, Amethyst even said as much in episode one after her slip-up ("and you're fun to have around, even if your gem IS useless!")... that the Crystal Gems wouldn't be the same without him. But Steven... the poor kid is a complicated little guy living a complicated life, and whether they intended it or not, the language used they've used around him thus far has not backed up their attempts at fully embracing him, human parentage and all.

Thus, Steven just spends the entire episode wracked with anxiety trying to find creative non-power using ways to make the mission easier so he can convince them he's useful to have around.

Look how nervous he gets even when all three of them are visibly and vocally supportive of his presence here:

This is the face of a boy who feels like he's under constant judgement and scrutiny from those around him.

Blessedly, viewing this episode in isolation, he experiences a brief moment of mental respite where he finally accepts the Gems' encouragement and agrees that his ideas 'can't all be winners,' but this lesson does not stick for him moving forward. A shame, really.

Together Breakfast

"What's the matter, Steven?" "I wanted us all to have breakfast together, so I made Together Breakfast! But everyone keeps leaving..." "Oh, that's nice..."

Taken in context with what we've learned already in the last three episodes, Steven's desperation to spend quality time with the Gems here and his sadness that they keep leaving him alone doesn't just exist within a vacuum. He spends the whole morning watching them shuffle in and out of the temple, or come back from missions he wasn't invited on, and with the disastrous result of the LAST mission he went on probably fresh in his mind it's not hard to understand why this bothers him.

Foundational Trauma #4: Steven internalizes that the price of "not being useful" is that the Gems actively ignore him, meaning that the only way to guarantee their attention is to work as hard as he can to become a stronger member of the team.

I know this screenshot is usually used as a lighthearted meme, but I wanted to include it because I think it's a good example of how Steven's intense desire to impress permeates every facet of his personality at times. Just LOOK at how desperate he is to make Garnet laugh at his joke, to be the one that's at very least "fun to have around," as Amethyst put it in episode one.

The Gems do eventually drop what they're doing to spend time with Steven by the conclusion of this episode, but this only comes after Steven shows his growing strength and "proves" himself by saving their butts from the breakfast monster.

If he successfully gained their attention in literally any other way he might've come away from this episode with a different lesson, but no. Instead, his fears were proven true- the Gems value strength and utility, and if he's not exhibiting that, then what use is he to them?

These fears of his can be seen weaving throughout the foundational fabric of the entire show, but I think Steven lays out what he sees as his "stakes" in the clearest way possible in the episode 'An Indirect Kiss.'

"But- if I don't have powers, then I can't hang out with Amethyst, or Garnet, o-or Pearl, and- I-I can't go on missions!"

And these same insecurities even rear their ugly head as late as the movie.

"I can't believe this... for the first time in years, everyone's in danger, everybody needs me, and- I'm useless!"

Powers = Utility = Worth = Other's love, for Steven. Everything is transactional to the end, which is a hilarious double standard he's set for himself when he's made his reputation as the kid who always listens and encourages and gives others a chance to change, no matter their messy history with him.

__

So let's recap and restate those foundational traumas from Steven's perspective.

One: The only way to cope when your life is constantly under threat is to bury the damage and pretend to be fine.

Two: Everyone expects you to live up to the standards of someone you're not.

Three: The Gems only love you when you're of use to them.

Four: If you ever stop being useful, the Gems won't want anything more to do with you.

In sum, Steven's habit of burying his feelings for the benefit of others was there from the very beginning, not just since 'The Test.'

Those unreachable standards he felt so daunted and intimidated by all his life were the ones set by Rose, at first... but over the course of the series, the dynamic of this shifted. As Rose's influence fell into the background, Steven's rose into the front. And so it's with great irony that- by the time of Steven Universe: Future, the expectations this exhausted, worn down teenager is fighting to once again achieve are the ones HE set for himself. Many of young Steven's selfless actions during the war are quite admirable when analyzed in isolation, but almost none of them are sustainable. He set himself on fire just to save the world, but teen Steven is genuinely unable to see this for what it is yet- as a tragic sacrifice of his own childhood. You can't burn your own ends for others forever, not at all. His breakdown was simply inevitable.

When it comes to the interconnected beliefs three and four, these are exactly why the ultimate confrontation at the end of I Am My Monster HAD to be one fueled by selfless love. Steven is at his absolute lowest at this point- he's everything he fears he's become, trapped in a form that's nearly incapable of reason. He's big and angry and spiky because that's a part of the facade- because a part of him WANTS to scare the Gems away, wants to be left alone forever, believing this the fate he deserves as price for his misdeeds.

In this form, by his own definitions he is NOT useful to the Crystal Gems at all.

But they don't care.

Because it never WAS about Steven's 'usefulness' to them, they simply love him for being Steven.

With this in mind, the conclusion of Steven Universe: Future wasn't just a salve to teen Steven's immediate struggles, it was a salve to the foundational insecurities that have been plaguing him his entire life.

And hopefully... from this point on... his family's shows of love and encouragement will be enough to finally convince Steven that he's more than worth their time...

No matter what path the future leads him on, and no matter what form he takes.

#su #su future #steven universe #su meta #my post stuff

[notjustjavierpena]

Eat

A/N: Pussy? Eaten. Stomach? Butterflies. Hotel? Trivago.  Think this takes place short after Gush.

Summary: You tell Joel that you cannot come from getting eaten out, but he isn’t convinced. 

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader/You (No y/n)

Tags: +18 smut (mdni), dad’s best friend joel miller, daddy kink, soft soft soft and patient joel, nipple play, pussy eating, dirty talk, intense orgasm, pet names , bit of praise kink and body worship

Word count: 3k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49669783

Eat

Joel has you completely naked and pinned to his bed. It’s a Saturday afternoon, sun is pining in through the curtains and heating up the room that’s already warm from your bodies being entwined. You have yet to get out of bed despite needing a shower, perhaps some food for your growling stomach, and maybe a glass of ice water from how sweaty your body is when you are in the older man’s proximity. He makes your heart pound.

He hovers over you whilst on his knees between your legs, hands on your wrists and gaze hungry as he contemplates what he wants to do with you. Your stomach drops as he asks, “Will you lemme have it? Lemme eat your pussy, princess?”

It’s not that you don’t think this is sexy. It is just that. Though, despite how many times Joel has made you come during the summer, he actually hasn’t gone down on you yet. 

He has tried a million times though, but you have always playfully pushed his head away every time he has tried to descend on your body, distracted him with a blowjob, or made him finger your cunt instead. At this point, you still haven’t told him that the reason is that you simply don’t like it. 

“Joel,” you avoid his gaze, turn your head away, “I—“

Joel hasn’t heard hesitation from you before, only the jokes that he hasn’t taken to heart. He lets go of one of your wrists, takes hold of your chin, and guides your head back so you face him again. He furrows his brow at the uncertainty in your eyes that meet his, “What’s a’ matter?”

“Nothing,” you play dumb, avoiding his curious look once more but he snaps his fingers in front of you to regain your attention. You groan at how well it works, “Why would anything be wrong? It’s just… I don’t really like it. I can’t come from it.”

Joel narrows his eyes slightly, not convinced, “Why’d you think you can’t come from it?”

“This guy I was with,” you begin and it’s Joel’s turn to look uncertain. You want to roll your eyes; doesn’t he know that he has ruined everyone else for you by now? 

“Years ago,” you add, “He told me I took too long, so maybe I just, you know, couldn’t. I didn’t want to try again.” 

Joel doesn’t get pissed at the guy or start a rant like you expect him to do (something about that boy taking this sort of experience from you and turning it into something negative). Instead, he starts laughing to the point where he needs to rest his forehead against your shoulder to calm himself because the pout you give him just makes him laugh harder. 

“What?” You push at his head in annoyance. He cannot even hold onto your other wrist anymore. 

“Took too long. Jesus,” his laughter is interrupted by a cough. You can feel his chest vibrating against your own, “He was bullshittin’ you, baby girl. What a lazy piece of shit, and what range of stupid lil’ fuckers you’ve allowed to have what’s mine.” 

“Doesn’t change the fact that I hate it,” you squirm underneath him at his choice of words, reaching for his hair with your hands to pull at it gently, “Stop laughing. It’s not funny.”

“It is kinda funny,” he looks up at you through his lashes. There’s something sweet to his voice whilst his eyes darken, “Hey now. It’s just… ya said ya didn’t squirt either, and then fuckin’ wet the bed.”

You go beet red, “Joel. God.”

“I’m merely a man just tryna prove a point,” he jokes, earning a glare. Something shifts a little in the air and then he isn’t playing anymore, “Will ya lemme try? Just f’me? We can stop anytime you want.”

“I don’t know,” you sound unsure. 

“We’ll go reeeal slow,” he pushes.

“O-okay,” you say. What’s the harm in letting him try? It’s not like it is uncomfortable for you, but rather just slightly boring and awkward. 

“Okay’s not a yes, princess,” Joel crawls up to try to kiss your uncertainty away. He pecks your lips over and over again, switching not long after to pepper your face with more gentle kisses instead. They’re scattered across your cheeks, lips, nose, above your eyebrows, soft eyelids, and chin. He doesn’t let up until you giggle sweetly. 

“Yes!” You squeak and mess up his hair, “Eat some damn pussy, if it means that much to you.”

“Try to relax for me,” he instructs and pushes himself to sit up again. His eyes have darkened further, “How do you want ya legs?”

You bend your legs, planting your feet firmly on the bed and spreading yourself open enough for Joel’s broad shoulders to fit between your thighs. He doesn’t go down yet though, keeping his promise of taking things slow in case you want to stop before it gets too intense. 

His lips connect to where your neck meets your shoulder, pressing his nose firmly into you to inhale your scent. It must be nothing but sleep and sweat by now. He opens his mouth against your skin, sucks across your collarbone until he reaches your jugular notch. He dips his tongue into the dent, and licks off the sweat before murmuring, “I can feel you not relaxin’.”

“I’m sorry,” you say with a pounding heart and you mean it, curl your toes, but he shushes you immediately. 

“No, no. This ain’t on you, baby. Tell me what I can do to make ya relax,” he pulls back to look at your face. He looks so gorgeous with the sun hitting his body like this. 

“Talk to me,” you whisper without knowing why. 

“My baby wants to hear how gorgeous she is?” He asks as he goes back to putting his mouth on your throat. You tip your head back, and he hums against you, “How perfect ‘n beautiful ‘n sexy? Perhaps a little spoiled too?”

“Mhm, yes,” you rest your hand on the back of his neck when he starts to descend. His lips trail down between your breasts, and his huge palm covers one of them whilst he sucks on the other. He is eager, cheeky enough to tug your nipple into his mouth with his teeth. You moan softly.

“Fuckin’ love your tits, Jesus, look at you,” he mumbles absentmindedly to himself before going back in. He dares to suck a light purple mark onto your skin just close enough to your nipple so that you can cover it up and keep it a secret between the two of you even if going to the lake with friends and wearing your skimpy bikini.

You groan and arch your back when he switches to the other one of your tits, cupping it still whilst lapping at your nipple. He flicks his tongue across it just when you think he might pull away, causing you to let out a long drawn-out whine. 

“You fuckin’ love that, don’t ya?” He kisses the swell of your breast, tugs a little with his hand. You close your eyes, bolts of arousal shooting up your spine again when he suckles once more. 

Slowly, you find that much of the nervousness is seeping out of your body with every kiss, lick and suck of your salty skin. It may be the time to admit that Joel knows just which buttons to push to turn you into putty. It may also be the time to admit that you are starting to get excited about what is going to happen. Nervous but excited.

“You’re so soft… like damn silk,” he admires whilst he goes lower. His nose brushes along the length of your stomach, tickling a little to the point where you shiver and let out a soft sigh. He relishes in it, “Damn, baby. Listen to that sound.”

You rake your nails across his scalp when he nips at your skin. Heat is pooling in your belly and you can feel slick drip onto the sheets, running down the cleft of your ass, “Touch my pussy, Daddy.”

Joel tenses visibly at the nickname. He grips your hip, and somehow becomes a little rougher in everything he does, “Gotta wait. Maybe your disaster college boyfriend didn’t get ya worked up enough. I definitely ain’t gonna make that mistake.”

He crawls further down, kisses open-mouthed and hot right below your belly button several times. Even places the flat of his tongue against the skin there to lick long languid stripes, “Won’t start until you beg me to kiss your little twitchin’ clit.”

“But I’m so wet,” you pout, flexing the muscles in your stomach. When you try lifting your hips to find some kind of friction, he pushes you right back down into the mattress. 

“Stop,” he warns sternly. The hand on your hip runs across your belly, teases over your mound and ghosts over your clit until you cry feebly for him, “Do you want me to just touch ya between your pretty legs?” 

“I told you I don’t like the other thing,” you reply to spite him and egg him on. He smacks one of your thighs, wiggling the flesh after. 

“Liar,” he breaks eye contact to look right down at your cunt. You are sure that he can see how you clench around nothing, clit so hard that it is exposed from underneath the hood. You are so ready for him to follow through, no matter the nervousness in your body, “The anticipation wouldn’t have you this excited if yadidn’t care. You’ll fuckin’ let Daddy live between your thighs after he’s done eating.” 

“Fine,” you huff, spreading your legs further to punctuate your sentence, “Put your mouth on my pussy. Prove it.”

Joel groans at the sight of you giving in to him. He gets comfortable on the bed, legs hanging out over the edge. One arm scoops underneath you to curl around your right thigh and the other rests on top of your left. He splays his hand across your sternum, and almost automatically, you reach for it and tug at two of his fingers as if needing something to hold onto for dear life. 

“Now we talkin’,” he smirks. 

“Hold on,” you interrupt, heart almost beating out of your chest with how horny you feel. That, and the fact that what Joel is about to do to you seems to be the most intimate thing you can think of. It feels dangerous, exciting, and scary.

You put another pillow behind your back and head, so you can watch him over the top of your tits and his hand. He grumbles but waits. 

“Go,” you say with an apologetic smile, “Just wanted to see you.”

“Ain’t you adorable?” Joel gazes up at you to follow through on your wish, “Ready?”

“Just wanna come now,” you promise, “‘m just nervous. Makes me fidget.”

“Oh, I know,” he replies, breath ghosting over your pussy as he lowers himself down slowly, “Makes ya toes curl too.” 

You cannot quite believe that you have Joel Miller’s face between your legs right now, and even less so believe the hungriest smile in history that he is sporting. It is enough to make you blush, letting go of Joel’s hand and reaching up to cup your face when the anticipation becomes overwhelming. You rest your pinkies in front of your mouth, palms burning from being clasped around your cheeks but it feels like you might lose it if you let go.

The simple brush of his tongue that he chooses as a starting point has you squirming on the bed. His tongue is warm and flat against you, licking how he had done it against the sensitive skin of your stomach. 

Your stomach muscles twitch. It feels… good. Better than the first time you did it. 

“Okay?” He asks in a hum, looking up at you through his lashes with genuine eyes. You nod slowly, and he lowers again to press a soft kiss to your sensitive clit. 

And then another.

And another. 

You make a noise best described as a soft sigh. 

Then he goes lower, the kisses becoming more sloppy and wet. He stops when he reaches your quivering cunt, lets out his tongue to scoop up some of the slick that has gathered and is spilling down between your cheeks. He then licks a long stripe all the way up to your clit, and laps at it like he is eating a damn ice cream cone. 

“Mhmm, tastes so fuckin’ good, baby, like heaven,” he continues with his small licks, the hand on your chest finding your left nipple. Tugs like he knows you like. 

You moan for the first time, not sure if you have repressed the urge to do so. He takes it as a sign to keep going, stiffening his tongue to run it between your folds repeatedly and eventually settling on your clit again. He flicks the tensed-up muscle against the nub, setting up a pace that suddenly causes you to whine.

“Ohh,” you swallow thickly, part your lips and breathe heavily. A muscle in the thigh that Joel is holding flexes involuntarily, and you can feel him smirk against you when he moves back to open-mouthed kisses. 

“No, go back,” you demand, “Please.”

“Yeah?” Joel pulls back instead to tease you. He removes his hand from your thigh to suck his thumb into his mouth. He makes you tremble at the sight, but even more when he circles your clit with the pad of the finger after, “You like Daddy’s tongue on your pussy, baby?”

You hesitate for a moment.

“Say it,” he still draws lazy circles.

“Feels so good,” you admit finally with a groan, “You’re always right.”

“Know I am,” he kisses your inner thigh. The hand on your breast moves to rub soothingly up and down your belly, “‘bout time you realized.”

“I want you to keep going,” you say with a shy smile, blinking down at him, “Please, Daddy?”

His hands still on you, but then he reaches to place both hands on your inner thighs to spread you out a little further. You fall back into the pillow, and he sinks into you again, “Whatever baby wants, baby gets.”

You have never actually thought about how big his mouth is before. In fact, it is huge in comparison to everything about you. He is able to stretch his lips over every inch of your cunt, and he gladly does.

Your breath hitches before you let out a drawn-out moan. Joel eats you out enthusiastically; he licks, sucks, and even dips his tongue inside of you for a moment too. You can feel the world closing in on you, shrinking to nothing but the pressure that builds. 

“It’s—“ you want to say something that makes sense, because whatever you had done in the dim light of your college dormitory a few years prior was definitely not this, but there are no words that describe how overwhelming his slick tongue is, “It’s— oh God.”

You squeal pathetically as your cunt teeters on the edge of an orgasm. You try to press your thighs inwards to make the intensity go away, but Joel is so much stronger than you.

It hits you then. Fuck, it’s going to happen; you’re going to come with his mouth between your legs, and he is never going to let you live this down. This is not what you had planned. There is a little part of you that knows you would have relished in being right for once, but there’s a much bigger part that thanks the Gods that you aren’t going to live forever without coming like this. 

You close your eyes as you groan, but it makes Joel slow down, “Keep your eyes on me, sweetheart, look at me.”

He sucks again, and your hands fly to his hair, but it only goes on for a second, “Ya doing so well. Does it feel good, princess?”

“You’re being mean,” you whimper, tugging at the strands of hair that you have between your fingers, “Make me come.”

Joel follows through then. He buries his nose in your mound and sucks your clit into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks with how much effort he puts into it. When you start thrashing on the bed, he wraps his arms around your legs and holds you tightly in place until you fall apart right below his mouth. 

You shriek as your cunt spasms. If not for Joel’s strength, you are sure that you would have accidentally kneed him in the face, because your legs lose control of themselves as if the orgasm has severed any connection to them. 

“Fuck, Daddy,” you break the swearing rule as your orgasm peaks, pushing and pulling his head away because you don’t have a clue whether you want more or less. Your back arches as Joel keeps licking through your drenched folds, you think you might have started to cry too. 

Shaking breaths echo through Joel’s bedroom as you come down. Joel has removed your hands from his head, and you have slumped into the mattress with a whimper. Nothing has ever felt more dirty. 

“Are you okay?” He asks after crawling up the bed to lay beside you. He rubs your stomach with his broad hand, and even that makes you let out a feeble sigh. 

You laugh with exhaustion, but don’t reply. 

“I do good?” He asks with a lopsided grin, rubbing the back of his hand over his soaked mouth and chin. 

You turn your head to look at him but then start giggling, pointing to your own nose, “You got a little… you know.”

He doesn’t get it when he wipes his hand over his nose the first time. You laugh harder due to the dopamine flowing through your system, and he grumbles, “Well help me then, kiddo.” 

When you beckon him closer, he moves without hesitation, and as you run your index finger down his nose to catch your own shiny arousal, you try to push down the feeling of butterflies that erupt in your stomach.

It’s a feeling that needs to go away. You can’t possibly love Joel Miller and survive.

.

.

.

TAGLIST WILL NOT CONTINUE FROM NEXT MONTH (September 1st, 2023). FOLLOW @notjustjavierpena-fics AND TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS 💖❤️💖❤️

@elissaaa @queerponcho @casa-boiardi @gracieispunk @hiddenbabynyc @hopelessromantic727 @livingdeadmaria @its-nebuleuse @milly-louise @cool-iguana @pawnshopbluess222 @joeldjarin @queenbrownie18 @scarletsloveletter @ladyburberry @swiftsgirlfriend @walkintotheriveranddisappear @sunnywithachanceofjavi @strang3lov3 @hellishjoel @littlevenicebitch69 @pedropascal-whore @alltheseperfectimperfections

#joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal characters #joel miller #the last of us #joel miller fic #joel x reader #joel x you #my writing #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #joel miller fluff #joel the last of us #joel miller the last of us #joel tlou #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfic #dbf!joel

[nyashykyunnie]

˗ˏˋ Sung Jinwoo x Terminally ill Reader ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕁𝕚𝕟𝕨𝕠𝕠˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

‼️[ TW: Terminal Illness, Angst to Fluff, Solo Leveling Spoilers ]

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅ Part 2 || Part 1 ♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

╰┈➤ ❝ [ We'll Try This Again, Begin Again with Zero. But This Time? I'm Never Letting You Go. ] ¡! ❞

Living felt more like a punishment more than anything. The pain he goes through starts feeling more and more deserving in his eyes. He was pushing himself to the limits when he shouldn't, he's punishing himself over a sin that wasn't really his fault.

But if anyone tells him that, he wouldn't look back at them. He would ignore their concerns.

He has a duty to uphold anyway, a duty that only he can do as a monarch.

Jinwoo has ultimately grown to be a vessel of war thanks to the system.

He didn't really care much, he already placed insurance to his name if anything happens to him.

When he's gone, his remaining family would atleast live off of something.

He has already watched his father die too thanks to the godforsaken monarchs.

What more can he loose?

Over and over again, he puts himself in the battlefield, exhausting himself on purpose, never even sleeping nor eating.

He was just fighting like a dog.

Well, dog's get much more care than what he does to himself, so does it really count?

It doesn't matte,r Jinwoo physically cannot be exhausted.

But mentally? It's a different story.

He wasn't really depressed, at least, that's what he tells himself.

He really felt numb, not exactly sad, not exactly happy either. It's as if his emotions lie in the middle.

Jinwoo felt hollow, completely hollow.

As if he were merely nothing more than a puppet in war.

The only thing that really urges him to move forward is the distant sound of his beloved's voice in the back of his head.

And soon, after he had finally murdered the Monarch of Destruction— He would be granted a wish.

Battered and tired while on the floor, he thought of what he could possibly ask from the rulers.

Thought of?

No, Jinwoo already knew what he wanted.

It was to turn back time.

To meet old friends again, to stop the gates from opening, to have his family whole again

,... To meet you again.

Yes. That's right. All of this was for you anyway.

Jinwoo recalls that memory very clearly, how you were still in the hospital bed and you two were playing a game of cards while he tells you about how he plans to be a hunter soon.

Your words were quite cute really: "I hope Woowoo becomes a really strong man!"

Those silly, innocent words of yours.

Up to this day, he still smiles lovingly whenever he remembers that.

He became this strong not just for himself and his family who needs him, but for you, the brave little soul who endured that illness—

Jinwoo fought for you

And since he is given the opportunity to correct the past, he requiested for time to be rewinded.

Right then and there, a brilliant flash of white would engulf the earth, bathing it in all it's glory. eradicating all traces of the lifeforms and shadows there is to this pathetic universe. For once in a million years, the earth was beautiful again. It looked like a star gleaming along with countless others.

Soon, Jinwoo would wake up to the sound of his baby sister's calling. Jinwoo would sit up, gently smiling at her.

It took a while for everything to sink in, for everything for him to realize that this? All of this was reality.

How badly he wanted to find you in the time he spent, for just a few weeks, he enjoyed being a child again.

Laughing with friends, screaming at others for a vanguard or healer in the pc cafe— He wanted to find you in an instant. But not right now.

He took care of some stuff first.

Your illness wont awaken until then after all.

27 years, he spent time in that goddamn dimensional crack fighting monarchs and all that crap.

When he was done, he finally came home.

Just as he set foot back in earth again, he went straight to the hospital.

April 9th of spring, where the pink petals bloomed and flew around the air— This beautiful but tragic day.

Was the first time you had collapsed and coughed out blood.

It started with your lungs, to your kidneys, to your heart, to everywhere.

You had metastatic cancer.

Coughing up blood was only the start.

And Jinwoo had come home just in time.

He didn't even ask for directions, he just went straight to your hospital room.

He knew this godforsaken place better than the doctors and nurses himself after all.

As he pried open the door, there you were, resting on the bed staring absentmindedly at the pink trees outside your window. When yopu heard the sound of the door, you turned your attention to Jinwoo.

Dazzling and innocent eyes, just as he remembers. Your youthful face, free of any sign of wrinkles. Still chubby and plump that he wanted to just kiss your cheeks all over.

As you called out his name, Jinwoo marched over and embraced you tightly.

"I'm sorry, it took me a while" Jinwoo whispers ever so lovingly as he rubs the b ack of your head affectionately.

You were confused at first, wondering why your best friend is acting all cuddly and sappy when he totally did not disappear off of the face of the earth and come out of nowhere like some sort of boogey man. But regardless, you can't help but notice the traces of tears about to break from lovely grey eyes.

When you reached over to touch his face, his voice broke and he started crying almost instantly.

Panicked and confused, you pulled him to a tight hug.

Jinwoo was crying, and in his tears and broken voice you could hear the amount of anguish he had been bottling up, the brokenness in his heart finally being revealed in the open for you to hear and see. It felt as if Jinwoo was carrying a hundred years worth of burden. And you could do nothing more than to soothe him.

"I'm sorry... Ditching you out of nowhere and acting like a sappy pup wo got kicked" He chokes as he chuckles gently, "I promise, promise, that I won't leave you like that anymore. Just trust me, okay? Here, drink this."

He hands you a weird fantasy-potion thing with red liquid inside. You wanted to deny him of it but Jinwoo stubbornly insisted upon it, as if your life depended on it.

Well, tehnically speaking, it did depended on that potion.

After making sure you gulped down every single drop of the crimson liquid, Jinwoo pressed his forehead against yours.

Mumbling ever so sweetly; "Let's do this again, okay? You and me, goofing around. I'll let you eat as much sweets as you like, I'll show a lot of pretty things. Don't worry about anything else, Woowoo will take care of it."

Somehow, you felt that Jinwoo meant that on a deeper level. You felt like right now, what in front of you wasn't just anyone else, but someone ready to lay down their life for your sake. The person in front of you, you felt as if he was going to follow you to the ends of the earth to the stars above your heads. Somehow, it feels as if his words was a promise that he would follow you wherever you go.

He already lost you once, damned will he be if that happens again.

#∞ ₒ ˚ ° 📎— kyunnya speaks #sung jinwoo #solo leveling #sung jin woo #only i level up #solo leveling headcanons #sung jinwoo x reader #sung jinwoo headcanons #ore dake level up na ken #solo leveling x reader

[ackermanbloodline]

The Lethality of Silence - Levi Ackerman x Female Reader

Summary: Levi comes home from a mission unable to speak or function. You take care of him.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Fluff to eventual smut. MDNI, 18+. Idk I wrote this a while ago and I'm noticing tense usage is all over the place but don't really want to edit it so I apologize for that. Anyway, enjoy!

* * *

The sun is now setting outside the home that you and Levi bought almost a year ago together. Warm colors flood the room as you look towards the window in worry, wondering if Levi is alright. He and his squad were conducting a mission outside the walls and concern always flooded you when he wasn’t back home by sundown. It means the mission went either really well or very badly. Nothing in between. You begin to pace back and forth, unable to just sit still anymore. 

Even though you had cleaned the house until it was practically shining and your hands were cracked because of the dryness, you wipe down everything again. Whenever you’re stressed, you clean. That’s a habit that you and Levi share. 

Another hour passes before you hear the opening and closing of the front door. Faster than you can register it, you throw the rag down and pad over to the walkway. You find Levi hunched over with his head up against the door, leaning against it. Blood spattered his clothes, marring the Scouts insignia on his cloak, and caked messily in his black hair. 

“Levi?” you call quietly, being careful to not startle him. In response to your calling, a heavy sigh heaves from his body. You still cannot tell what kind of direction the mission went. Once you can see his face, you’ll be able to. 

You reach your hands up and over his shoulders, unpinning the green cloak from his body. His muscles are tense under your touch. Your heart wrenches. You walk over to the washer, lift up the lid, and put it in. You turn back towards Levi and plant a kiss on the back of his neck. You wrap your arms around his body but he doesn’t reciprocate the gesture in any way. 

“Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

You help Levi get undressed as you run a bath for him, shimmying various items of clothing off him and carefully tossing them in the dirty clothes basket in the corner of the bathroom. He winces every now and then again but doesn’t say a word. All you can hear is his breath trembling just ever so slightly. He tries hard to hide it but he fails. Various marks litter his skin, the early stages of a number of bruises. One encased his entire left rib cage. Your fingertips lightly traced it. You swallow a thick wad of salvia to keep your composure. 

Once he’s completely undressed, he sinks into the tub and his body disappears into the sudsy water below. Almost immediately, the water mutates into a dawn-tinted color. You sit on your knees on one side of the tub and motion him to sink further so his hair goes into the water. Your hand wraps around the back of his neck when he does so and your other hand is being used to softly scrub his scalp with shampoo. 

He closes his eyes in relaxation and after a while, you notice he’s asleep. His trembling stops and his breaths are slow and steady in and out through his nose. His eyebrows are relaxed. His near-constant frown is turned upward into a straight line. He’s never looked more at peace. You look down at him in admiration and continue to wash him, trying to cleanse him from all the stress and worry from the day. Once his head is done, you grab a clean washcloth draped over the faucet and dunk it under the water. You wring it and bring it up to his face, tenderly stroking his cheeks and forehead from grime. Each time revealing more and more of his flawless complexion. You take this moment to admire his beauty. While he isn’t good with compliments and hates it when you make a huge fuss over him, he is, undoubtedly, the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. 

And he’s all yours. 

Once his body is all washed up, you lean forward and kiss his lips, cheeks, nose, forehead. He stirs awake and his eyes crack open. You give him a small smile.

“You need to rinse off.” 

He stands up and you turn on the shower now, making sure every spec of dirt is washed off. From the other side of the shower curtain, you wipe down his entire body again. He is as stiff as a board and doesn’t move. The hot stream of the shower against his scalp feels borderline euphoric to him. 

He steps out of the shower and dries himself off after you give him a towel which had been sitting by the woodstove. His movements are limited and minimal. You retrieve black sweatpants, boxer briefs, and a white shirt from his drawers and set them on the sink. 

“Here are some pajamas. Are you hungry?” 

He says in the quietest voice you’ve ever heard, “No.” 

“Levi, please, you should eat something. How about some bread and tea?” 

“Okay.” 

You leave him in the bathroom to get dressed and go to the kitchen. You put a small loaf of bread on the woodstove as well as the kettle. You lean on the counter and run a hand through your hair, taking a deep breath as you do so. You’ve never seen Levi like this, ever, and you two had been together for a few years. What in the hell happened during this mission? 

You have absolutely no plans to ask him tonight. It can wait until tomorrow. Right now, all you’re focused on is making him feel at home and relaxed. 

The bread and tea are both steaming when you set them on the dining table. Levi had gone to his bedroom and shut the door. You knock on the door. 

“Honey?” 

“Come in.” 

You step through the doorway to find Levi’s head in his hands and sitting on his bed. Your heart aches as you walk over and sit down next to him, carefully palming large circles onto his back. He reaches out and places a hand on your knee, squeezing lightly. You take that as a ‘thank you.’ Levi had an easier time communicating through action rather than words themselves. Moments like this are when that theory proved true. 

“The food is ready.” 

“Okay.”

The two of you eat in silence. You split the bread loaf in half and he takes longer to eat his half than you. He has no problem getting the tea down, per usual. But something is better than nothing. The quietness is deafening yet calming for the both of you. Levi takes about a half-hour to eat his food. Once you two are done, you take the plates and quickly wash them before placing them in the drying rack. 

You pad back over to your boyfriend and carefully straddle his hips while he’s still seated in the chair. He looks up at you with lifeless eyes. But there’s something deep inside them that speaks to you, even now. You brush some of his hair back from his face and set your hand on the side of his face. You gently place your lips on his, kissing him in the most passionate, loving way you can. 

He weakly wraps his arms around you and pulls you closer. While the kiss is very slow, there’s a certain intimacy to it. The kiss deepens and you rotate your head so the two of you lean your heads to the left. His tongue lazily explores yours. His hands settle on the sides of your thighs as your fingers find their way to his hair and stroke delicately. A barely distinguishable groan emits from the back of Levi’s throat. Wetness starts to gather in between your thighs and you can feel Levi’s cock hardening beneath you. 

This certainly wasn’t on your docket for the night but you aren’t opposed to it. 

You pull away from Levi, searching his face for any hints of what he’s thinking. 

“Hey,” you say, leaning your forehead against his. “Are you okay?” 

“Yes.” 

He brushes his mouth against yours and you close the gap once again. You wrap your hands around the back of his chair and you grind your hips down on his. His length presses up against your cunt deliciously and a surge of pleasure washes through both of you. Levi makes another sound, moaning, a little louder this time. You want to make him feel good, to make him feel better. You couldn’t give a shit less about what your own body wanted. 

Your lips travel from his mouth to his jawline to his neck, making him squirm a little underneath when you work to suck, lick, kiss, and bite the skin there. He shifts his hips upward to get some relief, but not nearly high enough as he usually can. It’s frustrating to him. You gently hump him as you kiss on his neck and the combination is enough to drive Levi wild. 

“I wanna make you feel good,” you whisper into his neck. 

“Then do it.” 

You take his words as a challenge. You stand up and kneel down to your knees in front of him. His eyes are glued to you like a car crash. You lift up his shirt partially and kiss his abs, slowly making your way down to the waistband of his underwear. His muscles contract under your mouth and he throws his head back when you trace two fingers underneath the band. Once his underwear and sweatpants are down to his knees, his cock springs free. You waste no time and take it into your mouth. 

His hands firmly grip the armrests of the chair as you go to work on him. His knuckles are white and veins are bulging. Various curses and groans leave his lips, but no coherent sentences. His hips buck up into your mouth, causing his tip to hit the back of your throat. Tonight, you challenge yourself. You take a deep breath and try your best to take him in his entirety. Your lips, inch by inch, lower further and further down onto his shaft. Your eyes sting slightly but you ignore it and continue to push. 

Your lips meet the base of his dick, your nose buried in his pubic hair, and he lets out a louder moan. You are able to deepthroat him and, as a result, he calls out for you in pure pleasure. You bob your head up and down slowly, wanting to break him down in every single way. Your hands steady themselves on his naked, muscular thighs and you use them to balance yourself. 

He runs a hand through your hair, gripping softly. He whimpers, “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…”

He uses your scalp to softly guide your lips up and down onto him. He tries his best to keep his eyes open, to see how pretty you look as you devour him, but the pleasure is too much. It is not long at all before he’s already starting to shake. Part of him is embarrassed that he approaches that edge so quickly, but he couldn’t help it. It’s you. 

He takes his bottom lip between his teeth and breathes loudly as he approaches his orgasm. Just as he is about to be pushed over, he lifts you off him quickly and collapses back into the chair. You are confused as you are left on your knees in between his. 

“C’mere,” he says, holding his hand out and using his index and middle fingers to usher you towards him. “Please.” 

You sit back down on his lap and kiss him as he requests. He tastes himself on your tongue and the thought makes him even harder. So much so, in fact, that it’s almost painful. He pulls away and looks into your eyes. 

“Fuck me.” 

His voice is so sultry that it makes you drip with desire. 

“Baby, no, it’s okay, I don’t want anything tonight. I want to make you feel good.” 

“I’ve been through hell tonight and you are single-handedly the closest to heaven that I’ll ever experience,” he explains and looks down between your legs, your cunt sitting on top of him. “Please, sweetheart, please just fuck me.” 

He is almost pleading at this point. You bite down on your lip in lust. You push your shorts and underwear to the side and you are already so wet that he goes in with ease. Both of your mouths drop open when you gasp as it goes in, reveling in that initial feeling of being so full of him and feeling your warmth encasing his cock. Your eyes roll back into your head, pulling him close to you as you relish how wonderful he is inside you. 

You lower your body up and down onto him, his length thrusting in and out of you at a slow yet perfect pace. Levi’s eyes are glued to your body as he’s pinned against the back of the chair. Electricity sparks in your pelvis and spreads to your limbs as you fuck him. You two are so saturated with passion and need that slaps of skin echo throughout the room. God, you could ride this man forever. His face is priceless. His eyes are screwed shut, his mouth is dropped open, and his eyebrows are furrowed together as his hands guide your movements. He always looks so pretty when he’s being fucked. 

You use one of your hands to circle your clit. Levi feels your walls clenching up around him and his eyelids open to find you playing with yourself as you’re riding him. You look so needy for him that his arousal heightens. He watches you intently. You kiss him again and your tongues instantly find one another’s, slipping and smacking with enthusiasm. In this short amount of time, he is already close again. But thankfully, so are you.

“I’m gonna cum,” he says between gritted teeth. You nod your head and encourage him to do so, so close to your orgasms. With a few more thrusts, he spills inside you and you cum on the spot. His beautiful moans fill the room, as do yours. Your pelvic floor milks him for every drop and he has to steady your hips due to the sensitivity he feels afterward. He stays inside you for a few minutes, gently kissing you as you both come down from your highs. 

He pulls out and some cum drips onto his thigh. Excitedly, you drop down and use your tongue to clean him up. He lovingly looks down on you as you swallow it all. His eyes are so lidded, though, that you’re afraid that he’s about to fall asleep right here. 

You pull your shorts and underwear back on and you help him pull up his pants again. Without a word, you take his hand and lead him to the bedroom. You both approach his side of the bed and you pull down the covers and he plops in. He takes off his shirt and sets it on the nightstand next to him. You cover his body with the duvet and you leave to go to the bathroom and extinguish all the candles in the house. 

You come back and climb into bed with him to find him already fast asleep. You take a deep breath and, once again, push some hair back from his face. Again, this peaceful state is something that you wish he experienced all the time. 

Unfortunately, life doesn’t work that way. 

You set a hand down on his arm and watched him sleep for a few moments before he starts to whine and whimper in his sleep. Your eyebrows furrow together. You wonder what kind of nightmare he was having now. You wake him up by carefully shaking his shoulder and kissing his lips. His eyes go wide as he initially wakes up but soften when he sees you. His arm slithers around your waist and settles on your back, pushing you in closer to him. 

“Mmm,” he sleepily groans. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” 

“I really, really do.” 

“I know.” 

A small smile spreads across his face and you close your eyes, curling up into the warmth of his chest. Whatever happened today, you are sure that he will probably talk about it tomorrow with you. Until then, you revel in this silence and peace. This afterglow. You both drift to sleep, knowing that you are both protected and so loved by one another.

#levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi aot #levi attack on titan #levi x reader #levi heichou #levi x you #snk levi #levi ackerman smut #levi ackerman x female reader #shingeki no kyojin #aot #aot levi #aot smut #aot fanfiction #attack on titan #aot x reader #aot x female reader #aot x y/n #aot x you #levi x y/n #levi fluff #captain levi #captain levi x reader #captain levi x you #captain levi ackerman #levi ackerman x y/n smut #snk fanfiction #snk x reader

[uplatterme]

My Dearest, Cupid

a/n: happy valentine’s! i hate the transition. you can see i'm trying to tell something but i can't tell it properly. nothing too daring tbh.

cw: sub!thoma, cupid!thoma, dom!reader, gn!reader | wing kink(?), bondage, blindfold, implied voyeurism

————

Thoma’s fingers shake as he continues writing on his notepad. This is his job, he has to get used to this at some point. 

He observes, then he writes. 

This is Thoma’s first time being directly assigned to someone. After all his hard work, he’s finally been promoted and is considered capable enough to handle humans.

His first mission is already a freebie, since his goal only concerns a single human, unlike the others who were known professionals who take more than he can even imagine.

The cupid follows you, continuing to take note of the things you do. He’s been doing this for a week now, his notepad filled with random information about you. He knows of your likes and dislikes, your hobbies, your measurements, your schedule…

Of course, it’s just because of his job. He doesn’t…see you in that way.

At this point, the time he’s taking to have you fall in love with someone else is already exceeding the average. He tells himself that it’s just to be careful, that he didn’t want to mess up his first day on the job. However, he can’t hide it from himself that he’s getting cold feet.

If it was Kazuha, he would have helped by whispering verses of love that could increase their human’s possibility of their confession being accepted.

On the other hand, his senior Ayato, would indirectly signal to their human by suggesting what clothes to wear, heightening their confidence about themselves.

Lastly, Miko would be the type to slip something in their human’s drink that would make them feel and look more seductive.

None of those suited Thoma. He’s not great with words to begin with, always seeming to overthink what it is that he says. He’s also not well-versed in the type of clothing that humans wear, so he can’t help in that area. 

He sighs. While he could use gadgets that would make this mission easier, that didn’t seem fair or natural.

It doesn’t even look like you need his help anyways. You seem to be doing fine on your own. The only problem was, he doesn’t know who would be the perfect match for you. 

Unfortunately, time is running out. He needs to fill up your love meter at the end of the day.

He decides based on what he knows. Your coworker looks the closest to you. All he needs to do is to shoot you with an arrow, and make sure that they’re the first person you see right after, giving you that little boost to profess the hidden love you have within your heart. Then, his objective is reached.

Thoma waits, aiming the arrow while you get out of your car. He sees you fix your hair, bending slightly so you can look into the mirror of your car. He takes a deep breath, swallowing all the anxiety away.

After parking your car, he readies his bow. He knows that your coworker will pass by this area at this time since there’s a meeting that’s scheduled for them today.

“Alright,” He whispers to himself, letting go of the arrow as soon as you exit your vehicle.

The arrow flies straight, hitting your chest directly. You stand there quietly, a weird feeling bursting from your chest. It’s a normal side-effect, so he doesn’t worry.

As he predicted, the coworker exits the building and notices you. They’re only a few feet away.

He counts the seconds left until your eyes meet…your body staying still as they walk towards you.

Everything was going to plan.

Was.

A car enters the parking lot, beeping for you to get away.

Oh no. This cannot be happening.

Your mind is still stunned, needing a few more seconds to recover.

His jaw drops in worry. No way the first human he gets assigned to dies because of an external factor.

He panics. He can’t let you die, but Thoma can’t be seen by humans either!

It’s one or the other. Either way, he’s screwed.

He’ll for sure get suspended for this.

Thoma goes quickly, grabbing your body in his hands and flying away from the situation. He made sure your coworker didn’t see anything, though disappearing out of nowhere is still suspicious.

He bites the bottom of his lips, his tiny wings fluttering in worry…

“Uhm, excuse me?”

Thoma looks down to see you conscious, still trapped in his arms. 

He abruptly lets go, unsure of what to say as you stare at him. His wings shy away, this is the first time he’s been seen by a human. Thoma gazes down at the floor, waiting for you to say anything.

“Are you alright?” You question.

“I—Yeah! I-I’m fine!” 

The guide to becoming a cupid never said anything about this!

“You know, you’re really pretty.” You blurt out.

Thoma laughs awkwardly, heat starting to show in his cheeks.

“Thank you…”

A compliment. A human is complimenting him. God, you’re complimenting him.

“Do you always wear that?” You ask, eyeing him from top to bottom.

Thoma nods at your question, starting to get embarrassed by what he’s wearing. It’s a lot different and more showy than what humans usually wear.

“You’re not going to introduce yourself?”

Thoma blinks.

Is he supposed to?

“I’m Thoma…I’m a cupid.”

He waits for you to react aggressively. You didn’t.

Instead, you tug the white fabric of his clothes and you look up at him to ask permission.

“S-Sorry. Is there a problem?” Thoma asks, letting you control his body.

You shook your head. Your hands hover over his body, framing it before touching skin against skin. He gasps a short and tense breath. 

He stares into your eyes and decides that can’t do it anymore. He squeaks, accidentally letting go of his prized notepad, landing between your feet.

“Oh, you dropped this…huh.” Thoma looks anxious as you keep reading its contents.

“Cupid, you’ve been stalking me?”

You’re not mad, not at all. After all, how could you when a handsome fellow swoops in to save you? Granted, he was the one who put you in danger—

Still, the stressed angel in front of you doesn’t look like he means any harm. Especially not with the notes written on the papers…

Come on, cute doodles of you? Your favorite ice cream flavor?

“You were setting me up?” You conclude.

He nods.

“Thoma, you do know that coworker is married, right?”

The cupid blinks at you, wondering if he heard wrong.

“There’s a ring on his finger. Did you not see?”

He thinks, and then he realizes. You’re right.

He bows his head apologizing profusely.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m glad that at least ended with me meeting you.” You reassure.

“No, no. It isn’t supposed to be like this…” He sighs in disappointment.

“At this point, your love meter won’t be filled!” He exclaims.

You stand still, a soft giggle slipping out of you that turns into a loud laugh.

“I’m sorry. A what?” That name was obnoxious. 

“I didn’t name it!” He argues. The more Thoma spends more of his time with you, the more he feels his chest aches.

“Right, right. So, how exactly do you fill it up?”

…

Thoma can’t see a single thing, red cloth covering his eyes. 

His hands are tied behind his back. It’s silent, he can’t even hear your breathing to calm him down.

He understands that’s the point, to make him feel more sensitive, he’s…written about these in his notes.

That you’re that kind of lover who enjoys these kinds of things.

“I wonder, how much is it that you know about me?”

A lot, Thoma wants to answer. Though he shuts his mouth, knowing he’ll get into trouble if he says anything out of turn.

“Are you a pervert, Thoma?” 

He shakes his head.

You hum disappointedly. “You’re not being honest. Should I read what this note says?”

His body tenses up. “W-What note?”

“Spying on me while I pleasure myself. Don’t you think that’s perverted?” 

He’s glad he can’t see your face, he knows you’re shaming him and he won’t be able to take it to see you eyeing him like that.

Your hand slowly caresses his thigh, nothing extreme yet but he knows how this’ll end up. 

“Pretty wings.” 

A slight pinch of his wings sends the cupid whining, his whole body trembling. “D-Don’t…”

“Do all cupids act this slutty or is it just you?”

“My wings are sensitive…” He says, as if you can’t tell that already.

“Such soft feathers.”

He’s never been touched there intimately. His body reacts almost as if he was under some sort of love spell. Thoma’s body moves as you brush your fingers carefully. You were being gentle, yet somehow that annoys the cupid, he’s not that delicate.

He muffles the sounds emerging from his throat by pressing his face on the pillow. He doesn’t like hearing himself sound so whorish…for the lack of a better term. He writhes on the bed, laying on his stomach while he lets you have your way with him. His ass beautifully bouncing with each nudge.

His cock grinds on the soft cushion, the friction immensely satisfying him, a whimper spewing out. After a while his hips start moving on their own, the teasing of his wings getting to his mind.

“Are you that desperate, angel?”

“It feels good…” He says, moving away from the pillow. He can’t see it but he’s well aware of how he’s drooling on it.

“Alright, I’ll let you.” 

He lets out a grateful hum, his wings fluttering as he positions himself. He then squirms as bright light greets him, your fingers taking off the blindfold. Thoma’s taken by surprise, seeing your smile and lifting his body up with ease.

The ties on his wrists make it difficult to resist. Not that he wants to, anyways. 

You position him to face you, his hands still behind his back.

“Do it then, since you’re so desperate to get yourself off.”

His mouth gapes, not sure how to reply. 

“I-In front of you?” He can’t even look you straight in the eye even when just having a normal conversation and you want him to…do that when he’s positioned like this?

“Must I remind you what your notes say again?” You tease.

“N-No! It’s okay. I’ll do it.” Thoma states. 

He grits his teeth, his face burning while he starts moving his lower half.

He’s shaking but it’s more due to the fact that you’re staring at him while he moves his body as if he’s performing for you. He wishes he could put the blindfold back, to at least relieve himself of the humiliation and pretend that you aren’t there.

He can’t cover his mouth or his eyes, forced to sink in the shame. 

Thoma’s not good at this, his movements are sloppy, and each tingle he feels has him needing to stop and take a breath before he could continue even further.

You’re not saying anything, just looking at him with boredom in your eyes. He worries. Did he do something wrong? Is he taking longer than you expected?

And just like that, he crumbles.

“P-Please look at me.” He begins to quicken himself, allowing his mouth to let out whatever lewd sounds it wants.

He looks at you, eyes half-lidded from how he knows that each thrust on the bed succumbs him even deeper and closer to his climax.

His pleas eventually mix with moaning. His voice gets louder as he chants your name, as if he’s fucking you when in reality all he’s doing is humping the bed pathetically.

Shit.

With a sultry whine, Thoma’s drenched in white. 

White that matches his skin, his wings, his tears.

He trembles looking at you for some sort of approval. He excitedly awaits your response, seeing you come towards him.

“Great job.” The cupid expects a pat on the head with those words, though what comes after was more surprising.

A soft kiss planted on his lips, perfectly soothing away all his worries. The cupid’s heart feeling as if he’s the one struck with the arrow.

Oh no.

He’s supposed to make you fall in love, not him!

#sub thoma #dom reader #sub genshin impact #sub genshin #dom!reader #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #thoma x reader #sub!thoma

[covetyou]

some good friend - pt. 1

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist part 1 ⋆ part 2 ⋆ part 3

pairing: Tim Rockford x Soft Dom!Sex Worker!f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: pegging, anal fingering, praise kink, mild glove kink, very mild feminization, masturbation, Tim has body image issues and a bit of an identity crisis, kind of coming untouched, sex work, comfort word count: 7k summary: Nerves were coiling in his belly in a way they typically only did at the end of a big case. There was no judge or jury here, no sentence, no surprise acquittal. There was just your door, and the promise of everything that lay beyond it. And it made him nervous.

A/N: finally, my boy Tim sees the light of day. I've been working on this for a while, and it's been nice to try something a little different. I hope you like it (and someone, anyone, please, stop me from making this a 3 part series too late, it's going to be a series)

divider by @saradika-graphics follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future fics

Everything burns. His lungs, his legs, his goddamned feet.

He wasn't made for this. Not any more. His fucking shoes definitely weren't made for this - a fact made more and more obvious with every harsh, sharp, slap of his soles against the ground. Gone were the days of intense foot chases. They'd long since been replaced with hours spent at his desk, in interview rooms, searching the stacks in the archive room. The only saving grace was at the very least he was accustomed to low light - the dimly lit rooms he frequented coming in handy now as he thuds along in the semi-darkness, chasing after someone who is more shadow than man.

The drizzle of a cold October day certainly isn't helping either. He's coated in a fine mist of rain and soaked through to the marrow. His shoes - these fucking shoes - skid on the wet road, threatening injury with each turn of a corner. Every intake of breath blooms pain in his chest, each gasp seeming to draw in more water than air. That is, of course, if the biting chill of the wind doesn't swipe it all out of his mouth first.

He's drowning. Drowning and suffocating and burning all in one, but he can't stop. He can't will his legs to stop, even through the burn. Stopping means he loses, and he cannot lose. Not again. Not with this case.

But then, he turns a corner and the shadow is gone, faded into the darkness of an unlit alley, and out of his grasp once again.

Shit.

The ache is settled well into his bones by the time he gets home in the early hours of the morning. His tie sits damp in his jacket pocket - discarded at the roadside in a fit of rage and stomped into the wet ground, only to be picked up and pocketed a moment later. He liked that tie. His holsters tug uncomfortably at his shoulders, the twist of his body as he was running having shifted them to where they now pinch uncomfortably at his underarms. He can't wait to discard it all, to take off the whole damn lot - and these fucking shoes - and pretend for just one moment that he's not who he is.

So, he begins to shed the skin of Detective Tim Rockford.

The shoes go first. The jacket second. And then he removes his gun, stashing it in its case where it belongs and throwing his holster at his closet, where he'll no doubt struggle to find it again tomorrow. The burning sear of a shower is the last thing left to rid himself of the title that hangs over him, but instead he walks to his office. He needs to be Detective for just a moment longer.

It's tidier and more comfortable in here than it has any right to be. Dark wood, soft leather, neat folders, and blank papers. Of course, it's neat because he's rarely here to use it, preferring to use the space given to him downtown where a plaque sits on his desk telling all and sundry that Detective Tim Rockford works here. Here, in this room, he can be a little less Detective and a little more him.

He flops heavily into his chair, a move he immediately regrets when he feels the relief of taking the weight off his feet. How he'll ever get up from here, he doesn't know. Maybe he'll sleep here. Halfway between Detective and himself, stuck in some weird limbo where he is both and neither all at once. That'll lead to some good dreams.

Tim thinks of you. This was the place for that kind of thing, after all. This office where he is himself and someone else, the perfect parts of a person to be liaising with someone like you. Because that's what it was with you, a liaison. Nothing more, nothing less. And you, everything that you were, were his last chance for some good news before he peeled back the rest of the Detective and became himself for a few blissful hours.

Pulling a card from a drawer, he flips it in his fingers once, then twice before tapping it on his desk. You'd given it to him on his last visit - your address and number emblazoned on the front, both things he no longer needed to see to know, and a small list of services on the other side. Services that he ignored when you'd first pointed them out to him with a wink, but that he'd since spent a long time mulling over and, on occasion, searching in an incognito window of his browser.

With a heavy sigh, he picks up the phone, dialing your number from memory, and waits for you to pick up. Anyone else would be furious with a 4am phonecall, but not you. For a while he thought it was what suited your work best - common sense, and his years on the job, had taught him that illicit activities so often were better suited to darkness than daylight. But he'd seen clients leave your studio in the middle of the day on more than one occasion. No, by this point he simply suspected you didn't sleep at all.

A click of the call connecting, a soft breath down through the line, and there you are, the lilt of your voice ringing through his ear like music.

"Detective Rockford, how nice of you to call. What can I interest you in this fine morning?"

He pinches his nose, card still gripped tightly between his middle fingers. You did this every time, no matter the time of day or night. You were always on, always ready to try to rile him and get into his bloodstream. He'd admonished you once, told you he was only trying to do his job and he expected you to do the same. When you told him you were doing your job, Tim had to admit you got him there. You were both professionals, just in very, very different ways. From then on, he'd learned to appreciate it. Even if it did make him ache sometimes in ways he thought best to ignore.

"You got any news for me?"

You scoff down the phone. A light sound, but he can picture you rolling your eyes with it anyway. "Always so charming, Detective. Diving straight in without any foreplay at all. You can do better than that. Sweeten me up a little before you -"

"Please."

He sounds desperate in a way you haven't heard before. A year into your arrangement and he'd never sounded so bone tired and stressed out. You can even hear the pinch in his brow over the phone, the wrinkles there getting deeper and deeper the longer you knew him.

"It's been quiet, Detective. I doubt I have the names you're after, but a few whispers have been floating around. The case with the cat still causing you problems?"

From the heavy sigh he gives you can tell it's not what he was after, but that it is, indeed, still causing him problems.

"Well, I heard that..."

And so, you divulge your secrets, secrets that aren't really yours to have or to give, but you give them anyway. Whispers and names softly delivered down the phone line where he scribbles them down on a blank sheet of paper, careful not to indent the pages below it.

The pen clatters to the desk when you finish. You both know you haven't given him what he needs, but if Tim's honest with himself he isn't always sure what he needs from you any more. Though, he knows what he wants. Yes, he's frequently made painfully aware of what he wants.

"Anything you need?" he asks, his voice sounding tight with frustration. You can't blame him any more than you can hold back the laugh that trickles from your lips.

"Nothing right now. Here I was thinking that was my line anyway, Detective. The things I could do for you, if you'd let me."

Tim's eyes are drawn to the card again, now face up on the desk beside the scrawl of information you'd just given him. Truth be told, your services are as emblazoned in his mind as the details on the front of the card. Sometimes, like right now, he could barely get that list out of his mind long enough to think straight.

That's the moment when, after a long day at the end of an even longer week, part Detective but part just him, he gives in to what he's been fighting himself for for almost a year, and clears his throat.

"Like what? What... what exactly could you do for me?"

You're caught between surprise and glee, briefly straightening where you lounge in your chair. Softening back into the plush fabric, you dance a finger across your lower lip, wry smile tugging at your mouth as you think of the very many things you could do for him.

"Oh, Detective Rockford. I thought you'd never ask."

Nerves were coiling in his belly in a way they typically only did at the end of a big case. There was no judge or jury here, no sentence, no surprise acquittal. There was just your door, and the promise of everything that lay beyond it.

And it made him nervous.

He was in half a mind to walk away, but it was too late. His knuckles had already rapped against the wood, and you were already flicking the latch on the other side, readying to let him in.

When you do he's stunned, just like he always is when he sees you. This time you're half naked, a thin robe draped over your shoulders and left untied at the front. Beneath it you're wrapped in soft mesh lingerie, your nipples visible through the fabric as you beckon him inside.

The space - your studio - was a simple office unit in an undesirable part of town, but you made it work. As funny as it felt to admit, it was familiar to him now, and there was a comfort in that that was already easing the swell of nerves in his body. It wasn't always this way, of course, that first visit being eye opening both figuratively and literally. Furniture and furnishings that were odd were now somewhat normal, and the soft, rich, scent that permeated the room was one that he now associated only with you and this place you existed within. It was a smell too, he notices, that is so much stronger today than it has ever been on any of his previous visits, and he breathes in deeply, both to savor it and to calm the last of the nerves vibrating in his core.

When you shut the door, closing off the world outside, you stand before him again, looking a picture of sultry confidence as you size him up. This wasn't something that was new. You often stood there, letting your gaze wander up and down his body, lingering in places that made him flush red as you taunted him with flirty quips he'd ignore. This time is no different, and he finds himself mesmerized by the way you toy with the ties on your robe as you eye him, fingers gliding up and down the fabric.

"Are you here on your business, or mine, Detective?" you say with a smile, drawing his gaze from your fingers to your face. It was a long running joke, something you said each and every time he visited you here, despite the answer always being the same. But today, finally, it would be different.

Tim rolls his eyes, just as he always does, but instead of replying with a curt mine, he lets a smile pull at his lips instead. "Yours."

"Music to my ears. And you still want to do this? You're ready?"

You both knew that had a double meaning. In the literal physical sense, he knows he's as ready as he could possibly be. But he still takes a moment to check in with himself, to see if going through with all of it is something that he still wants. If those whispers down the phone, whispers that had quickly turned from flirty promises to guidance, to gasps, to relief, were what he still wanted. Would it be worth it, or was it a momentary blip of weakness and want? But then he remembers that relief once again, the soothing of that ache like sitting down off of pained feet, and can only imagine how much better that will feel here, with you, in this room. He's ready.

Tim nods, prompting you to take another step forward. The smell isn't the room at all, he notices. It's you. The fragrance clinging to your hair or your skin, he's not sure, but so much stronger each time you move.

"Good," you say on your slow approach. Barely a step from him you reach out, tugging on his jacket and straightening his tie before letting your palm rest on his chest. The soft stroke of your fingers does nothing to soothe the rapid hammering of the muscle pumping in his chest cavity, but you suppose it wasn't meant to. You wanted him excited and desperate for it. He'd already shown you how beautiful he could be for you over the phone - all whines and whimpers and yes ma'am's. Now you wanted the real thing.

"Why don't you get all of this off for me."

Before now, Tim had wondered how you started these things - how you went from 0 to seemingly 100 with clients to get them in through the door and out in the allotted time frame. He hadn't expected it to be so quick, or so easy. Maybe he just hadn't expected himself to be so quick, or so easy, but he's tugging at his tie before you even move away to settle against your desk with your ankles crossed.

"That's it, Detective," you prompt, letting your robe slip from your shoulders and pool at your elbows as he stuffs the tie into his pocket. "I want to see all of you."

And he wants you to see all of him. He wants to take off everything that makes him Detective Tim Rockford right in front of you, and have you take control, tell him what to do, make his mind blissfully empty. So, first he kicks off his shoes, then he takes off his jacket. Slowly, his shirt is peeled from his body, the nerves racketing up again with each button. He doesn't look how he did 10 years ago, he was less lean and more soft than he had ever been, the middle aged spread proving to be a fact of life he couldn't escape.

You know what he's thinking as his fingers stall on the last few buttons of his shirt. You'd dealt with these insecurities before, in countless other clients. You weren't immune to similar thoughts either. But, he'd told you he wanted to let go, to give up control with you, so you nod to the remainder of his clothes and prompt again.

"Come now. Let me see."

Tim's fingers work quickly over the last buttons and pull the shirt from his broad frame just as quickly, giving no time for the nerves to take root. You voice the sound of your smile the moment his shirt is discarded and he looks up to see your appraisal. Each button had drawn your eyes down his chest, to the soft swell of his belly, and further still to the growing bulge in the front of his pants. Tall and broad and beautiful, the mass of man in front of you had the power to catch your eye even fully clothed, but now, shirtless with the promise of more on the horizon, you couldn't ignore the thrill at seeing so much of his tanned skin, littered with freckles and a soft smattering of hair.

His belt is unbuckled and off, and his fingers are pulling open the button of his pants and his fly. He doesn't look at you again. He can't right now - if he does he'll choke up and stop himself, feeling entirely inadequate offering this body of his to you. Pushing down his pants, down past soft thighs and strong calves, he steps out of them, taking his socks with them with each step, before nervously scratching at his belly.

Only then, does he look back up at you. You're enraptured, and have already pushed back off your desk, circling him to look at every inch of his body. You'd dimmed the lights slightly, as you always did for client sessions, but even in the soft lamplight he looked stunning. Your fingers trace the swell of his bicep, across his shoulder and the jut of his shoulder blade. A shudder runs down his spine as your fingers dance across it, down to the dimples at his back and over his hip before you round him again where your fingertips rest on his soft belly and the trail of hair there.

"You've been hiding all of this from me for how long, Detective?" you whisper, letting your fingers glide down further and further with each word. "It makes me wonder what else you're hiding."

Tim's cock twitches in his boxers, the thin fabric straining more and more with each passing moment under your gaze. He'd never felt so seen, so appraised, before. The way you looked at him was so easy, the shine in your eye so bright as he peeled back each layer.

"You still want this?"

It's what he said he'd wanted. Days ago now, but he'd said he wanted it and he did. He does. He swallows thickly, desperate to get moisture back into his mouth, nodding a croak of a yes.

At that, you slide the tip of your finger into the waistband of his boxers and pull, stretching the elastic a fraction before releasing, pinging it sharply against his skin.

"Then get these off too, Detective."

His boxers are on the floor a second later, his cock springing free semi-hard between his legs. Raising your hands to your face, you gasp in faux shock, hiding your very real delight behind your hands as you take in his entire naked form.

"Oh, Detective Rockford. I'm disappointed. After all this time you've been hiding that from me?" you gasp, and while Tim can't help but roll his eyes, his cock betrays him and stiffens even more at your words. You'd been through it all with him. Your services, yes, but also specifically what he wanted from you, some of which you'd discovered together on the phone that morning. This was one of those things - a thing you'd discovered on a whim, but something you both knew he would like before the words left your lips. There was a reason he was asking you for this and nobody else - Tim knew the specific brand of sordid you dealt in and, more than anything, he trusted you. Unfortunately for him, you planned on keeping exactly to your word from that call and, guiding your fingers down his bare chest, you tease closer and closer to his length.

"Tsk. Such a shame I won't be playing with it today."

Tim groans, a gasp of a thing he cuts short with a pinch of his lips. He's frowning again too, but nods, knowing that what he came here for wasn't that, but also very aware of the weight of the words you used. Not today, but not never.

Then, your robe is off and you're guiding him to the bed, where he lowers himself and leans back, watching your form as it retreats into the other room. He looks down, down at the body you'd just spent minutes looking at and enjoying, and wonders what you see that he doesn't. All he knows is he's trusted your word for as long as he's known you, and it's no different now. Whatever you see in him, you at least believe it to be true, and that alone makes it easier for him to believe himself. Before he can figure much or anything else out, you're sauntering back into the room.

In your hands you hold a few things. None of them should be surprising to him, but he still sucks in a sharp breath when he sees it - the strap you'd picked out just for him. You'd told him about it over the phone, said that you had the perfect one for him, that you could picture him beneath you taking it, moaning and shaking as you fucked him, and now there it was, exactly as you described. This was never something he felt able to ask for with anyone else, his ex-wife especially. It's true he was always married more to his job than to her, but even in the privacy of their own bedroom he had secrets and wants he could never share with her - she made that much clear early on. With you, he didn't even need to mention it first for you to suggest it to him, didn't even need to feel the heat of shame in his cheeks as he struggled to find the words for what he wanted, because there you were already with all the answers.

You settle everything beside him, letting him see the soft, slender, curve of the dildo up close for the first time, and pass him a bottle of water. Tim takes it, grateful that once again that it was another thing he didn't have to ask for, and cracks open the lid, taking a deep gulp of the cold liquid before setting it out of the way. Another day he'd wonder how it got to this - how on earth Tim Rockford got so used to suffering in silence that even thirst wasn't something he'd remedy until he was desperate. But, right now all he knows is the heat of your body and the smell of your skin as you kneel next to him on the bed, looking down at him with a smirk on your lips.

"Usually I ask people how they'd like it," you whisper, stroking gently down his neck, "but I think we both know you'd like it on your knees, Detective." You twirl your finger in the air, signalling for him to move, and like the good little thing he is, he shifts onto his hands before crawling forward slightly to perch on all fours on the bed.

You think he looks glorious; he feels so exposed - entirely naked for you while you're draped in that thin mesh he can see right through. He doesn't want to think about how he looks like this, on his knees with his ass on total display, his cock hanging low and, already, starting to leak precum.

Blunt nails drag down his back, softly scraping down his ass cheeks and the backs of his thighs. He shudders. You can see his cock where it bobs between his legs, and his balls where they hang softly just beneath the cleft of his cheeks. If he were a different client, maybe you'd give in and drag your nails across the soft flesh of them too, cup them in your palm and give them a firm squeeze, but you resist. Whatever this is doing to you, you'll deal with later. For now, this is for him and that desperate man, the Detective, who had all but begged you for information down the phone.

Grabbing at the small selection of things you'd dumped next to him, you get ready. Tim watches, eager eyes looking as you pull a black nitrile glove down your hand and snap it around you wrist, wiggling your fingers at him when you spot his gaze.

"I can tell you're excited," you say with a look down to his ass where his cock bounces hard against his belly with a tense of his muscles. "You're so ready for this too, aren't you? You've been waiting so long..."

Guiding your ungloved hand down his ass, you squeeze, gripping the flesh and pulling him apart, exposing him to your gaze. "Very pretty."

Tim huffs a laugh, not believing for a second that he is pretty at all, let alone like this, or there.

"What? You don't think you're pretty, all bent over and exposed for me, Detective? I'd argue you've never looked better."

"Right. Is this how you get all your information? Your clients must tell you all sorta things, huh? Vulnerable like this."

A swift, sharp slap is delivered to his right ass cheek, making him gasp as you tut and soothe the sting with your palm. "Ah-ah, Detective, you're off the clock. No work talk. We're here on my business now, not yours."

"Fu- Never off the clock, not in my line of work."

"And that's exactly why you're here, sweetie."

"...Yes ma'am."

There's a small delighted giggle that you just can't hold back, a sound that makes him flush, before you speak again. "Polite and pretty. Are you ready for me, Detective?"

It's then he realizes that your hand hasn't stopped its slow, steady caress of his ass cheeks, pushing and pulling him apart as you watch the tension leave his shoulders. He nods, trying not to brace himself for whatever is coming first, not hearing the click of a lube bottle through the blood rushing in his ears, but definitely feeling the cool trickle of it when it drips onto his asshole.

"That's it," you say, soothing with your ungloved hand, as your gloved one comes down to stroke the pucker of his ring. "We both know you're familiar with this feeling, Detective. Are you going to let me in here?"

The wet swipe of your finger between his cheeks almost feels like it could be cool, cold tongue with how you swirl it around and around his asshole. He tries not to curl his toes, and manages not to until he can't help but beg, a small please falling softly from his plush lips, and you immediately push, sinking the tip of your finger into his ass.

Tim groans, gripping the sheets in an effort not to surge forward and away from the gentle probe of your finger.

"Make all the noise you need to, Detective."

"Fuck."

Your finger steadily sinks into him, drawing out and in to collect more lube as you drizzle it onto his hole.

"Remember how this feels?"

He remembers. Remembers the crackle of your voice over the phone line as you told him to finger his ass. How his hands had scrambled to turn on speakerphone, the other still wrapped around his cock, jerking weakly as you whispered filthy encouragement down the line. Before even that, he remembers the nights spent in his own bed, concocting his own fantasies while he fucked his fist and fingers in tandem.

Except, your fingers feel so much different from his own, can reach places his cannot, and he's groaning with his head hung low between his shoulders before you're even knuckle deep.

Curling this way and that, you feel him from the inside out. Soothing him with a hand on his back, you can feel the deep breath he takes just as the tip of your finger collides with a spot inside him he was all too familiar with, massaging back and forth until he's a groaning mess.

"Oh, well that's a pretty sound, Detective. It sounds to me like you want another."

If he closes his eyes, he can see it, see the black of your gloved hand curled into a fist as your index finger stretches his hole. He can see already as you pull out a little, unfurl another finger, and slide it next to the first, ready to push into him again.

And he takes it, letting out a shuddering gasp, as your fingers fuck into his ass once again, scissoring in him before pushing down and beginning a slow curl against that spot again.

"There. That was easy. I think someone is enjoying this quite a bit, aren't you, Detective?"

There's no denying it, he is. The feel of your hand making him want to buckle into a heap on the bed already and you'd barely even started.

"Yeah. It's - ah fuck - it's good. That's - uh - not fair."

You'd been curling and prodding against his prostate as he tried to talk, making him garble words at you as you watch his cock get more and more engorged between his thighs. "What's not fair?" you ask, with a firmer press down into the spot, and you relish in the deep gravelly moan that grumbles from his chest, forcing his elbows to drop down onto the mattress.

When his hips buck forward, you place a steadying hand on his back, stroking soothing circles with your bare fingers over the dimples in his skin whilst your gloved ones curl into the spot again and again. Part of him is longing to reach down and grab his cock, to jerk it and come all over his fist with your fingers buried in his ass, but that's not what he's here for. Each time he opens his eyes he's made aware of what he's here for by the strap that still lays next to him. If he comes too soon, he's scared that'll be it over, the relief he was really seeking from you still totally out of reach by his own failure. He couldn't, wouldn't, fail at this too.

"Just look at you, Detective. You're getting so wet already." He is. He can feel it. His cock is dripping, beads of precum collecting on his tip and threatening to make a mess of the sheets below. Nodding and groaning and squeezing his eyes shut seem to be all he can do already, feeling like a total mess of a man with your voice like honey trickling into his ear. "So good. I think you can take one more finger. That's it, just one more. Good. Good boy."

He preens, back arching with the praise, cock definitely dripping onto the sheets now, three of your fingers curling and thrusting into his ass. He throbs, the ache of arousal thrumming through him with no relief, just building and building and building with nowhere to go, because you don't let it. You control it, each press of your fingers still so achingly slow that it can make him drip and ache but never explode.

A thin sheen of sweat is coating his body, his legs shaking, forehead pressed into the cool sheets, groans falling wantonly from his mouth, by the time you gingerly pull your fingers from him. That in itself feels like a relief, he thinks. Even though he's still painfully hard at least, for one moment, he's not being worked up and up to an edge you won't quite let him over just yet.

But the strap beside him is gone when he looks up, pushing up on shaky hands to look around for you again. Now, it sits on your hips, straps pulled taught over the mesh of your lingerie. You're pulling a condom over the length of dildo, rolling it down to the base, your glove discarded somewhere he can't see. His mouth is dry again, so he reaches for the water, swallowing deeply, wiping away an errant drop from the scruff of his beard.

He can't stop looking. Between your face, your beautiful face, your scantily clad body, your hands and those fingers that had just been inside him, the cock between your legs. He's entranced. It takes a gentle hand on his shoulder for him to notice you're talking to him.

"Look at you, Detective," you hum down to him, and all he can think is Yes. Look at me. Please. Here he was, stripped bare as a man could be, seen by you in ways he'd never been seen. And that name - a taunt coming from you that he longed for rather than loathed. Each tease of Detective a reminder that with you he could be both and neither all at once, just as he always was.

He reaches for you then. Slowly. Delicately. Fingers bridging the gap between you. Usually you'd step back, move away from grasping hands when permission wasn't granted. But, you let him touch, his fingers resting on your mesh covered hip and stroking you. It's the first time he's ever touched you, and it's so soft. You're so soft.

"You're ready for it, aren't you?" you ask, your eyes lazily dragging down to the strap between your legs where his follow.

Without word, and avoiding the mess already splattered on the sheet, he moves back to all fours, his hand leaving you cold. Slicking more lube across the strap, you kneel behind him, palming his ass with both hands, rubbing soft circles down his thighs as you gently rut against the crevasse of his ass.

"Do you trust me, Detective?"

It's a stupid question - stupid because you already know the answer, and so does he.

"You're kidding, right?" he says in disbelief, looking around to see the coy smile on your face.

"Humor me."

"Of course I do."

With his eyes still on you, you press forward, hand steadying the dildo to slip the tip into his slick asshole.

"Oh. That's it. Look at me when I fuck your ass. That feels so good doesn't it?"

Tim pants, nodding as you bear forward. The strap is barely thicker than your three fingers, but his rim still stretches and pulls as you breach him, slowly, steadily, until the entire length is buried in his ass.

"There we go. That's it. I'm all the way in. You take an ass fucking so well, Detective. Are you sure you haven't done this before?" With another roll of your hips he's gasping again, dropping his face to the sheet. The heat of his thighs are against yours and you know, you just know, that his cock is straining, his balls begging to empty already.

"There we are. That's it. You can take it. Oh, good boy. You like that don't you. You like being a good boy."

With his cheek is pressed to the mattress, you can see nothing but the pinched look of ecstasy on his face. It's boiling in his veins too, the heat spreading up his back and burning his cheeks. If he opens his eyes he'll see you, looking down with intent at his ass as you slowly roll your hips into him, and the thought alone makes him groan, brings him so close to coming that he's scrambling for purchase on the bed again, desperate gasps rattling out of him. The cloying scent of you is all over him - stuck in his lungs like molasses, each deep breath in of you coinciding with each slap of your hips against his ass until desperation turns to pleading.

"Please. P-please. Fuck. Please."

"Please what?" you say, looking around at him. And that's when you see his cock, angry and weeping, splattering cum all over your sheets. You hadn't felt him come yet, there'd been no tensing of his muscles or twitching of his cock, just a steady stream of precum dripping from him like a leaky faucet. "Oh, look at that. You're making quite the mess, aren't you, sweetie? Are you going to clean that up? Hm? Or will I have to bill the city for my laundry?"

"Oh, fu-," he pants, and you feel a shiver trickle down his back at the empty threat, his palms pressing harder into the mattress beneath him as his shoulders draw back. He's going to come. You don't even need to move, you could just talk to him in that voice of yours, call him a good boy and tell him how dirty he is and he'd be gone, skyrocketing to a place he'd never been and making a glorious mess of everything.

"What was that?" You slow down the roll of your hips, drawing him back from that edge you'd been dangling him so deliciously over.

"No. No. Don't - Fuck."

"Then you'll have to clean up your mess."

You swipe your finger through the cum that has steadily dripped from his cock and onto the sheet below, and lean forward to bring it to his lips, pressing your hips further and further into his ass. There's a sticky sheen of sweat on his back that slicks you together, and you can't resist. You kiss him. Soft lips pressing into the muscle of his shoulder, waiting for that moment he parts his lips in a voiceless moan to slip your finger inside. His tongue laves around your digit, tasting himself on the salt of your skin and he groans, vibrating desperate sounds from his chest to yours as you fuck so deep he's seeing stars.

"That's it, that's a good boy," you coo, dragging your finger from his mouth, leaving a trail of saliva across the scruff of his cheek.

"It's such a shame I have no use for your cock when it looks so pretty, Detective," You say, lifting your leg to fuck more deeply into him. "Look at it, all drippy and useless. You're going to come, aren't you? Even without touching your cock, you're going to come and make even more of a mess."

"Yes. Fuck, yes. Don't stop."

The steady slap of your hips picks up, and you're panting with exertion now too. You could've had him coming in five minutes, but that was no fun for you. You'd waited too long for this not to drag it out, not to see how long he could hold off for you, how much of a desperate mess he could be before he was begging for release. This was it. His limit. You'd found it, and his groans were suddenly impossible to ignore, shooting white hot heat into your own core, making you feel slick with want as you fucked him. You need him to come, before your need for more friction clouds your brain and you need to slip your hand between your own legs before he even leaves.

"Such a pretty ass to ruin. Come for me, Detective. Oh, fuck. Come for me."

He stops breathing. He thinks he's died. He has to have. You think you've killed him. But then his whole body tenses and he groans out a sob, biting sheets and spitting them out over and over as he comes, and comes, and comes. You don't stop, each shuddering sob of a gasp spurring you on until he's milked dry and almost prone on the mattress.

"That's it. That's it. You did it. Good boy. Well done, Detective. Well done."

He feels so soft. His bones must have turned to dust and spurted out of his cock with that final thrust of the strap in his ass. He's never been this weightless, never been this carefree. There's not an ache in him, just pure bliss, and he's so relieved he could cry.

And you're there. Pulling out of him slowly, wiping down his back, his thighs, with a damp towel, cooling him before you dry him with another, bringing water to his lips for him to drink. Pushing his hair back from his forehead, you guide him onto his back, letting him lie down and take a moments rest you know the man wouldn't take any other time. You're fairly certain he doesn't sleep. Detective Rockford works too hard because he cares too much, you know that. And you also know he doesn't care for himself. That is why he's here, even if he'd never say so himself.

"Up you get, sweetie. It's cold. Let's get something on you," you're whispering to him all too soon. Tim's lost, the concept of time gone from his body entirely, but he supposes it has been too long, his time is up. He only paid for an hour of your time, and even that seemed much more valuable than the price you'd put on it. He should go.

When he sits up he's lethargic, reaching for his clothes as he shuffles to the end of the bed. He doesn't know you're holding a robe out for him, strap discarded. He doesn't see the concern in your eyes because he suddenly can't meet them. "Should get going, I guess."

"No. You shouldn't. Stay."

Tim looks up to you then, seeing you wrapped and fully covered for the first time in the year he's known you. You're no more on the job right now than he is, he realizes, blinking in confusion at the robe you toss next to him.

"Look, I've taken up enough of your time, I don't want to overstep -"

"I'm not asking you to stay as a client, Detective. I'm asking you to stay as a friend. Stay. Talk to me." And you say it because god knows you mean it. You want him to stay and you want him to talk as much as you know he needs it, that gap he'd bridged with his hand now being bridged by you, and your simple request that he stay.

"Some friend to have."

"A good friend to have, Tim.”

“- I didn't mean - I meant me, I -”

“The point still stands either way," you say. And you mean that too. "Stay."

And that's it. There he is. Stripped back, just like he wanted. No more Detective. Just Tim. And there you are. Sitting on the blanket draped sofa, looking him straight in the eye. You don't need to look down to see him, and he doesn't need to look up to see you.

Grabbing the robe, Tim drapes it around himself, walking on unsteady feet toward you, the mess of the sheets and his life forgotten for one more second.

"Decaf? Might not have all the answers. But I do have coffee. And that's a start."

"Yeah," he says as he sits beside you. "Yeah, that's a start."

taglist: @jupiter-soups @wannab-urs @bean-is-reading @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @youandmeand5bucks-blog @bbyanarchist @vickywallace @kamcrazy123 @valkyreally @ashhlsstuff @a-literal-goblin @ariundercovers @iluvurfather @stevie75 @toxicanonymity @thesevi0lentdelights @sp00kymulderr @corazondebeskar-reads

also a little sneaky tag if you showed interest in my snippet the other day 💛 @heareball @nerdieforpedro @missredherring @survivingandenduring

#tim rockford x reader #tim rockford x f!reader #tim rockford x you #merge mansion #merge mansion fanfiction #tim rockford fanfiction #tim rockford #detective tim rockford #coveted fics

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

Of Truths and Dreams; Lilia Vanrouge

Dreams can tell a lot about a person. Their wants, their fears. But sometimes they can tell you the truth, and sometimes it isn't pretty.

Supporting Characters; Baul (for a second), Sebek Zigvolt

Content; Soulmate AU (I call them soul matches), gender neutral reader, can be read as familial, platonic, or romantic, Chapter 7 spoilers, hurt/comfort, some General Vanrouge

Content Warning; Chapter 7 spoilers, war, death (talk, I don't describe it), angst? (idk man)

Word Count; 5.5 K

Don't put my works into AI, as AI steals in order to "create".

Sebek's Story | Malleus's Story

The Thorn Fairy had gifted a blessing to the fae, a blessing of soul matches. 

A connection forged between two souls. Such a connection is rare, and different variations do occur; primarily in beastmen and merfolk. Each clan had their unique soul match bonds. And the fae were no different. However, their history was not written down on paper, or carved into the corals. The information and history of fae soul matches was an oral history, passed down from generation to generation through hushed tones. 

To outsiders, they shrugged it off as just another odd behaviour of the clan, but the fae had good reason to be wary. In the past, the knowledge of fae soul matches was shared with an outsider, and because of that blunder of misplaced trust, the royal family was targeted. But that was many a queen’s reign ago. But the fae do not forget such transgressions, no; that story, that history, is used as a warning. Tell no one but whom you would trust your life with any information regarding your soul match, lest it be used against you. No one outside of the fae, save for their soul match, is to know of this most treasured bond.

Despite the secretiveness of fae soul matches, they were celebrated once they manifested themselves, as they were a blessing from the Thorn Fairy herself. There is a catch though; due to their long life spans, it can take years, decades, or even centuries in the very rare and unfortunate cases, for the bond between soul match partners to manifest itself. The only thing more unfortunate than it taking centuries is if their soul match were human… for a human lifespan is only a fraction that of even the more short-lived fae clans. It was seen as a tragedy, a doomed pairing from the beginning, with a heartbroken fae as the only possible answer. Such pairings were pitied, and seen as bad luck.

But what does the bond between soul matches take the form of within the fae? What does the Thorn Fairy’s blessing of soul matches look like?

There are many speculations on that. Many scholars say it is a mark on the body; a mole, or three scratches. But that is not correct. It is not a shared song, a stone messenger, or a coloured thread on their finger. And there is a written record of the bond as well; one just has to dig deep into the records, scrolls, and tomes that exist within the library of the former castle of the Draconia’s.

It is also a melody, a hum on the lips of many fae if by chance you are able to hear it. I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream. The soul match bonds between the fae and their match took the form of shared dreams, tinted the colour of their soul. They cannot truly see the other, or speak to each other, but the gleam in their eyes is one that will stay in their mind, as it is so familiar a gleam. 

…

…

…

Rest is a luxury, a luxury that Lilia could not spare. The war would not wait for the general to be well rested, or wait for him to have a nap. No, it would continue until it either ended with one side coming out the victor, or it would end with peace negotiations. Rest can wait. But the fae in his company were sleeping, and he was on the first watch.

But there was something else which made him avoid resting; his dreams. His dreams were black and white, devoid of any colour, and he was always alone in them. Yes, there may be other people, but they didn’t interact. His soul match was nowhere to be seen. Three hundred years and there has been absolutely nothing.

He wasn’t alone on watch duty though, Baul was beside him, staring out into the dark. 

“You need to rest,” he huffed, shooting a look towards Lilia from the corner of his eye. 

Lilia quirked a brow, but his gaze did not waver from the darkness of the forest. There was something out there, waiting. “I can rest when this is over.” His voice was cold, sharp, like that of a blade. “I cannot rest while a war is still being fought on our lands.”

Baul pushed his shoulders back and turned his eyes back to the darkness of the forest. “General, if you do not rest, it will eventually catch up to you. Whether you like it or not.” 

He was right, if Lilia did sleep, it would eventually catch up with him in the worst possible moment. The last thing that he needed was to fall into a microsleep in the middle of battle. Thirty seconds of vulnerability in the heat of conflict could spell the very end for him. He let out a tired sigh, “I suppose you are right. When our shift is over I can rest.”

After an uneventful night watch, save for the crack of a stick in the distance — which turned out to be nothing more than just a deer passing through — Lilia turned in for the night in his tent. He stared up to the ceiling, and tried to fall asleep, but the harder he tried the more difficult it became, but eventually exhaustion won over frustration and Lilia fell asleep.

His dream was black and white, as always. They have been devoid of colour for the past three hundred years, so why would they be any different now?

He was a child again, playing in a flower meadow with Malenoa and Levan. Well, Malenoa was playing whereas Levan had been dragged along against his will. And Lilia? Well, wherever the crown princess went, he followed; part of it being that they were friends, the other being that he was raised alongside her and swore to protect her.

“Lilia! Come on,” Malenoa shouted from across the glen, a big smile on her face. “Last one to the thicket is a rotten egg!” And she took off, dragging Levan behind her, the young boy letting out an undignified squawk.

Lilia gave chase, a peel of laughter escaping his lips. “That’s not fair! You got a head’s start!” He eventually caught up to the two royals at the large rose thicket on the outskirts of the meadow. “I guess I’m the rotten egg,” he huffed before sitting down next to a dishevelled looking Levan.

He didn’t really understand why the Thorn Fairy had bonded them together, Malenoa and Levan couldn’t be more opposite of each other. But soul matches do work in mysterious ways… But Lilia wondered when the Thorn Fairy would place that blessing onto him. He had spent, and would spend, his life serving the royal family after the queen had taken him in, so why didn’t the first of the royal bloodline deem him worthy?

Malenoa was looking at the roses until she found one that she liked. She plucked it from the stem, whispered a quiet thank you to the briar patch, and then placed it behind Lilia’s ear. A baby pink rose, but he could not see the colour of the flower, only that it was pale. A stark contrast against Lilia’s jet black hair.

“What’s that for,” he asked but did not dare remove the flower. He should have been used to Malenoa’s antics by now, but she still caught him off guard despite their time spent together.

Malenoa hummed, “Pink suits you, plus since you were the rotten egg, you stunk so badly that you needed the rose to cover up the smell.” She stuck out her tongue and pinched her nose with her fingers, giggling. “A stinky, stinky egg! Right, Levan?”

Levan looked tired, but he nodded his head. “Unfortunately it seems so.” He coughed, trying to cover up the chortle that nearly escaped his lips.

The easy nature of the dream shifted, the briars from the rose thicket separating Lilia from Malenoa and Levan. The thicket then caught on fire, smoking out the dream (the memory?) in a thick, dark, smoke.

Lilia woke with a start, and placed his hand over his heart. It was beating fast, and he was covered in sweat. He then heard a commotion coming from outside, and it wasn’t the usual squabbling he heard as people tried to barter over the best breakfast options.

He strided out into the camp, and he didn’t make it very far until one of the soldiers came clamouring over to him, tripping over their feet in the process.

“G-general!” They heaved, looking pale. “N-news! From the front lines!” They handed him a scroll before taking back off to their tent.

Lilia opened the scroll and his eyes froze, pupils contracting into harsh slits. The parchment crumpled in his tight fist, but he regained his composure. They had a war to end, but Lilia’s mission had shifted from that of victory for country. It had shifted to justice; to serve justice to the murders of Malenoa. For his friend, his family, for Levan, and for her unhatched egg; the hope, and now only future, for the Draconias.

…

…

…

Another four hundred years had passed, and Lilia’s dreams were still black and white. And where he may have had been bitter in his younger years, he no longer held that resentment. Yes, he still questioned why he had not received a soul match, but he had accepted that it was simply not to be. Besides, he now had more meaning in his life. He had been many things in his life; a friend, a soldier, an advisor, and now, a father. The silver haired baby that he had found years ago, Silver, was everything Lilia could ever really ask for. He loved Malleus, but not to the same degree as Silver; Malleus was the heir to the throne above all else.

Lilia was content with how things currently were, happy even. He had found his purpose.

“Hmm, this school year should prove interesting,” he hummed to himself. The ceremony was today, and it proved to be a most interesting one at that. He did wonder what the newcomer, the one not suitable to any dorm, would do. They didn’t seem like the type to just leave things alone. He shook his head though, and made himself comfortable in his bed, turning in for the night.

He was in the meadow of his youth again, but it was now overgrown. The vines from the rose thicket choking out all of the other flowers and grasses. And all but one rose was withered away. And this single rose was pink. Lilia could see colour, and the pink bled into the rest of the dream, casting everything in a rose-tinted light. 

After seven hundred years, the Thorn Fairy had finally answered his call. And everything was pink. “After all this time, now you have decided they can enter my life,” he whispered, looking directly at the rose. 

If he were younger, he would have been overjoyed, but Lilia knew that he did not have the commodity of time at his side. Despite the fae’s long lifespan, he was old, and his magic reservoir was running low. And the bitterness that he had since forgotten reappeared. “Why would you put them through this?”

He turned on his heel, but stopped. At the edge of the meadow was his soul match, he could not make out their face, appearance, nor their voice, but he knew it was them. “You should leave.” His words were not spoken, but were instead written in the air in glowing pink letters. But instead of turning around and leaving, they took a step forward, and then another, before coming to rest in front of Lilia.

“Who are you,” their words were written in pink letters, just like his. And even though he could not see their face, he could distinctly tell they wore an expression of confusion. “And why is everything pink?”

Lilia woke up to the sounds of his alarm going off, ripping him out of the dream. Why is everything pink? His soul match didn’t know what the colour ment, which could only mean one thing; his match was not fae. His soul match was mortal. And that revelation made a lump form in his throat.

He was worried about his soul match outliving him, that the possibility that he would outlive them never crossed his mind. Why had the Thorn Fairy chosen them? Why did she gift him an ending that would end in heartbreak?

…

…

Ever since finding yourself in Twisted Wonderland you started keeping a dream journal. Alongside the weird, and sometimes downright disturbing, dreams about future overblots, you had rose-tinted ones with a stranger in them. But they kept their distance. And you hadn’t found any answers for them. 

“Human!” The sharp shout from Sebek tore you away from your thoughts, as the first-year student was incredibly… loud. “Do you know how rude it is to ignore somebody when they are talking?! Did you not sleep last night?!” 

In the few months that you’ve been stuck here, you came to call the abrasive Diasomnia student a reluctant friend. He may be prickly, but it was his own way of showing that he cared… in his own roundabout way which usually involved yelling and non-intentional insults. 

Did you not sleep last night?! Yes, but it was anything but restful.

You were in the midst of a battlefield, which was now long over. The only evidence being the hollow armour of warriors long fallen. And, as in all of your dreams, there were roses everywhere. Their thorny vines creating a wall, trapping you and the pink stranger in together.

This wasn’t your dream, it was their’s… or more like a memory? It was all way too centred in reality, in mourning and loss, to be a dream. What did they live through?

“What happened here?” Your words floated gently in the air and only disappeared when the stranger noticed them.

They picked up a broken spear and held it gently in their grasp. “What do you think? War. War is what happened here.” Their words floated in front of you, and you could see the weight of them on their shoulders. “The dreams of many died here, the only thing remaining of them being the armour that was supposed to protect them.”

What the hell have they lived through? “... were you there?” 

The dream shifted, no longer were you standing on a long forgotten battlefield, now reclaimed by nature, but you were now sitting in a dark castle. Not even the pink hue over everything could brighten it.

The stranger went up the stairs. Go away, can you not tell I am not the best person for you? Our story will only end in hurt. But they said none of that, continuing to go up the long winding staircase. “Did you hear me? I asked you if you were there!” You yelled after them, following them up the spiralling staircase until the both of you came to a halt in front of a large wooden door, scorched at the bottom.

“Yes,” the words floated in your face before fading away. “I was there… I led the battle. I led them to death.”

I led them to death. You were sweating buckets, but before you knew what you were doing you wrote down a note in your dream journal

Roses. Thorns. Battle. Magic. War. You had no real idea what it all meant, but it was somewhere to start. A step in the direction of figuring what it all meant

“No,” you said, avoiding Sebek’s concerned gaze, “I didn’t sleep well… not at all.” You hadn’t slept soundly in weeks. You hadn’t had a pleasant dream since you woke up here. “Nightmares,” you whispered, “night after night. And a stranger, the same stranger, who is avoiding me.”

Sebek’s face paled, and he placed his hand on your shoulder. “Human,” his voice was now quiet, guarded. He led you to a classroom and made sure no one was around. “Are these dreams a certain colour? Do words float in the air? Can you not make out their face?” Even though this was the quietest that he has spoken, it was also the most serious Sebek had been with you. 

You nodded your head, “All of that, yes. How did you know?” Your brows pinched, and you let out a deep sigh. “Sebek, if you know something, please, just tell me.”

Sebek was fighting a war in his head; tell the truth to you, or keep the fae soul match a secret. But the dark bags under your eyes told him enough. “You have a soul match, and they are fae. I’m… sorry.”

The bell rang and he was off to his next class, leaving you alone with this world altering information. I have a soul match? They’re fae? … why did he look so sad for me?

…

…

…

Lilia noticed something off about Sebek the moment he walked, or rather stormed, to the confines of his room. So, he followed, gently knocking at the door, waiting for an answer.

“May I come in?”

He heard Sebek scramble up and open the door. “Of course, Lilia-sama!” He was just like his grandfather; loud, a bit too stiff for his own good, but loyal, almost to a fault. 

Lilia walked over to the bed, and patted the spot beside him. “Come, sit. You seem to be carrying quite the burden.” He had noticed Sebek’s odd behaviour all day, and it wasn’t like him to do so. “Come now, out with it.”

Sebek picked at a loose thread on his bedding, and massaged his temple. “It’s about soul matches.”

Lilia felt the lump in his throat form again. “What about them? They are a blessing from the Thorn Fairy herself. Who are we to question her decision-”

“A human disclosed that they have a soul match, a fae soul match. And I told them that. I broke the oath to not tell anyone!” Sebek clenched his fists and looked down at the floor. “They aren’t even my soul match, and I told them!”

Lilia placed his hand on Sebek’s back, and started patting him on the back. A gesture that meant everything was going to be okay. “Well,” a breathy chuckle escaped his lips, a soft smile on his face, “they deserve to know what is ahead of them, do they not?”

Like I have been trying to tell mine, but they still have not left it alone. They keep on showing up, night after night.

Sebek seemed to calm down, but there was still a lot weighing heavy in his mind. “It’s not my place to talk. It is for them, and their match to decide. But,” he took a deep breath, and that familiar intensity in his eyes was back, “I can’t help but worry.”

Lilia recognized the look in his pseudo-adopted son’s eyes, it all too well reflected the look Baul would get before battle. And this was Sebek, concerned for a human, which would only mean one thing; whoever they were, they were a friend of his. And that narrowed everything down. Time to do some sleuthing of my own. “They’re strong, most likely stubborn. They shall be fine,” his voice was light, trying to brighten the atmosphere of the room. “It’s late, you should really get some rest.”

With that, Lilia walked out of the room and softly closed the door. There was something that he needed to do tonight, in his dream.

…

…

This dream was different from all the others. There were no signs of the thorny brambles of roses. There were no signs of war. No, instead Lilia found himself in the courtyard of Night Raven College, the sun high overhead and a slight breeze playing with loose leaves. This wasn’t his dream; it was his soul match’s. And you were sitting under a tree, looking up at the sky, just watching the clouds pass by. 

“This is a nice change of pace,” the pink words drifted slowly in the wind. “Better than nightmares and bad memories.”

Lilia felt a twinge of guilt. Better than nightmares and bad memories. Those were his doing. And instead of him being subjected to your nightmares and memories that you would rather forget, the both of them were here, in a quiet moment in time. There was no war, there was no loss. There was only you and Lilia, and an easy feeling. “You are too kind,” he sighed. Thank you. That is what he meant.

You hummed, “I can’t control my dreams, so it’s really just a fluke.” You sighed and rested your head against the tree, closing your eyes and enjoying the filtered sunlight. “I’m just happy it’s a pleasant one.”

“As am I,” he took a seat next to you and looked up to the sky, watching the clouds aimlessly pass by. I need to tell them. “It is cruel, what the Thorn Fairy has done to you. Gifting you a fae soul match.”

You turned your head towards him. Even though you couldn’t truly see who they were, you could see that they carried a lot on their shoulders. You didn’t say anything though, but instead offered your silence as an indicator for him to continue.

“How much do you know about soul matches?” It is their and their soul match’s decision. He wanted to tell them everything, so that they could decide for themself if they wanted him in their life.

You sighed. So now they decide to tell me? “Pretty much nothin’. Just the basics; soul matches exist, which I can kinda infer what it means, they’re gifted by the Thorn Fairy, and you’re fae. I have found absolutely nothing that even talks about the subject, and nobody but my one friend has mentioned it.”

Nobody but my one friend has mentioned it. Were they friends with Sebek? That would narrow down everything drastically, and would also explain why they were relaxing at Night Raven College in their dream. Lilia knew them. They were already closer than he ever thought. 

“So, please,” you turned to look at the stranger, your soul match, eyes gleaming gently. “Tell me, tell me everything.”

So he did, he and you sat under the tree for the entirety of the dream, discussing what soul matches were, the different forms and bonds they come in, and what you could expect from this. 

I know you, that look in your eye is so familiar a gleam.

…

…

Ever since that dream from a few days ago, you have noticed your soul match get more playful and teasing in your dreams. They no longer held you at a distance, it was a drastic but welcomed change. The cold was gone, and instead there was warmth. But something still felt off. With everything that has happened, with seeing each other's dreams and memories, you still didn’t know who they were. And everytime you tried to tell them your name, the words didn’t form. It was annoying.

“Something on your mind, Prefect,” a familiar teasing voice chuckled from behind you. Lilia shot you a teasing smile, eyes twinkling with mischief. He used to startle you whenever he decided to sneak up on you, but you grew accustomed to his playful nature. 

You shot him a look, but then shook your head and chuckled. “Just thinking is all. What about you?” You had noticed that Lilia had gotten more lively, the dark cloud that seemed to hang around him for the past few weeks had seemed to vanish. “You seem to be in a more chipper mood,” you chuckled.

 He gave you a quiet chortle, the only real evidence of it being the subtle movement of his shoulders and the quiet exhale from his lips. His magenta eyes gleamed softly in the dim lighting of the hallway. They were familiar, but you could have sworn that you had seen them somewhere before, but the answer was avoiding you.

“Just a lot has happened is all, and it brought a surprise with it.” Lilia was cryptic, but it was a part of his odd charm. A mix of something old beyond your years, and a more youthful impishness. It was endearing.

He reminded you of somebody, but you couldn’t quite place your finger on it. “Fine then, old man, keep your secrets. One day I’ll make you spill.”

The two of you exploded with laughter, and Lilia patted you on the shoulder. “Maybe someday. I’ll be looking forward to it, Prefect.” He waved you goodbye as he made his way to his next class. Leaving you alone in the hallway. 

You hummed to yourself as you made your way to your next class, History of Magic, where Trein was preparing on his lecture to tell the first years about the fae-human wars. Something that you had already witnessed the aftermath of, despite not knowing it at the time. After all, that’s what that one dream was about; the one of the meadow, the rose briars, and the rusting armour laying half buried in the earth. But you didn’t know the true horrors of war, and your soul match made sure that you would never have to witness what he had.

…

…

…

You were back in the meadow, in the middle of the fray. No longer were the rusted armours and broken weapons half buried, their wielders were alive again, and you were caught in the middle of it. The sky was an angry shade of pink, and thunder rumbled ominous in the distance… nope that was cannon fire.

Everything was absolute chaos, and you were thankful that nothing could harm you in the dreams, but that didn’t make you flinch any less whenever a ghost arrow flied through the air. Or maybe it would be more accurate to call you the ghost. You weren’t going to dwell on that though, since you didn’t want to push your luck. Something you seemed to be in short supply of.

You saw a flash in front of you, and a bat-masked figure was in front of you, glowing red eyes staring at you, before running back into the battle. Even though this was a dream, you could have sworn that they saw you. And then you were ripped away from the battle ground, being pulled up by your underarms. Looking up you saw the fuzzy and distorted visage of your soul match, pulling you away from danger.

“What were you doing?!” They snapped at you. You couldn’t hear what they were saying, but you could infer their tone and emotion from their body language and you know, hauling your ass away from danger.

You patted their forearm, and looked back down to the flashes of magic and metal gleaming in the waning light of the setting sun. “Were you here? This is more than a dream, isn’t it? This is a memory.” 

Dreams are often a flight of fancy, but for Lilia, and for you, they were more than randomly concocted scenarios played out by the sleeping mind. These dreams held truth, the dreams were memories. And this memory showed the most impactful one.

“How many?”

That statement could mean so many things. It could mean how many battles. How many lives were lost. How many lives had he taken. “Too many to count,” is what he decided on saying. It was true though, Lilia had lost count of how many times he had done all of those things. “You must think of me as cruel,” a sad yet harsh laugh left his mouth, and he looked down at you. “A monster.”

You looked back. There was sadness in your match’s eyes, but also a tiredness. “I don’t think you’re a monster, or cruel though.”

Lilia looked into your eyes. You were being honest, sincere, and your eyes showed that. They were the only part of you that he could clearly make out. They were familiar, they were warm. “I am down there though, leading the assault… against the humans.” Against you.

“The past is the past. What is done, is done. We can’t change that.” Leading the assault… didn’t Professor Trein talk about the wars today? “I won’t judge you based on your past, especially if you’re super old which I know pretty well that your are, gramps. But you can’t change it. It has left its scars, but what matters most is the present and what lies ahead.”

You were right, and Lilia felt foolish to let that small part of himself, the insecurity of not being wanted, fester. “I’m the old one? You sound far more wiser than your years… you whippersnapper.”

The battle faded away, and the two of you floated down to the meadow. It had morphed, morphed back into the meadow of Lilia’s youth; filled with wildflowers, grasses, and the rose thicket was in full bloom. And if you listened close enough, you could hear the laughter of a young girl in the breeze as a raven flew overhead.

…

…

Lilia needed to find you. Your dreams were filled with premonitions, and they sat heavy in his mind at the repercussions they could make. They sent off alarm bells in his mind. Lilia was in a tizzy. I have to find them.

His magic was running out, and he knew that his lifespan had shortened drastically. He would be lucky to live another sixty or seventy years, which was nothing in the eyes of many fae. But that was a human lifetime. A lifetime that could be spent with not just Silver and Sebek, but you. He wanted to find you. He didn’t care what form your soul match bond took; be it like the relationship of family, of friends, or of lovers. He wanted to find you, needed to find you.

I know you, that look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam. Those eyes, they were the only part of you that he could ever make out. Eyes filled with mischief, responsibility, curiosity, and kindness. He knew those eyes. They were your eyes, the Ramshackle Prefect’s eyes. How could I be so blind?

It made all too much sense. The dreams had only started when you showed up. He felt drawn to you, like a moth to flame. It made sense that you would be the human that had made Sebek drop his guard and tell a human about fae soul matches. It made all of the sense in the world. And it had taken until now for him to realise. Perhaps he really was an ‘old man’ and already going senile like you joked, both in and out of the dreams.

That is how he came to find himself at your front door, in the middle of the night, still wearing his hot pink and neon green pyjamas. All because of the one dream, the most recent dream of overblot, and his own realisation of who you truly were. So he knocked three times, and waited for you to come down.

You groaned awake, the faint memory of the dream still weighing heavy on your mind. I can never catch a break, huh? I swear if it’s Ace I’m going to drop kick him. You begrudgingly made your way to the front door, and opened it right as a yawn escaped your mouth. “Lilia?”

What was Lilia doing at your front door? It was like two in the morning… although his bat print pyjamas were pretty great. Was that ‘Bat-tastic’ written in swirly font? Where in Twisted Wonderland had he found that?

“What are you doing here?” Was what you said instead. 

“Do you recognize me,” he whispered, taking your hands in his, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.

Recognize you? “Your Lilia, of course I recognize you, old man.”

He looked at you, magenta eyes practically glowing in the dark. Familiar magenta eyes. Eyes that held such familiar a gleam… as if you had seen them countless times in your dreams, tinted a paler shade of the colour. “Prefect, have we met before? I could have sworn that I met you… once upon a dream?”

It all made sense. It all made sense. The coldness at first, the memories of war, the playfulness. Why everything was pink. Your match, the perceived stranger, was no stranger at all. They were Lilia.

“So you’re them,” you said softly. “We’re soul matches?”

He shot you a playful wink, “It would seem so. And I’m happy that you are them, and they, you.”

All of those centuries spent alone, wondering why the Thorn Fairy had not granted him the blessing of having a soul match, and then the confusion of finally receiving one after years of nothing, now had an answer. It was you, and Lilia knew that the seven hundred years may have been lonely, but whatever time he had left, he would be more than happy to spend with you. 

Fin!

Author's Note; Enjoy this word vomit. If you want to read more, do check out my masterlist.

Tags; @xxoomiii @eynnwwyjth @twistwonderlanddevotee @savanaclaw1996 @identity-theft-101

#twst #twst x reader #twst x gn reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x gn reader #lilia vanrouge #lilia vanrouge x reader #lilia vanrouge x gn reader #general vanrouge #sebek zigvolt #twst soulmate au #i had to stop myself from making reader say “cowabummer dude” to lilia #chapter 7 spoilers #wanted to try and explore different parts of lilia #also i want that bat-tastic shirt i know his ass would own one #always nervous posting diasomnia content since uhhhhhh ovo; y'all scare me #enjoy your gilf though #started august 5 ended august 9 2023 #putting my start and end dates in the tags for my own uses #sebek is next and his story SHOULD be more humorous and fluffy #should being the key word; idk what my brain is going to come up with yet #idc if it's overused; i am using the shared dream trope and running with it #if you see grammar mistakes shhhh; no you don't #soul match au #*folds my hands and judges engagement* this decides your future #idk what compelled me to include sebek in this but i did #the series is almost done YIPPEE!!!!

[thatsonemorbidcorvid]

A few weeks after #MeToo exploded on the internet, an old friend and I did what so many women did during that time: We got on the phone and finally began to acknowledge what had happened to us. My friend shared a story of hers from college. Back then, we’d all just considered it a “bad date,” but she now recognized it as sexual assault. She also shared that at nearly every single job she’s had since college, a boss or co-worker has sexually harassed her.

The month before our conversation, I had published an essay sharing my own experience of sexual assault while traveling abroad. Like my friend, it was not my only experience—it was one of many. But I’d only included the one, because in the early stages of #MeToo, the idea of sharing one assault story still felt risky. The idea of sharing more than one felt culturally impossible. My friend agreed.

“As a woman, you’re only allowed one #MeToo moment,” she told me. “After that, people begin assuming the problem must be you.”

Out of the many celebrity #MeToo stories told in the past five years, only a handful have acknowledged the experience of multiple assaults. In an HBO documentary, Alanis Morisette spoke about repeated incidents of statuatory rape that happened when she first entered the music industry, all of which “fell on deaf ears” when she tried seeking accountability. In her memoir, Selma Blair wrote about a teacher who sexually assaulted her, as well as the many men who raped her in her 20s. In an interview with Dazed, Amber Rose said, “I cannot even count how many times a famous guy touched me inappropriately.” On a social media post during the Kavanaugh hearings, Tatum O’Neal wrote about her multiple assaults: “It was not my fault when I was 5, 6, 12, 13, 15.”

Stories that emphasize the ubiquitous nature of assault are vital in a world that so often focuses on one dramatic episode, with visceral details of the violation and an easily identifiable villain. This amplifies the false idea that assault is just a singular, horrifying incident—when in reality, many of us experience it as part of a larger, more insidious culture.

Once a person is assaulted, research shows they’re more likely to be assaulted again, a phenomenon called “revictimization.” Around 50 percent of children who survive sexual assault reexperience it later in life, and even a single incident of sexual assault in adulthood can increase the risk for it to happen again. As psychologist A.E. Jaffe and her colleagues wrote in a 2019 paper on revictimization: “Perhaps the most consistent predictor of future trauma exposure is a history of prior trauma exposure.”

Why would this be? In lieu of a good answer for it (more on that in a moment), we often blame victims themselves. We easily justify these statistics by suggesting that anyone who has survived multiple incidents of violence must be asking for it—either by acting promiscuously, hanging around too many shady men, or getting themselves into precarious situations. One survivor I interviewed told me that though she received some form of victim-blaming in response to all three sexual assaults she experienced, she noticed a stark decrease in support each time it happened again.

“After the second and third, some people began saying, ‘What’s happening in your life to attract that?’ or ‘Do you have enough awareness to know when men want to harm you?’ ” she told me. “One person even asked why I was ‘trusting men so much.’ ” Another friend who experienced multiple assaults went through a similar line of questioning, only with herself. “After so many times, I began asking myself, ‘What is it about me that brings on these experiences?’ ” she said. I told her I ask myself that question all the time.

In his essay “Spectator” for Roxane Gay’s anthology on sexual assault stories, Not That Bad, Brandon Taylor wrote about his best friend telling him she was beginning to think she was “just the kind of person this stuff happens to.” For a long time, that’s what I believed, too. As a travel writer and a single bisexual woman, I figured that at some point, I’d pay the price. Eventually, I’d have to face some element of physical harm—wasn’t that the obvious trade-off for attempting a liberated life? To me, survivorship—more than resilience, bravery, or strength—often felt like resignation.

But in some cases, it’s exactly that resignation that influences repeat assaults. While there’s no conclusive evidence as to why revictimization happens, we do know that normalizing assault can contribute to future harm. If a survivor has not internalized their experience as exceptionally traumatic, they are less likely to advocate for themselves, or demand accountability if it happens again. If they, like me, accept violence as an obvious fact of their lives, then when it repeats, they don’t seek the support they need to process and heal from each experience.

In an article for Psychology Today, psychotherapist and clinical social worker Keith Fadelici called this a “cognitive accommodation to ongoing violence.” The trauma continuously gets downplayed as victims attempt to normalize their assaults, which helps them feel more in control. “This dissociative process is a common symptom of PTSD,” Fadelici told me. “And can also later make survivors less capable of detecting risk by numbing the fear that is supposed to trigger alertness to danger.”

Oppression also plays a significant role. Those with marginalized identities are more at risk for experiencing assault in general, and thus more likely to experience it again. LGBTQ+ people are four times more likely to be assaulted than the general population (bisexual women and trangender people also are far more likely to experience assault than gay men and lesbian women). Rates of sexual assault for Indigenous women are three times higher than non-Indigenous women, and Black women are much more likely to experience assault than white women. Neurodivergent people are 11 times more likely than neurotypical people to be victims of violent crimes.

“If this is coming up repeatedly with one individual, it might be because that person is within systems and structures that facilitate assault more often,” said Jaffe. For those of us living with any of these identities, we normalize violence because living under oppression is consistently violent. In order to survive, a “cognitive accommodation to ongoing violence” is necessary. We train ourselves to get used to it, and move on.

After #MeToo, I began reading and rereading the legal definitions for rape and sexual assault to make sense of what had happened to me. Any sexual contact that occurred without consent constitutes assault? Any sexual contact that included penetration without the other person’s consent constitutes rape? The criteria felt almost too easy. Under these standards, I had been raped twice, and assaulted several other times—all stories I had not yet fully internalized, and was not yet ready to tell. Dozens of legal crimes had been committed against my body, but that idea felt so unfathomable I hardly knew what to do next.

In the three years after publishing that first story, I experienced more incidents, and I still don’t know what to call them. I don’t feel comfortable firmly declaring them as “assault.” I don’t like how it connects so deeply with an oppressive legal system, and how it automatically connotes some excessive form of violence. Even today, it seems too strong and rough a word for how these episodes played out: often with little physicality, with only brief conflict and polite turns toward quick forgiveness, until weeks later when I’d unpack the severity of what had happened. As I began sharing more of these stories with close friends, I would catch myself saying “technically” before saying “I was assaulted,” acknowledging the semantic disconnect I still felt. This hesitation is common among many survivors: As one 2019 meta-analysis showed, rates of victimization increase when participants are asked “behaviorally descriptive questions” about what happened to them, rather than questions that use terms like “rape” and “assault.”

Sometimes, people ask “How many times all together?” I say “six-ish,” a number that captures the amount of experiences that have dramatically changed the way I relate to my body—how it experiences intimacy, how it engages with the world: The one that happened at work, just weeks into my first job out of college. The one at a festival in India. The one while getting a deep-tissue massage. The one at a New York play party. The one so common I learned it has its own name (“stealthing“). The one with a lover I had loved and trusted deeply. The one with another lover, a violation that was not sexual but physical and thus, as yet another nonconsensual act done against my body, still felt so connected to all the rest.

And this still does not take into account every time I was nonconsensually touched in public—the men who pulled and grabbed my arms, my back, my butt, my shoulders to try to get my attention on the street—nor the times I’ve been followed, harassed, physically threatened by strangers on the street.

The accumulation of more and more of these events creates a compounding impact, one where each additional incident begins to amplify the ones before. For me and most survivors I spoke to, we are not healing from trauma—we are learning how to exist in a world where trauma continues to accumulate.

Every survivor I interviewed for this piece told me they fully accept the potential that they’ll experience assault in the future. Still, most of them admitted to me that it’s still easier to only share just one story with the world—never the full range of what has happened to them. “When you only have one story, the enemy is the rapist,” one survivor told me. “But when you have several people with a lifetime of these experiences, the enemy is all of us.”

This is what we mean when we talk about rape culture. The first thing we can do to start to dismantle it is to recognize what we’re up against.

[estelofrivendell]

The Lucky One (Legolas x Female Reader)

summary: legolas reflects on living his life with a human.

word count: 1016

a/n: not sure how i thought of this. it's not long (not that anything i'm writing lately is long) and i always wanted to write more for legolas. i miss writing for lotr, even though i'm now focused on other things.

The sun shone brightly as it rose, birds were singing and chickens called, signaling the beginning of the morning. Legolas was a night owl but grew to appreciate the mornings because it meant waking up beside you, a reminder of the peace and quiet you now had. Moments such as these made him appreciate the little things in life more than he thought was already possible.

Once upon a time, the mere thought of being intimate with a human scared the living daylights out of him. Now, he cannot imagine being with anyone else other than you. A woman and an elf was initially unheard of, and before your union, there were no such examples. They were so different yet so alike Legolas appreciated humans.

He loved all your flaws, both physical and personality, because they were a part of you. Humans were not infallible, including you, but they would not be who they are without them, and Legolas cannot say elves were always noble and faultless since the dawn of history. The good things about you outweighed the bad things about you and he would be damned to leave behind what he had with you just because you were not of his kind.

You stood there at the doorway, rubbing your eyes, hair untidy and your overall state unkempt, and he loved that. He loved that cheeky grin of yours even more; it was the most beautiful smile he had ever seen.

“Good morning, sunshine.” Legolas brought in the food he cooked, with the ingredients he obtained while you were still asleep. He knew it was your favourite, even if he did not like much of your food tastes. “Slept well?”

“I did.” You reached out for the comb on the wooden desk. “I do not remember what I dreamt of, not that I ever do, but I slept well, yes.”

It amazed him that men could dream and did yet not remember them. Legolas remembers all his dreams vividly and it meant something, little or large. In the occasional morning that you remembered what you dreamt of the night before, it was all about things that were not possible. He also found it intriguing that a subset of dreams, nightmares, could be so overwhelming to the point it woke you up. Multiple times this has happened, and you tell him it was always about the war.

“I dreamt of the woods,” he said. “Not of Mirkwood, I know that all too well. But it was not like any of the woods we saw on our journey either. I think we are meant to be there sooner or later, whatever it has to offer us.”

“Well, whatever woods you want us to travel to, I do not want it to have anything similar to those frighteningly humongous spiders your realm has. Or any orcs possibly hiding and waiting to kill anyone and anything on site. I want to live, Legolas, and not like a reckless fool.”

Legolas smiled. “There is nothing to worry about. Those spiders are only in Mirkwood, I can assure you that. I have lived many years and possess a great deal of knowledge on what to expect when facing the unknown.”

You frowned. “Right, but I never forgot you were a thousand years old. How can I? Nevertheless, reading numbers of books and hearing it from your fellow elves and friends, well, Aragorn only, is nothing like actually being there yourself.”

“As I just said, there is nothing to worry about. I will always protect you, always, with or without danger.”

“We humans are known for being brave and courageous, whatever elves believe courage means, and yet you are less hesitant to face the unknown.”

“Are we? I do not think so. I think that is the specialty of humans. What you believe is the unknown is not entirely unknown to elves. Remember, my dear, before Rivendell, I have never ventured farther than the outskirts of Mirkwood. The thought of leaving my beloved home terrified me. You, on the other hand, are like a moth to the flame. I remember thinking how could anyone be so sure in helping a little hobbit you do not know destroy the One Ring, when the odds are slim?”

“It was the right thing to do. I thought elves were insistent on their morals.”

“We are. But the conditions of acting on it depends. Most of us are not as brave as you. That is what I admire about you.”

“And I admire your wit, and everything about you, actually. I always said I was lucky to love you.”

“No. I am the lucky one.”

You sighed. “This again?”

These conversations went nowhere and were all about you two fighting over who loved each other more, who was more lucky, and who was undeserving. Arguing with you was not far from arguing with a wall, but he would still choose you over anyone else. That is what he thinks love and commitment are all about, staying by the side of who you care about the most, despite their issues, flaws and struggles. Because in the end, it will all be worth it.

The end. Those two words scared Legolas the most. Elves have no end, but men do, and there will come a time where you will grow old and leave the world, and leave him alone as he remains young and beautiful, but become wiser and weary. Instead of glooming over the future and events that have yet to happen, he would rather cherish the present and show his love and appreciation for you. He made a commitment to you, and when the time comes, he will watch over you and care for you, because that is what he vowed to do. For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health. He thought these were such beautiful vows for humans.

Legolas loved you and he always showed you that since he first knew what it meant to love a human and will continue to do so until your very last breath.

#lord of the rings imagine #lotr imagine #legolas x reader #legolas imagine

[jjkeverlast]

bloodline | jjk #3 (m)

-> pairing fuckboy!jk x fuckgirl!f.reader

-> genres/aus slow burn, friends with benefits au, smut, humor, angst and college au

-> summary a relationship was the last thing you wanted, but having wild and experimenting sex? now that was something, and jeon jungkook is there to give you simply that. as long as either catch feelings... but that won't be hard for you knowing you'd never go for a guy like jungkook, although jungkook might have another opinion about you. let the (fun) begin!

-> word count 4.8k

-> warnings dry humping | grinding | oral (m. receiving) | rimjob rimjob, oh did i mention rimjob?! lmfao | oral (f. receiving) |🙅🏽‍♀️ if ass play is not of your taste, this isn't for you! 🙅🏽‍♀️ oh and we cannot forget, sub!jk :')

-> author's note hi? 🤥

masterlist for bloodline

jungkook🙄: wyd rn [3:46 am] 

You rub your eyes, squinting as the light shines directly into your eyes. When you catch onto the text, you mumble under your breath. 

“You have got to be kidding me.” 

you: i’m sleeping [3:48 am] 

you: thanks for waking me up idiot [3:48 am] 

jungkook🙄: sorry baby [3:48 am]

jungkook🙄: go back to sleep it can wait [3:48 am]

Okay, now you’re curious, so to keep yourself awake you crawl upwards, leaning your back onto your headboard. You know this is his way of keeping your attention, by giving you a tiny taste of something he wants, which increases your curiosity. 

you: too late for that [3:49 am]

you: tell me [3:49 am]

jungkook🙄: you sure? [3:49 am]

jungkook🙄: it can wait dw [3:49 am] 

you: jungkook istg [3:50 am] 

jungkook🙄: all right all right [3:50 am] 

jungkook🙄: so remember last time when you sucked me off? [3:50 am] 

The event he’s referring to, happened not even two weeks ago. Of course you remember, and the surprise piercings he showed up with. Fuck, that nipple piercing is still deeply engraved in your mind. But then you also remember how he fleeted with an attitude, when you kindly asked him to leave after he got what he wanted. It was indeed weird. He’s not even bringing it up, almost acting as if it never happened. 

you: how could i not?? [3:50 am]

you: you do know it happened not even two weeks ago right? [3:50 am]

jungkook🙄: well excuse me for asking [3:50 am]

jungkook🙄: but [3:50 am]

jungkook🙄: fuck how do i say this [3:50 am]

you: lmfao why are you so nervous [3:51 am]

you: it’s just me dude [3:51 am]

you: we’ve seen each other naked so many times pls [3:51 am]

jungkook🙄: shut up [3:51 am]

jungkook🙄: you did something [3:51 am]

jungkook🙄: when you went down on me… [3:51 am]

You take a moment to think. Did you do something different? Not that you’re aware of— or, wait. Does he mean…

you: when i licked your perineum?? [3:51 am]

jungkook🙄: yeah why did you do that [3:51 am]

The response makes you guilty, especially since you did it out of curiosity, aching to please a man in different ways than just a blowjob. When in reality, you hadn’t even thought about what Jungkook would say to this. Yes, you made an agreement that this was strictly sex and to explore different things, but rimjobs were never a topic. Maybe Jungkook sees it as taboo, many do, which is why rimjobs are rarely spoken of when it comes to a woman doing it on a man. 

you: sorry koo [3:52 am]

you: i was just curious [3:52 am]

you: next time i’ll promise to ask before acting on instinct [3:52 am]

you: it was never my intention to make you uncomfortable [3:52 am]

jungkook🙄: woah woah woah [3:52 am]

jungkook🙄: slow down babe [3:52 am]

jungkook🙄: that’s not why i asked [3:52 am]

you: what???? [3:52 am]

jungkook🙄: i asked cause… [3:52 am]

jungkook🙄: i haven’t stopped thinking about it [3:52 am]

Oh. 

Your eyes open wide, re-reading his message as if it isn’t real. Jeon Jungkook has been thinking about it? He’s been thinking about your tongue elsewhere than on his cock? 

jungkook🙄: did i freak you out [3:53 am]

you: no no just didn’t expect it [3:53 am]

jungkook🙄: yeah sorry maybe this was a bad idea [3:53 am]

you: jungkook. [3:53 am]

you: you’re not the only one who’s been thinking about it [3:53 am]

jungkook🙄: i’m not??? [3:53 am]

you: no…[3:53 am]

you: was just unsure if i should bring it up [3:53 am]

jungkook🙄: i can admit that i’ve been repulsed by the idea [3:53 am]

jungkook🙄: but fuck [3:53 am]

jungkook🙄: it felt so fucking good [3:53 am]

you: you liked it?? [3:53 am]

jungkook🙄: babe i might’ve liked it too much [3:53 am]

jungkook🙄: i’ve been watching porn about it cause i was in doubt [3:53 am]

jungkook🙄: now i’m just.. curious about it [3:53 am]

Is he suggesting…

you: yeah? [3:54 am]

jungkook🙄: yeah even though it makes me fucking nervous just thinking about it… [3:54 am]

jungkook🙄: but i definitely want to [3:54 am]

jungkook🙄: with you [3:54 am]

You lose your breath for a second. Never in the months of casually fucking around with Jeon Jungkook, had you expected for him to be so open about rimjobs. So open, that he’s texting you at almost four in the morning about it. But it’s happening, and just the idea of Jungkook lying beneath you, letting you run your mouth wherever makes you wet. 

Fuck, you really wanna try this. Even though you’re not certain how exactly it plays out, you do. It’s something new for you both, and just when you had tried other things for the first time, there was great communication and a whole lot of orgasms. So, in the end you’re not too worried. 

you: fuck [3:54 am]

you: me too [3:54 am]

jungkook🙄: will you come if i asked you to rn? [3:54 am]

You don’t even hesitate before replying. 

you: be there in 15. [3:54 am]  read

Saying you’re nervous would be wrong, it’s more excitement you’re driven by as you move towards Jungkook’s front door. As promised, you’re here fifteen minutes after your last text, his apartment only being a few miles from you. 

It’s lucky for you that Jungkook lives alone, which also explains why you mostly fuck at his place, but lately it’s been at yours. Not only did it result in Cho-hee catching you both in the act, but you had to sneak him in as well — twice! 

Finally, you bring yourself to knock, letting the excitement play with itself as you await for Jungkook to open the door. When he does, you don’t expect to see him in nothing but his black sweatpants. Literally, nothing else. 

“Hey–” Jungkook notices how your eyes stay glued on his shiny nipple piercing, smirking when you realize he’s caught you ogling. 

“Don’t say it.” Jungkook holds his hands up in surrender, chuckling when he moves aside, letting you step into his entrance. 

Jungkook stands patiently, watching you take off your shoes and coat, and that’s when you notice how long his hair has gotten. His hair curls neatly behind his ears, tucked by a headband and fuck, that has to be the hottest thing… along with his piercings you’ve grown very fond of.

You’ve barely stepped inside when Jungkook grabs ahold of your waits, pulling you so your chests knocks into his. 

“Wha—“ 

Jungkook kisses you, slow, almost like a peck and pulls back. His forehead keeps itself leaned onto yours while he softly smiles. 

“Well someone’s impatient.” You comment, making his eyes roll. 

“Been hard ever since our conversation.” His hand moves down lower, onto your ass, grabbing it to push you close so you can feel— and yeah, he wasn’t kidding. 

“Shit.” You mumble under your breath and he hums in agreement. 

“Bet you’ve been wet as well.” His voice is so low, it goes straight to your core, only making it worse for you cause you haven’t even been here for two minutes and he’s already pushing all your buttons — which will result in you becoming extremely impatient. 

Instead of agreeing to his statement, you kiss him again, longer this time. He complies, opening his lips wider so you can trail your tongue on his lips as you push it in further. It’s wet, messy, warm and you really need to move to a bedroom, or you’re going to end up asking Jungkook to strip down in the middle of his hallway. 

“Come on.” He pulls you by the arm, trailing his hand down to intertwine your hands, as he guides you to his bedroom. 

Every light in the apartment is off, only his night table lamp still turned on. The room is just as you remember it… very Jungkook. Dark walls, furniture, posters of his favorite bands and white sheets. 

He decides to lay down first, sitting up right as he leans on his headboard. You join him, straddling his lap as you go back to kissing him like you did in the hallway. This time, you grind down, feeling how hard he is under you with every motion. God, you’ve missed this. 

His upper body feels hot and warm under your palms. Your fingers trail further down, tracing the outline of his abs. You can’t believe he’s this hot. Sure, it occurred to you the first time you spoke to one another, but with time it’s really made you realize how great he looks. 

Jungkook has a habit of biting down on your lower lip, always managing to make you moan when he does. The nibbling sensation afterwards has to be the best part as you’re still able to feel it afterwards. 

The more he bites, the more you grind down on his covered cock, feeling the outlines as it stretches you out, despite the thick fabric standing in the way. You need it gone. 

“Take your pants off.” You breathe out, as you pull away, noticing how flushed Jungkook looks from only kissing you. 

You help him out, pushing your hips upwards, so he’s able to take off his pants. He leaves his boxers on, probably to tease you or maybe he just loves edging himself. 

“You too.” You nod, moving away from his lap to take off your checkered pajama pants. Jungkook giggles when you whine in frustration when the edges of your pants refuse to pull down. 

“Don’t laugh.” 

“What? It’s cute.” You scoff in annoyance, finally managing to get them off. 

Therefore you return back on his thighs, your covered core rubbing more thoroughly on his hard on. Jungkook bucks his hips to meet yours, your clit pressing down on his tip and shit how come that feels so fucking good?

“Fuck—“ You whine as you pull your lips away from his. 

“Baby. Fuck, wanna eat you out.” Jungkook runs his tongue on your neck and down to your cleavage but this was supposed to be about him. 

“Not now. Wanna taste you.” You hear the gulp Jungkook does at your words. 

“O-okay.” You’ve never seen him like this, all shy before which is probably due to him trying something he never thought he would. It is something that’s slightly strange to many, you’ve been composed to it as well. Until your friend from back home had told you how it was when she went down on her boyfriend. It made you curious, looking up on the internet regarding the infamous rimjob on men. The people speaking about it were mostly women, explaining their own experiences in detail and some open minded men as well who were very open to share how it felt. Somehow as time went by, the idea didn’t become that ridiculous, only tempting. 

Thankfully, Jungkook took the same road as you, with porn of course. It could be a good thing, having visuals directly and seeing if you’re into it, but for you it was more than that. You wanted to know how it felt, for the ones receiving and giving and it sounded hot. 

There’s a certain comment you’ll always remember. 

“My boyfriend has never been loud in bed, always keeping his mouth shut, until I gave him a rimjob and he was fucking whining.”

You thought it wasn’t real. How could you when the only partners you’ve had in bed were quiet, keeping it sufficient with low pants. Until, you took a risk, in your very own bedroom floor and licked Jungkook’s perineum. The sound is still clear as a blue sky, light and choked up. It might’ve been the best sound you’ve ever heard from Jungkook, although he’s been very keen on dirty talk and making you aware of how good it feels for him when he fucks you. No, this was completely different, as if he truly couldn’t hold it in and it simply slipped. 

“Do you have lube?” Jungkook’s brows furrow at your question. 

“Lube? What do you need that for?” 

“You know, if you ask for my fingers…” You’re teasing him and he notices it when you start to chuckle before he falls for your trap. 

“No. No fingers in my ass, I’m serious Y/N.” He’s tense in his voice, certain that he would never ask for such a thing. 

“We’ll see.” You send him a wink before you move downwards, letting your tongue run freely on his exposed chest. You glance down at the nipple piercing, noticing it’s healed better than the last time and you’re holding everything in you not to run your tongue on the metal. Instead, you run it over his non-pierced one, softly biting down on the nub. The vibrations from Jungkook humming in pleasure course through, making the tip of your tongue slightly tingle. 

Reaching the waistband, you look up to make sure this is what Jungkook wants. It’s not that you don’t trust him, people can easily back out when they’re in the moment, but Jungkook only perks his eyebrow, internally asking you why you’re pausing and that's enough of a signal that he wants you to continue. 

With a swift pull, you relieve his cock from his briefs, leaving it exposed on his abdomen as you kiss and bite onto his abs. Jungkook tries his best not to move but he’s impatient himself, especially when your cheek brushes against the length of his cock. 

“Please, baby don’t tease.” 

“Jungkook, we’ve been hooking up for months. You should know by now that it’s my favorite thing to do.” He knows you’re right, since the first time you’ve gotten your hands on each other, you’ve been on a winning streak with teasing him whenever the chance stood. 

“I hate you.” He says with a smirk, all while you join in with another wink sent directly to him. 

“No,” you grab ahold of the base before continuing, “you don’t.” 

“Fuck, you’re gonna fucking kill me one day.” Jungkook breathes out, pleased by your fingers just curling around him. You haven’t even moved your hand yet it still makes Jungkook react as if you did. You and your little temptations… they might actually kill him one day, he’s not wrong. 

“Maybe,” you make the first lick, it’s long, slow and wet all the way to his tip, glistening with pre-cum. It adds a certain pride in you, even though this isn’t the first time you’ve made Jungkook wet by barely doing anything. He keeps telling you it’s because you’re a tease, but deep inside your heart, something itches which is a sign there might be more to it. You don’t have time to dwell on it too long, wanting solemnly to focus on Jungkook and every part of him. 

Enough teasing from your side, you give him exactly what he needs. Good fucking head. Lips and tongue trailing on every edge of his cock, making it all wet before the warmth of your mouth engulfs him. Jungkook grabs onto your cheek, loving how he’s able to feel the edge of his cock in your mouth while you move your head up and down. 

The strokes are slow, along with your mouth, only blowing him to get him a bit more comfortable before you run down lower. Jungkook seems more at ease, pleased with what you’re doing now that teasing is out of the question. Some part of you wants him to beg for it, or just ask nicely for you to do it yet you’re not sure he’ll ever manage to do it. 

It already took him two weeks to just admit he’s curious about trying it. 

After getting his cock nice and wet, you release it with a pop, moving downward to his balls, licking them and rolling your tongue flatly on them. 

“Ah— yes, fuck.” Jungkook moans at the touch, being overly sensitive yet loving your warm tongue on them. 

You carefully take one in your mouth, letting it rest in your mouth as you slowly suck inwardly, cautious with not using teeth. 

Jungkook fucking loves when you get all messy, not caring where your mouth is on him. His usual hookups were afraid of playing freely with his balls, focusing only on his cock which yes, felt good but there’s something about the rest too that feels completely different. So, when he met you, and you didn’t even think twice as you went down on him, running your mouth everywhere ��� he knew that it wouldn’t be the last time he’d see you. 

Now he’s here, months later, sprawled in his bed with you in between his legs as you do everything that feels good to him. Yes, Jungkook is a fuckboy, and yes he’s mostly known for his wonderful one night stands all over campus but fuck, you’ve always been worth more than that. Everything about you feels like a drug that he can’t get enough of, desperately aching for it. 

Jungkook tries his best to keep calm when he sees your head lower, your mouth kissing his perineum softly. But he’s nervous, too nervous to look you in the eyes as you’re about to do it. 

“Wait.” You stop immediately, removing your face from his crotch. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Y-yeah, just let me—“ Jungkook looks around, grabbing the pillow to his left and hugging it. 

“You can continue now.” He closes his eyes, waiting for that simple touch of your tongue on his rim but it never happens. Jungkook removes his pillow, looking down at you with a confused expression. 

“What?” 

“I just didn’t expect for you to want to hug a pillow when I’m about to eat your—“ 

“Don’t say it. Please, I’m nervous, okay? This is a big no touching territory for me. But I trust you, and if anyone does it, I want it to be you.” Jungkook has never been more certain in his tone. He definitely knows he wants to do this with you and no one else. Because, he never really got to know his hookups, until he met you. 

“It’s okay to be nervous. Just know we can stop at any moment, I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to.” You run your hands on his thigh for comfort and the touch does help calm down Jungkook’s burning nerves that have only become worse. 

“I want to.” He grabs his pillow again, hugging it, letting you do what you’ve been curious about — the same for him. 

“Okay.” You trust him as well, that he knows, so when he doesn’t say more you return back to your previous position. 

The night lamp is helping you see only a glimpse of Jungkook’s untouched hole. It looks pretty, and without thinking twice you do what you’ve been wanting to do for months, languidly stroking your tongue on his rim, just once. 

“Nghn—“ You hear from above you, a fucking whine. You don’t continue, waiting for Jungkook to say something. 

“Holy shit what the fuck?!” He sounds speechless, too stunned about his own noise that slipped past his lips, meanwhile you only feel yourself grow wetter. 

The sound was so pretty, so gentle…

“You okay bub?” The nickname just slips out, Jungkook feeling his cheeks grow hot from it. 

“Yeah, I’m okay.” He is, it felt fucking good and you haven’t even properly eaten him out yet. 

So you do it again, a long stroke with your tongue on his rim, coating it with your saliva. The sounds from Jungkook only continue from every action you pursue onto him. You’ve become addicted to the high pitched breathless noises that escapes Jungkook’s mouth due to your tongue. 

It doesn’t even taste like anything, you realize quickly. Probably because Jungkook deep cleaned before you arrived, scrubbing as well as he can, because that’s all it tastes like, soap. You're grateful that he took it into consideration before letting you, making it much easier for you as well to enjoy. 

“F-fuck— Oh.” Jungkooks fists tighten on his sheets when your head moves sideways, letting the tip of your tongue glide back and forth on his opening. 

It sounds like his voice is barely able to make a sound, choking the last minute before he relishes into a pleased hum. He’s so loud, fuck your mind can barely stay focused on pleasing him when he sounds like this. 

The noise is indescribable, floating all over the room as you continue even though your neck is starting to cramp. You’re going to keep doing this until he finishes all over himself. 

“Feel good bub?” You question, your hand traveling upwards to tug at his balls and rub down on his perineum. 

“Y-yeah, fuck, so good. So—“ He chokes up the last sound, sounding like he’s lost his breath for a second and your core begins to ache, needing something before you’ll end up losing your mind too. 

You ignore it for now, remaining your mouth on Jungkook, shifting between circling your tongue to flattening it out. If only you could reach lower, you’d be able to maybe even enter your tongue inside of him. 

“Bub?” You stop what you’re doing, catching Jungkook out of trance as he pants, still trying to realize what exactly is happening. 

“Could you pass me a pillow?” Jungkook only hums, throat probably starting to dry out from his choked out moans that are able to strain his veins in his neck fully, as everything just slips. You’re imaging what he’d look like, brows furrowed, eyes closed, mouth gape and head leaned back on his pillow. 

Jungkook cuts off your imagination when he scoots upwards, handing you the pillow. 

“Thank you. Lift your butt.” His eyebrows shoot upwards at your question, but he’s too dazed to question it, so he obeys, lifting his hips carefully so you can place the pillow beneath him. 

“That’s good baby. Thank you.” You kiss his inner thigh, catching onto the blush on the tip of Jungkook’s ears before he disappears behind his pillow again. 

The angle is much better for your neck, feeling it strain less as you return to Jungkook’s hole, who’s now glistening in your spit. You’re aching to touch, but you stop yourself, knowing this is already way out of Jungkook’s comfort zone to have your mouth on there. 

Jungkook hums at the first touch, his hand roaming down to his cock who’s desperate for his touch, so he complies, tugging down on the semi wet skin after your mouth has been doing wonders on it. 

The pleasure only increases when he feels your touch circling around while he strokes his cock in languid motions. Shit, he might not last long. 

Somehow with Jungkook touching himself it’s made him less tense. You noticed it the first time your mouth finally explored his rim, it was extremely tight. Now, it opens up a bit and finally you get to do what you’ve been waiting for, fucking him with your tongue. 

You suck on the outside, collecting the courage before you slip it in, just the tip. 

“H-holy fuck…” Jungkook chokes out breathlessly, too overwhelmed to form an incoherent sentence. 

You let it stay, lips closing down on the outside of his hole. Until you feel the first movement, Jungkook shamelessly grinds down on your tongue. 

You hadn’t expected it. You really truly thought it would be you controlling it, yet here he is, grinding down on your face, showcasing how desperate he is for more of it. So, simply you give in, your head moving with his movements, working him up as much as you can. 

“I don’t—“ Jungkook tries to speak despite his mind being too gone at the moment. “I’m not going to last long— shit.” 

He’s truly felt this before, the sensation of something so warm and wet that’s not his cock, but he doesn’t regret it. No, frankly he thinks he might’ve become a tad bit obsessed with this sensation that it highly won’t be the last time he’ll subtly ask for it. 

Fuck, how are you so good with that mouth of yours? Jungkook truly wonders. 

The speed you use turns quicker, messier, your nose and chin now covered in spit as you rub every part you can on him. 

“Yes— baby m’ so close.” Jungkook strokes faster, the slick sounds from his cock joining the slurping sounds you’re making. Hearing Jungkook be so wet, makes you moan against his hole, sending vibrations into him and that’s the last straw for Jungkook before he comes undone on his pillow and lower stomach. 

His thighs are still trembling from his orgasm, so you caress him softly, before pushing away and meeting him eye to eye. 

You never should’ve, because Jungkook looks so fucked out. The headband hangs loosely, his long hair curling on the pillow case. The front of it is covered in sweat, along with his forehead and neck. His pupils are blown out, as if he’s high on something. He just looks extremely pretty like this. You never saw the day coming when you’d find Jungkook anything but hot, but yeah no, he’s fucking gorgeous. 

“I think I might’ve passed out for a second.” He admits, making you laugh as you grab onto the pillow his arms are hugging loosely, removing it to see his cum covered abs. 

“So it was good?” You tease, already knowing the answer but your pride wants to hear it. 

“Good? Y/N, it was fucking incredible.” 

“Maybe it’ll let you open up to the possibility for my fingers next time?” You’re hopeful, wanting to do more than just eat him out. You want to touch him places he never has, making him finish untouched. 

“Absolutely not. Nice try though.” You pout at the response and Jungkook laughs before giving you a gentle kiss. 

“Now, can I eat you out?” He’s still slightly panting yet he still wants to please you. Holy fuck who even is he? 

“You don’t have t—“

“I want to. Need to.” He moves forward, kissing you once more, slower this time. You follow his tempo, tilting your head when he does. 

Jungkook doesn’t warn you when he flips you both over, so he’s now hovering above you. It’s not that you don’t love Jungkook going down on you — you live for it, but you’re exhausted. Jungkook can probably tell by the droopy eyes he’s met with. 

“I’ll be quick.” You nod, wanting to desperately come. 

Jungkook keeps his promise, going straight down to your cunt. He’s surprised when he sees the dark patch on your thong when he’s about to touch you. 

“Did that really make you this wet baby?” Jungkook’s curious. 

“Yeah, you sound so pretty.” You’re blaming the fatigue for spilling such a personal detail. 

Jungkook’s mouth drops when your words sink in, not responding to them but putting his mouth to good use instead. 

He moves your thong to the side, his tongue now running in between your folds. You forgot how good it felt to have his mouth on you. Jungkook has always been a fucking expert when it comes to where he should touch you. 

With a few sucks to your clit, you’re already shaking, warning him you’re about to come. Jungkook continues, humming against your core as he rubs his face as deep as he can. 

“F-fuck Jungkook!” You moan loudly, coming undone all over his tongue. He really wasn’t kidding, that was indeed quick. Maybe the fastest orgasm you’ve had. 

“Good?” You hum, dropping down your legs who are shaking after your bliss. 

Jungkook settles back next to you, breathing heavily himself. 

Neither of you say anything, just staring at the ceiling in silence. 

“I should probably go.” Yet you’re too tired to move. 

“Yeah… or you could stay?” 

Yes, you’ve been with Jungkook for a while but never have you slept at his place. Whenever the act was done, you were back on your feet, grabbing your clothes and leaving to go back home. 

Now, he’s suggesting you stay which surprises you, because you’re actually considering saying yes. You’re too tired to move, heavy eyelids making it hard to protest against his idea. 

“Okay, I’ll stay.” 

Jungkook sighs, scooting closer to you so his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you flush against him. 

When it clicks for you that you’re cuddling, the only thing you can think is:

We’re so fucked. 

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© jjkeverlast 2023 [do not copy, translate or repost any of my works.]

#jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #bts jungkook smut #jungkook #jeon jungkook fanfic #bts jungkook fic #bts fan fiction #bts fan fic #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #bts jungkook fanfic #bts jungkook #bts jeon jungkook

[mvltisstuff]

this town - e.b

summary: buck tells his kids the story of him and y/n.

evan buckley x reader

a/n: ok so someone left this as a request and i accidentally posted it too early 😭 but i still wanted to do it and i hope they find it :(

buck was sitting on the couch in his and y/n's home, when he heard little footsteps roll down the stairs and sneak up behind him. he was home alone tonight for a bit while y/n was finishing up her shift, which meant he was the one to put them to bed and get them ready. usually, both of them would put them to sleep, so buck was ready for a night of complaints and the kids missing their mother.

"alright guys, it's almost time for bed!" buck turns around to face them.

"but we wanna wait for mom to come home! she's always home when we go to bed!" their oldest complains, and buck is ready for the battle with his 6 year old son.

"i know, buddy. but moms just finishing up at work. she'll be home soon."

"we want you and mama,” their youngest daughter says in small words, being younger than her brother.

"i know, but she'll be home to give you guys a kiss in bed.” he says, rubbing their sons head.

"can we wait for her, please! we don't have school tomorrow either so we can stay up later." buck contemplated whether he should send them to bed, but he was still outnumbered. he knows he should be the one to tell them to go to bed because he is their father, but there is nothing he hates more than the people he loves being sad.

"fine, but i'm not taking the blame when mom is upset you two aren't in bed!" he jokes with them, moving around so they can sit comfortably with him.

“can we have a story, dad?” his smallest asks, snuggled with her head on his stomach and small body between his legs. buck pulls them both in and begins an old story from when they were young, a classic.

cuddled into bucks side, his son says, “cmon dad! can you tell us about you and mama?”

buck smiles, thinking of how to begin such a long story. “alright, alright. well, you know me and mama weren’t always fans of each other right?”

“what?” the boy asks, moving his head up with a shocked expression. “you hated each other?”

“well…” buck and y/n have always taught their kids not to say hate, as it can be such a strong word, but there really isn’t another word for how their relationship started. “i wouldn’t say hate. it was… rocky.”

after another week of having to be rivals at their station, fighting to keep their spot at the 118. having another dinner together, when y/n walked in, buck rolled his eyes and sighed. even when they were assigned together, he couldn’t help but complain. they were both good. and they couldn’t stand that about each other. they didn’t want to waste any time getting to know each other when they could fight instead. their egos were too big.

they started to think bobby put them together on purpose, “y/l/n, buck, are we gonna have a problem? you guys cannot tolerate each other and if you can’t learn to fix that then we will have one.” they sat in his office after being called in. they didn’t really know how to response, not being able to let up their stubbornness.

“sorry, cap. but don’t look at me.” buck says.

“really, buck? this is exactly why you are exhausting to be around.” y/n says, staring at the wall instead of at him.

“guys, stop. fix this, now. get a grip, and focus on work before i consider other measures.”

“then how did you get married if you hated each other?” their little girl asks.

“well, you wanna know what mama did next?” he asks them back.

“what did she do, dad?” the boy asks.

“your mom,” he presses his finger against his chest. “saved my life.”

“y/l/n, we have no response from buckley during head count,” bobby tells her.

“what? is he still in there?” she says, pointing at the hall building that was seconds from falling. bobby nods painfully, and y/n pulls on her helmet again.

“y/n? you can’t do back in there, we got a direct evacuation order…” bobby says with heartbreak at the closest thing he still has to a son.

“sorry, but he would break an order for any of us, cap.” y/n says, running back into the burning building that could be layered on top of buck right now.

“so if she didn’t find you, what would’ve happened?” buck doesn’t want to answer that question, because she is the reason he is alive. he would be dead without her.

“i don’t know, pal. but she is the reason i have you and everything i have.”

“so you stopped hating her?”

“i realized that we never really hated each other, we were just too much alike so i couldn’t handle someone with as much passion as i did,” buck says. “which is why we tell you kids to never say you hate someone, because you never know what could happen. but me and your mom, i had no idea what to say after. i owed her everything. she helped me all the time after that, so we got a lot closer and we learned to love each other for who we are.”

back to the world outside of his hospital room, finally, the team threw buck a huge party. y/n had driven him over, still having to help him with small tasks. his hand had gripped onto hers, still being prepared for the worst after that had happened to him. when he walked in, everyone was there. karen and hen, chim and maddie, athena and her family, eddie and christopher with carla. buck felt extreme amounts of overwhelming love, before he even realized that she had put this together for him.

as the party went on, and they went their separate ways to talk to different people around them, buck had finally found her again. even thought he was fighting to get back to work, he still got tired at the end of the night.

“hey, you having fun? feeling ok? do you need me to grab anything for you or ar-“ buck cuts her words off and pulls her in. he leaves a kiss on her lips, as a way to thank her without having to figure out the words yet. he didn’t actually have to, as they came spilling out seconds later.

“i love you, y/n. i truly don’t know how to repay you for any of this. you rescued me, i cant thank you enough, y/n. i’m so sorry, i put you through hell and you could’ve left me there-“

“i would never be able to live with myself if anything happened to you, buck. i love you, too.”

“we got married a few years later, and then you,” he nudges his son. “came along. and then you did, too. you two have no clue how happy everyone was when you arrived.”

“i’m glad mama saved you, dad.” his son says, still leaning into his side with tiredness forming in his words. his daughter was already asleep, knocked out in his lap.

“me too, kid. me too,” buck reminisces on all their memories together, finding out she was pregnant and when he proposed, and even the bad moments when they fought over dumb stuff. after a while of telling their son more miscellaneous stories about him and y/n, they both eventually dozed off into a sweet sleep.

y/n got home about 15 minutes after they had fallen asleep on the couch, and a grin grew on her face as she saw her kids both slumped on the couch over her husband. she walks over, not being able to remove the smile. she runs her hand over bucks hair, and his eyes flutter awake.

“hey, how were they? i see they didn’t want to go to bed,” she says.

“oh, you know. wanted to wait for you so i told them a story.”

“wow,” she looks at her son and daughter passed out over their dad. “must’ve been a good one then.”

“oh, you wouldn’t believe it.” buck smiles back up at her as they wake up their sleeping children. after tucking them in with their goodnight kisses, they make their way to end the night together as they always dreamed, even at that station years ago.

#911 #911onfox #bobby nash #eddie diaz #evan buck buckley x reader #evan buckley #evan buckley fanfic #evan buckley x reader #athena grant #henrietta wilson

[mymoonagedaydream]

Summary: After the incident things were looking pretty bleak, but the one thing you thought would make everything worse ended up saving you.

Pairing: Bodyguard!Bucky x y/n

Word Count: 7.8k

Warnings: Language, mentions of suicide and self harm, mentions of guns and gun violence

Author’s Note: So I wrote a one shot because I cannot, for the life of me, stick to a consistent writing schedule. Enjoy!

---

You never expected anyone to feel sorry for you. That had been a pretty consistent theme throughout your life, why would anyone feel sorry for the kid who got everything they asked for? Granted, the only things in your past that might have sparked an ounce of pity were trivial, like a broken ankle or a bad break up, but even after this mess you never expected much. 

It'd been a few months now since it happened, either two or three, you weren't sure exactly- enough time for seemingly everyone you'd ever met to show up and implore you to tell the story over and over again. One or two of them did appear genuinely concerned but you couldn't shake the feeling that most of them just wanted the gossip, desperate for anything to make them the most interesting person in the room at their next garden party or champagne brunch or ambassador's reception. Every single painful, repetitive, disingenuous conversation you had to sit through served as a further reminder of why you’d left this life behind as soon as you had the chance. Now you were stuck back here for god knows how much longer, and everything just felt bleak.

A soft knock rapped against your bedroom door. You didn't bother answering, they'd just let themselves in, they always did. The knob turned and the door creaked open, your father's timid face peering in.

“Are you busy?” It was nice of him to ask, but it was also unnecessary, because you hadn’t left your couch to do anything other than pee in weeks. “Your aunt Carol is here. She brought you some gifts, I thought it might make you feel better.”

Both of you knew very well that it would have the opposite effect, the only thing you'd ever resented your mother for was bringing that vapid bitch into your life. Well, that and accidentally letting slip that the tooth fairy wasn’t real on your third birthday. 

Carol careered round the door and past your father in her typical pantomime dame dress and makeup. You smirked, thinking to yourself that, in dimmer light and with some sinister music, it would've made an excellent scene for a horror film. Ever since your mother passed she’d been sniffing around the house more and more, you were convinced she was trying to seduce your dad to get his money but you couldn't prove it. Thankfully, he had enough sense to stay the hell away from her.  

“Oh, look at you, you poor thing. You look awful.” She clunked the wrapped box and card she was holding down on the table and joined you on the couch, her offensive perfume making your nose begin to itch. “Come on, auntie Carol is here for you now, tell me everything darling.”

You gave your father, who was standing by the door looking very apologetic, a harsh glare. 

“There's not much to tell. Dad was mid-speech when some guy in the audience stood up, next thing I knew he was getting tackled and there was a loud bang. I look down and I'm bleeding.”

“Oh my, who was he?”

“Just some crazy, nationalist, militia guy targeting politicians, apparently. They have no idea if he was alone or with a group so it’s safer for me to stay here for now. My apartment is too much of a risk.”

“Bless you. It's so difficult being in the public eye, but you are so brave.” She pointed down to your stomach, “and don't worry, I've got some magic serum that'll clear up any unsightly scars ready for bikini season. I'll send you my diet plan, too.”

You turned the dial up on the daggers you were shooting your father every time she looked away, and he finally took the hint. 

“Okay, Carol. We should let her rest now.”

“Alright, love you so much baby. Look after yourself, okay? Maybe run a comb through your hair or something. Very frizzy.”

You rolled your eyes at her back as she left and reached over to grab the card. There was a sad puppy on the front, sitting beneath the words sorry you’re having a hard time. You figured that Hallmark probably didn't stock a sorry you got shot by a psychopath card.

Your father was lingering. He never lingered. 

“Everything okay, dad?”

“Yes. Although, there is something I need to tell you.”

“Go on.”

“I've hired someone.”

“Right.”

“For you,” he noted your confusion, “to protect you.”

“A bodyguard?”

“No, he's not a bodyguard.” You raised an eyebrow. “He's not just a bodyguard.”

“The hell does that mean?”

He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. Wiping the sweat from his palms onto his trousers, he strode over and took a seat beside you, preparing himself with a deep breath. This was serious. 

“The last time you saw Dr Burke she recommended that we… don't leave you on your own too much. So, he's going to be looking out for your welfare, going to be spending time with you.”

“Ah, I see. Suicide watch. Great.”

“I’m worried about you. You barely eat, you don't move from that spot, you haven’t showered for weeks. I know you miss being in your own place but,” he put his hand on top of yours, “I’ve already lost your mother, I can’t lose you too.”

Well, that hit you like a punch in the gut.

“Okay, dad. If you think it’ll help.”

“I do.” He stood up, giving you a light kiss on the top of your head before turning to leave. “He’ll be here in a few hours.”

---

You were woken from a light sleep by another knock on the door. The only thing you hadn’t been struggling with recently was sleep, it was the only way you could make your days pass quicker.

Again, the door creaked open before you answered. Your dad stepped in followed by a man you assumed to be your new long-term babysitter. You’d expected someone more stern looking, someone dressed like an extra from Men in Black, but he just looked like a normal guy. He had a strong face, broad shoulders and deep brown hair. If you’d been in a different state of mind you might even have considered him attractive, but you were far too tired for anything like that.

“Sweetheart, this is-” Your father looked blankly over to his companion, obviously already having forgotten his name.

“James. Nice to meet you.”

You mustered a faint smile. There was a brief, awkward silence as your father’s eyes flicked from you back to the composed looking guest, whose huge arms were folded over his chest. 

“Well, uh- I have a call in a few minutes. I suppose I’ll leave you two to get to know each other,” he clapped a hand on James’ back, “just let me know if you need anything.”

Then, just like that, you were alone with a complete stranger. Your eyes stayed firmly fixed to the movie you’d slept through half of but were suddenly incredibly interested in. You heard James shuffle forwards, his broad frame eventually scooching into the edge of your vision.

“Look, I get it. You’re a grown-ass adult, I wouldn’t like having some stranger keeping an eye on me all the time either. If you want, I can just stick to the corner, stay out of your way. You won’t even know I’m here.”

That actually sounded like a pretty sweet deal, but you’d feel incredibly guilty having him perched on the other side of the room like a piece of furniture. The least you could do was be a little friendly.

“That’s alright, you can have the comfy seat,” you faintly motioned your head towards the nearby armchair, “but I’ll be shitty company.”

He happily settled himself in. “Makes no odds to me, I’m getting paid to be here.”

A short breathy chuckle escaped your lips, taking you by surprise. It’d been a long while since someone had made you laugh, all the conversations you’d had in the past few weeks had been unbelievably morbid and condescending, most of them with people you had no interest in talking to in the first place.

A couple of silent hours passed. You‘d gotten so used to being alone that you kept forgetting he was there, the odd cough or movement making you jump out of your skin. Eventually, Elaine pounded on the door and announced that she’d brought dinner up for both of you, so James jumped up and helped her with the cart.

Elaine was your father’s housekeeper and the only thing that had prevented him dying of starvation or exposure since your mom died. She was kind and patient, you liked her alot. Her food was always incredible, you felt awful for barely eating it over the last few weeks but the pain from your stomach wound combined with zero expenditure of energy had just killed your appetite.

James looked from his plate over to yours, his knife and fork poised. “You not eating?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“When’s the last time you ate anything?”

Someone had been talking to dad. 

You shrugged. “This morning, I think.”

“Bullshit.” Your eyes snapped in his direction. “You know you’re not gonna get any better if you don’t eat, right? You’ll just have to put up with me bugging you for even longer.”

“Thought you were gonna stay out my way?”

“Mostly.” His mouth curled into a faint smile. “How about this, you eat a couple bites, I’ll eat the rest and we’ll tell your dad you ate the whole thing.”

You considered for a second. Not a bad offer, getting your dad off your back for a while would be pretty great. You knew what game he was playing but you were more than willing to play too just as long as the benefits outweighed the drawbacks.

“Deal.”

You expended a tremendous amount of effort leaning yourself forward and grabbing the plate, feeling James’ gaze tunnelling into the side of your face as the two of you began to eat. You had to admit, you enjoyed the food much more than you’d expected, half the plate had gone before you felt full. James looked pretty smug while finishing off the rest of it.

The sky outside slowly turned dark and you could feel yourself getting sleepy, so you settled deeper into the couch for your third sleep of the day.

“Hey,” James leant forward in his seat, “you need help getting to your bed or anything?”

“Oh, no, I’m good. I usually just sleep here.”

He gave you a puzzled look. “There? Is that comfortable? Can’t be good for your back.”

“Probably isn’t, but I don’t have the energy to move.”

“You don’t need the energy,” he sprung up from his seat, “you’ve got me.”

Before you could comprehend what was happening, James had an arm anchored around your upper back and was inching you upwards, away from the safety of your sad-zone and onto your feet. A few mild pangs of pain shot through your stomach but it wasn’t enough to make you fight back, so you just gave in, relaxed into his grip and let him walk you across the room.

Your mattress was unbelievably comfortable and you felt knot after knot untying in your back as you stretched out flat, but you didn’t need to tell him that. Who was this magical asshole, anyway, showing up and suddenly knowing what would help you better than you did?

“I’m just gonna crash on that armchair, if that’s all good with you.”

“There?” You carefully rolled onto your side so you were facing away from him. “Can’t be good for your back.”

A deep chuckle came from behind you. “Smartass. Shout me if you need to go to the bathroom or anything.”

You just grunted, already half asleep. It was only another minute or so before you drifted off peacefully and got the best night of rest you’d had in weeks.

Maybe this babysitting thing wouldn’t be so bad after all.

---

You woke to the sound of soft snoring on the other side of the room. Light was bleeding in around the curtains and you could hear footsteps in the corridor, probably your father heading downstairs for his coffee and newspaper. Coming to your senses, you rolled over and suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to pee. You propped yourself up on your elbows and looked over to see James’ limp hand hanging over the edge of the armchair. 

You didn’t need him, you could do this. 

Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed and hoisting yourself up was easier than expected but that, unfortunately, made you a little overconfident for the rest of the journey. After a couple of steps the pain started. You felt pathetic but that amount of effort had actually winded you, all you could do was lower yourself to the ground to catch your breath. 

“What the hell are you doing?”

You didn’t even realise he’d woken up, you were too busy wheezing. 

“Gotta pee.” You managed to push your words out between gulped in breaths.

“What did I say last night, huh? You should’a yelled.” He lowered himself beside you, placing one arm around your back and one under your knees. “Alright, brace yourself.”

“Wait, what are you-”

You choked on your words when he lifted you clean off the floor, a feat that not many had accomplished in the past. He offered to take you as far as the toilet itself but you adamantly refused, determined to cling onto your last shred of dignity while just about managing to shuffle over there, supporting yourself on the sink. 

You washed your hands and intentionally avoided looking in the mirror, moving straight over to the door and finding your minder stood directly outside.

He folded his arms. “While you’re here, why not take a quick shower?”

“I’m not supposed to get my dressings wet.”

“Again, nice try, but you really gotta do better than that to bullshit me.”

You let out a heavy sigh. “Can’t you just let me rot away in peace?”

“I mean, I could, but I’m pretty sure your dad would refuse to pay me.”

“I’ll pay you to leave me alone.”

“You can’t afford me, honey.” He smirked and slipped past you. “I’ll get the water going.”

James turned the shower on and put some folded towels by the sink before heading back into your room and gathering some clean pyjamas. You just stayed where you were, leaning against the counter, as he buzzed around like an overexcited child.

“You’re all set. I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

“Thank you, supernanny.”

He flipped you the bird. You laughed and locked the door.

Slowly, carefully, you got undressed, removed your bandages and placed them in the bin. You then had to perch yourself down on the closed toilet seat for a brief break before climbing into the shower. Standing under the water, you looked down at your wound for the first time in weeks, finding yourself amazed at how quickly it had healed. You ran your fingers over it. Never in a million years did you think you’d have a healed gunshot wound anywhere on your body. You thought back to what your aunt said, maybe it was unsightly, it certainly looked weird from this ang-

“You alright?”

James’ overbearing voice snapped you out of your train of thought.

“Yes.”

You turned off the shower and stepped out, lifting a towel to your face and savouring the feeling of finally being clean again. You couldn’t imagine how bad you must’ve smelled before. You pulled on the fresh pyjamas before taking a deep breath and wiping down the mirror, getting a nasty shock when you saw yourself. It looked like all the life had been drained out of you. Your face looked pallid, red eyes sitting above deep, dark bags while skin flaked from your chapped lips. Your hair was still dripping wet but you could tell that weeks of neglect had taken a toll on it.

It seemed like James might’ve come along just in time, any longer sitting in that misery pit and these changes might’ve become irreversible.

“Still all good?”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, just trying to remember the most efficient way to cut wrists. Is it horizontal or vertical?”

Throwing your towel in the laundry basket, you opened the door to see a very unamused looking man. 

“Real funny.”

He didn’t get a chance to properly scold you before Elaine knocked on the door with breakfast, a smug grin settling on your face as it dawned on him that he probably shouldn’t cuss you out in front of your father’s closest confidante. 

The two of you settled into your designated spots. James immediately started digging into the plate that had been piled high for him but you held off, it had been a while since you stood up for that long and you needed to recover. Sharp pangs of stomach pain weren’t exactly the perfect accompaniment to a hearty appetite.

James placed his fork down on the table and leaned back in his chair, mouth full of food. “We gotta do this again, buttercup?”

“I just need a minute.”

“I thought we had a deal.”

“We did,” a bolt of inspiration struck as you realised it was your turn to get a little something interesting out of this relationship, “but I want to change it up a bit.”

“Alright, go on.”

“I’ll eat if you tell me the most insane thing that’s happened to you while bodyguarding.”

“I really shouldn’t talk about that.”

“Shame,” you dramatically pushed your plate away with a flourish, “I was actually feeling pretty hungry.”

He considered, glaring at you from beneath an arched eyebrow and rhythmically tapping his fingers against the arm of the chair. “Fine, but you gotta finish the whole plate.”

“The whole plate.”

“Alright.” 

He leant forward again and carried on eating so you followed suit, forcing down one small bite at a time and just hoping that his story would be worth the pain.

“So, one time some rich dude hired me ‘cause his daughter was worried she had a stalker. Apparently she kept seeing someone in a black hoodie following her around, she even saw ‘em standing on their lawn a few times. Thing is, no-one else had ever seen it. I think half the reason I was hired was to figure out if she was just going crazy.”

“Was she?”

“Be patient, pumpkin. You’ll find out.” Your cheeks flushed a little when he called you that. “A couple weeks passed and I hadn’t seen anything. Then, middle of the night, everyone else was asleep and I was doing my rounds. I looked out the window to the yard and there was someone standing underneath her window in a black hoodie.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, shit. So, obviously, I sprinted down there, but they spotted me and started running. They vaulted the fence and I would’a lost ‘em in the trees but they got snagged on the other side. I grabbed ‘em, pulled down the hood and-” He eyed the huge fork-full of food you were hovering by your mouth, “you wanna eat that?”

You rolled your eyes, shoved it all in your face and let out a muffled plea. “And?”

“It was her, the daughter.”

“Fuck off.”

“Dead serious. Turns out one of her friends had a stalker and was getting a load of sympathy and attention because of it, so she got jealous and made up one of her own. She figured if I saw it just once everyone would believe her.”

“That’s so fucked. Is that even legal?”

“No idea, not my job. I got my paycheck and left the next morning.”

“Nice to know you really care about your clients.”

He laughed. “Most of my clients are spoiled assholes who never even bother to learn my name.”

“Really? Can’t be hard to learn a name as simple as Justin.” You received your second unamused scowl of the day. “Anyway, we spoiled brats have enough on our plate without having to learn the name of the person willing to take a bullet for us.”

“Nah, you’re not spoiled.”

“You think?”

“Trust me, I’ve seen spoiled. You’re not spoiled. I think you’re the only client I’ve actually enjoyed talking to.”

Interesting. Probably shouldn’t delve into that statement too deeply.

“I’d take that as a compliment but it sounds like there isn’t much competition.”

He smirked, staying silent for a few seconds before speaking again. “My friends call me Bucky, by the way. I prefer it to James. And I really prefer it to Justin.”

“If you insist,” you shrugged, “but I still think you’d make a good Timberlake.”

---

You managed to stomach a good amount of food that day and you even had a good stab at breakfast when the next day rolled around, so you hoped that Bucky might leave you to your own devices for a while now he’d got his own way.

He did not.

As soon as you’d swallowed the last mouthful of toast he announced that he was going to take you on a walk around the garden.

You looked from him to your stomach, then back at him. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah. We’ll take it slow, one step at a time, and it’ll make you feel better. I promise.”

“Can’t we just open a window?”

“Nope.” He slapped his hands down on the arms of the chair and jumped to his feet. “C’mon sweetheart, you know I’m just gonna annoy the hell out of you until you agree.”

“Is threatening me allowed in your contract?”

“It’s not a threat. It’s persuasion with consequences.”

You eventually relented. He was super keen to get going but it soon became clear that he’d overestimated how far along the healing process you were, it took the two of you almost an hour just to get out of your bedroom and down the stairs with all the constant stopping for breath. Bucky went ahead and pulled open the sliding glass door, your mood instantly lifting when the first breeze of fresh air washed over you. You were starting to hate how often he was right. 

He offered you his arm and set a bench on the other side of the lawn as your goal. The neatly mowed grass felt soft between your toes, the faint sounds of birds and planes overhead helping you relax a great deal more than the constant background noise from the TV you’d kept switched on for weeks now. When you reached your goal, Bucky helped you lower yourself onto the seat and carefully squeezed himself beside you once you were settled. Sitting this close to him felt strange, you were used to him being confined to his armchair, and the bench was a pretty small one. His thigh was pressed up against yours. You tried not to think about it.

Deeply inhaling the smell of grass and flowers into your lungs made you feel like a new person but it was also making you a little drowsy, the journey down had zapped all your energy and the warmth from the morning sun was cosy and soothing. 

The next thing you remembered was your head being gently nudged, prompting your eyes to flicker open. 

“Sorry, princess. I’d let you sleep for hours but I really need to pee.”

You came to your senses and felt the crook of Bucky’s neck against the top of your head. His arm was around you, hand gently resting on your shoulder. 

“Shit, sorry.” In your embarrassment you sat up a little too quickly, wincing at the pain that shot through your stomach. 

“You alright?”

“Oh, yeah. Just, y’know, the ol’ bullet would.” You laughed off his concern and waved him away. “Go pee.”

“Alright, I’ll just be a minute, don’t move.”

“Couldn’t if I wanted to.”

He was already sprinting across the lawn when he shouted back. “That’s the spirit, sunshine.”

You shot a giddy grin at the back of his head. It still felt like morning but you had no idea how long you’d been knocked out for, you just knew you could very easily spend every night resting in Bucky’s neck like that.

---

Your shadow had been with you for about a week now and, contrary to all initial expectations, you’d actually been enjoying his company. He could be annoying as hell with his constant demands pushing you further and further when all you wanted to do was melt into the couch, but you could see that he was good for you. You supposed that being forced to spend every second of every day with someone gave you no choice but to recognize their good qualities. Thankfully, he seemed to have a lot of those. 

Elaine had just collected the dishes from lunch and Bucky had somehow stolen the remote from you. He flicked on some appallingly trashy reality show, your concentration faded in and out but every time you forced yourself to pay attention someone was either screaming or necking. 

You’d barely even registered the knock at your bedroom door when he jumped up and launched himself towards it like the diligent little soldier he was. You listened intently, your stomach turning when you heard Carol’s voice interspersed with his. Hopefully he’d assess her as a security threat and slam the door in her stupid face.

To your great disappointment, he did not. 

“Oh my,” she looked a little more like a painted old hag than a pantomime dame today, “who is that and where can I get one?”

“That’s James, dad hired him to keep an eye on me.”

“Do you know which agency he’s with?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t uncle Frank leave you the house and the security guard in his will?”

“Ugh, yes but he could’ve been a bit more thoughtful. I’d rather not have to look at that beer belly every time I drive through the front gate.”

“I see.”

You tried to plead for help from Bucky with your eyes but he was too busy giving a confused look to the back of her embroidered jacket, the one that you were convinced had been made from old curtains and lampshade tassels. She placed herself down in his seat, leaving him bewildered, turning on the spot like a glitched out video game NPC. He eventually just sat beside you. 

“So,” she crossed her veiny old legs, “did you like the present I brought you before?”

You did not like the present she brought you before. It was a self help book whose blurb encouraged you to 'break free from your own mental cage' and 'start being the best version of you'. That mindset is incredibly toxic, Carol. Therapists and antidepressants exist for a reason, Carol. Not everyone can make themselves feel better by getting sloppy wine drunk on their dead husband's money every evening, Carol.

“Yeah, it was great. Thanks.”

“I knew you'd love it, so I brought you something else.” She scurried around in her comically oversized purse for a while before pulling out a small white tub. “It's that miracle balm I told you about, for the scar.” 

She noiselessly mouthed the word scar and covered the side of her mouth so Bucky couldn't see, like it was a dirty word, like she couldn't bear to think of the handsome man in the room knowing about such an ugly thing. 

“Oh right, thanks but I'm not really supposed to put anything on it while it's still healing. Could get infected.” 

“No honey, if you let that thing heal on its own you'll regret it, trust me.”

“Well, the doctor said-”

“Baby, look at me.” The legs became uncrossed as she leaned in. “I'm going to be honest now because I love you. Your body is a five out of ten, maybe a six if you did a cleanse.” 

“Right…”

“Now, with this hideous thing sitting on your stomach, you're down to a three. I don't want that for you, do you?”

You were speechless for a second. The words fuck off were just beginning to form in your mouth when she cut you off, turning her attention to the equally pissed looking Bucky.

“How about a man's perspective, hmm? You wouldn't want a partner with something so ghastly on them, would you?”

The calmness with which he answered her was pretty impressive.

“Well, to be honest, I couldn't give a fuck, cause I tend to rate personality higher. Like you, for example, are two out of ten but with a few lessons in grace and courtesy, I could see you moving up to a solid five.”

Your mouth fell open. The breath hitched in your lungs as your eyes flicked between the two of them, one looking outraged, the other looking very fucking pleased with himself. The silence was tense. 

After a few seconds she leapt up and stormed out of the room, her heels rapidly clicking against the floor while she screeched your father's name. 

Bucky just shrugged at you. “Guess her own medicine didn’t taste too sweet.”

“That was amazing.”

“I'm used to dealing with assholes like that,” he followed her lead, standing up and heading for the door, “but, unlucky for her, I'm in charge of who gets access to this room.”

“You can ban her?”

“If I think she's causing you harm I can do whatever I want.”

“You’re my new favourite person.”

“Can I get that in writing?”

He’d been gone for a while when some muffled shouting started downstairs. Too invested in the situation not to investigate, you decided to slide yourself off the couch and press your ear to the floor in an effort to make out the words. It didn’t work, obviously, and you soon realised there was no way in hell you’d be able to hoist yourself back up again. You just had to wait on the ground while your dignity slowly drained away piece by piece.

Bucky eventually returned, predictably freaking out when he spotted you.

“Shit, what happened? Did you fall?”

“No I kinda… slid.” He gave you a puzzled look while lifting you back onto the couch. “Sorry, I was trying to hear the argument. What happened?”

“She won't be bothering you again.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Can I keep you forever?” You rested your head against the couch cushions. “I’ll let you watch as much trash TV as you want.”

“Don't threaten me with a good time.”

---

A week passed and then another, and with each day you were achieving more and more. Bucky had you showering every day, eating three square meals and taking increasingly lengthy walks around the garden- when your painkillers were doing their job. He’d even spoken to your father about making sure everyone in the house waited for a response after knocking on your door. It sounded like an insignificant thing but you really valued every ounce of privacy you could get your hands on, and it did wonders for improving your mood. 

Another thing that was helping in that regard was spending most of your downtime just talking with him. On more than a few occasions you’d actually forgotten he was being paid to stick around, it felt more like you were hanging out with an old friend. 

Sometimes it felt like you were hanging out with more than a friend but, every time those feelings started to surface, you quickly pushed them back down into the dark depths in your mind. Acknowledging them would just set you up for inevitable disappointment. 

Today, you’d agreed to leave your father’s property for the first time since the incident. Bucky had offered to take you out for a coffee as a soft reintroduction back into the normal world. He drove you out in his ridiculously oversized SUV, passing plenty of perfectly good coffee shops so he could show you his favourite one. It didn’t look like anything special but you trusted him. 

He helped you to one of the outside tables, took your order and shuffled inside, giving you a wink over the top of his sunglasses. You rested your hands on the table and glanced around. The street was busy with people and cars and most of the other tables were full, it was midday so you figured most of them were working people taking their lunch breaks.

Then, just for a second, out of the corner of your eye you saw someone in the street stop. Looking over, you made brief eye contact with them before they checked their watch and continued walking. Why were they looking at you? Your eyes darted around the other faces passing by, your panic starting to rise when another of them looked your way. 

You grabbed onto the edge of the table, your palms prickling with sweat. The quickening pace of your heart made it harder and harder to pull breath into your lungs, all the muscles in your legs started to tense and your vision blurred at the edges. 

“You okay?”

Two takeout cups were hastily abandoned on the table in front of you and a soothing hand landed on your back, Bucky’s face trying to make its way into your line of sight.

“Mhmm.”

“I told you not to bullshit me. What happened?”

“Nothing, really. I just-” You pulled in a stuttering breath. “Need to adjust.”

“Pretty hard to do that when you’re mid panic attack, no? C’mere.”

He turned you round to face him and took you through some breathing exercises, helping you get back in control. The worst of the storm eventually passed but you were pretty shaken up, and he could tell.

“Maybe this was too soon.”

“No, this is good. It probably would’ve happened even if we'd waited longer. Better to get it out of the way.”

“And what if the coffee had taken another ten minutes? You would’a just passed out while I was waiting for fucking milk to foam.”

He seemed angry, but not at you. 

“It’s okay, Buck. Really. I could’ve been hit by a truck on the walk over from the car but wasn’t, so why worry about it.”

“Still, we should get you somewhere less crowded,” he took you by the hand, which was unusual, cause he usually just guided you with a flat palm on the back, “probably should’ve started with that.”

You headed back to the car, Bucky somehow juggling you along with two hot drinks, and drove a few miles out of the city. He said he knew of a short, flat hiking trail out in the woods that was only ever busy on weekends. It wasn’t exactly the reintroduction into society that the two of you had planned but, at the very least, it was a step above walks around the yard. 

He calmed down once you began walking, the jolly, laid back, Bucky that you were used to quickly resurfacing. It was a huge relief, him being on edge made you on edge and that wasn’t exactly the optimum mood for avoiding another panic attack. 

He kept a firm arm around you most of the way, anchoring you to him and protecting you against potential falls. You were pretty sure they were the only reasons.

“I must look fucking dreadful,” you chuckled, “if we bump into anyone they’ll probably think you just found me in the woods.”

“Shut up, you look great.”

“For a three-week-old corpse.”

“A corpse wouldn’t argue back so much.”

“I’m just keeping you on your toes.”

“Damn right you are.”

You smiled to yourself, hearing the warmth in his voice, and decided now was a good time to finally ask him a question you’d been thinking about for a while.

“So, you’ve really never had another client you’ve enjoyed talking to? Not even one?”

“Not that I can remember.” He shrugged slightly. “Why are you so surprised, anyway? We both know how many assholes there are out there.”

“True. I just think you’re easy to talk to, I guess. I’m surprised no-one else made the effort.”

“That’s sweet of you doll, but you should know that just letting me sit by you was completely new for me. I usually don’t even get a chair, never mind a conversation.”

“Brutal. I’m glad the shelter rehomed you with us.”

“Me too.” 

You laughed for a second before realising that all this talking had used up your pitiful lung capacity. You came to a stop, Bucky quickly moving to stand in front of you. 

“Something wrong?”

“No, I could just use a break.”

“Take as long as you need,” he placed his hands on your upper arms, “we can sit for a while if you want.”

“I’m good.”

Without thinking, you placed both hands on his chest to steady yourself, immediately realising that it was kind of a weird thing to do. Your eyes shot up to his but he was just smiling softly, seemingly unbothered. 

The two of you held that position for what felt like an age. 

Then, slowly, cautiously, his hands moved down to rest on your lower back, just above your hips. He stepped in closer and your hands tensed, grabbing two fistfuls of his shirt. He lowered his head, your eyes fluttering closed as his lips met yours. You eagerly reciprocated, curling a hand around the back of his neck in a feeble attempt to keep him there as long as you could. It fell, however, when he abruptly pulled away, your arms going limp at your sides.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s okay, I-”

“It’s not. Jesus, I’m supposed to be looking after you.” He rubbed his eyes. “We should get back.”

“Can you just wait for a second? I’m not-”

“No.” He was stern, he’d never talked to you like that before. “We’re going back to the car, now.”

You were too shocked to argue. The walk back was tense and the drive home was the same, you looked over at him a few times but his stony expression encouraged you to keep quiet. You knew you hadn’t done anything wrong, and neither had he in your eyes, but you really had to keep reminding yourself of that. It felt like you’d committed a crime. 

Once home, you headed up to your room but he didn’t follow, which was unusual. When your father knocked on your door later and told you that Bucky had removed himself from duty, you weren’t surprised. He claimed that a big job had come up out of nowhere. 

He never even said goodbye.

---

You hadn’t so much as heard from Bucky since he left over a month ago. You’d maintained all his rituals and kept your healing process on track, adapting your daily walks so you could do them alone, sticking nearby walls and railings. It was a real struggle, emotionally and physically, but you were determined not to let him abandoning you knock you off course. You didn’t even let yourself cry when he left. You were just angry. 

So, naturally, when a chance for you to prove to yourself how far you’d progressed without him came around, you jumped at it. A friend of your father’s was throwing a birthday party for his daughter, you’d never been able to stand her but you hadn’t had a proper drink since the incident- and the booze there would be insanely expensive stuff. Plus, you’d been pining for any excuse to wear something other than pyjamas.

You strolled into the party, arm in arm with your father, and you felt good. You felt ready to be there. That was, until you saw who was working security detail. You barely recognised him in the full black bodyguard suit, you were so used to a t-shirt and jeans, but it was definitely him. Your evening was instantly ruined as you started mentally plotting the best way to avoid him.

You decided a good first step was to head straight to the bathroom to compose yourself, giving yourself the same pep talk in the mirror that you’d given the day after he left. You’d come too far to let him fuck up your first big outing. You dabbed the nervous sweat from your upper lip, adjusted your outfit and gave yourself a nod. You could do this. You just needed to stay away.

Wandering back into the party, you looked around for your father, the only person in the room you had any interest in talking to. You heard your name being called over the music and turned towards it. There he was, standing beside Bucky, beckoning you over. 

So your plan was fucked, then. 

Your stomach tightened. You grabbed a drink from a nearby table and moved over reluctantly.

“There you are. Listen, James was just telling me about the big job he was called to, it sounds incredibly interesting.”

“Oh, really?” 

You took a big gulp of champagne, wondering if Bucky’s fictitious story was as good as the real one he’d told you over breakfast that time. Or maybe that one was all made up, too. You glanced over and accidentally caught his eye for a second, but he quickly broke away and looked back at your father. 

“I probably shouldn’t go into any more detail.”

“Of course not, I wouldn't want you getting in trouble.” You involuntarily scoffed at your father’s words but managed to play it off as a cough. “It’s such a shame, though. You two seemed to really be getting on well together.” 

Your father looked back and forth between the two of you like he was watching a tennis match, unaware of how painfully awkward the lingering silence was. You finished off your champagne and grabbed a fresh glass from a passing waiter, looking around the room for any excuse to leave this conversation. Unfortunately, your father found one first. 

“Ah, there’s the birthday girl, I’d better go pass on some well wishes. I’ll leave you two to catch up.”

You cringed as he walked away. Quickly deciding that it was better to not even attempt conversation, you just silently nodded at Bucky and turned to leave. You didn’t get far, however, as he grabbed hold of your arm and stepped towards you. 

“Can we talk?”

You were incredibly shocked but tried to play it off. “I guess."

“In private?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you glared down at his hand, “but I would like it if you let go of my arm.”

“Sorry.” 

He released his grip and you took a small step away, putting a safe distance between your faces. You were still pissed off at him, that much was for sure, but you weren’t ready to trust yourself being in such close proximity to him again. Anything could happen. 

“I get why you’re pissed at me, I would be too. I just need to explain.”

“I know why you did what you did, Buck. You don’t need-”

“Please. Someone’s taking over my shift in ten minutes, will you meet me upstairs?”

“Upstairs? Like, past the rope with the big no guests allowed sign?”

“I’m sure you’ll be able to sneak past,” he smirked slightly, “I heard the security here sucks.”

He was right, too. You got up there with absolutely no trouble whatsoever. 

All of the doors off the hallway were closed apart from one, at the very end. You took a gamble and slowly approached, peeking your head round to see Bucky perched on the edge of a huge bed. He shot up when he spotted you in the doorway.

“Sorry, I know this is kinda weird, it's the only room that wasn’t locked or, y’know… occupied.”

“Lovely.”

He nodded and gave you a smile. “You look great. Amazing, actually. How are you feeling?”

“Better,” his smile melted you a little, “mostly thanks to you.” 

“Ah, you would’a been fine, I just annoyed you into being fine a bit sooner.”

You nervously rubbed the back of your head, in disbelief at how quickly he’d broken through your thick wall of resentment. You scrambled around trying to gather up some of the bricks and rebuild but being in the presence of that slick motherfucker was making it really difficult. 

You gathered your thoughts, took a breath and spoke. 

“Buck, like I said downstairs, you don’t need to explain. Obviously making out with your clients is a fireable offence, I get that, so you had to leave. Everyone makes mistakes.”

“You think I left ‘cause of that? You think some shitty job is more important to me than you?”

“I mean, yeah, kinda.”

“Jesus, I really am an asshole.” You gave him a confused frown as he reached out and took both of your hands in his. “Look, I couldn’t give a shit about this job, there’s bodyguarding positions everywhere and most of them don’t involve babysitting rich assholes. I left ‘cause I felt like I’d taken advantage of you. I couldn’t stand it.”

“Huh?”

“You were in a bad place. You were vulnerable and I was supposed to be looking after you, not- y’know...”

“Sucking face?”

He chuckled. “Yeah.”

“Right, but you do remember that I’m not a child, yeah? Just because I’m feeling shitty doesn’t mean I can’t make decisions for myself.”

“But it does mean your judgement is at least a little impaired.”

“Fine, whatever, but it isn’t anymore.” You squeezed his hands. “And I’m telling you now as a fully sane, rational adult that you didn’t do anything wrong. Alright?”

A relieved smile spread across his face. “Alright.”

“Good, cause I made a decision and I’m sticking to it.

“Might be a bad decision.”

“Sometimes bad decisions are more fun.”

“You can say that again.”

Your second kiss with Bucky was, somehow, even better. He was more sure of himself this time, less cautious, he moved in quicker. You did the same, wrapping both arms around his neck and letting him take some of your weight. You felt him smile against you as a hand dived into the back of your hair.

Now this was a kiss worth being fired for. 

He pulled away, resting his forehead against yours. “For the record, the first time wasn’t a mistake. It was a… happy accident.”

“Whatever you say,” you chuckled, “I’m just glad we bumped into each other again.”

“Oh, we didn’t. I took this job after checking the guestlist.”

“You sneaky fucker.”

“You know it.”

---

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[foiledbyvoile]

HEAD EMPTY, ONLY SILLY DEMENTED DEER MAN.

The last two episodes really got me over here pondering and shit. Didn't think my 2019 Alastor phase would make a comeback, but here we fuckin' are. Seriously though, what is his deal? I love that you can't quite make sense of him, but also I NEED to make sense of him.

SPOILERS AHOY.

Clearly he's somewhat emotionally invested in all this, that little (cute as fuck) scene with nifty the night before the battle showed us a sentimental softness in him, but he's also definitely cozying up to Charlie to use her powers for something big.

Something like breaking a deal he'd made, and I've got money on Lilith. That bad bitch seaside moment was too iconic, she's pulling strings and catching rays, living her best life.

But I need DETAILS, man. I wanna know what the stipulations of the contract are, I wanna know why it was made, what was gained and what was lost, if this deal gave him the power he wields in the first place. What does Alastor need to do to fulfill his end of the deal? I want the nitty gritty of it, man.

Speaking of deals, Alastor and Charlie??? I know we're probably meant to sweep it under the rug, Alastor says not to worry about it, it's not for Charlie's soul, the whole scene was just brushed aside...but what about the desperation he fucking reeked of?? He was beyond eager to make that deal.

Alastor held onto that information for months, waited for the perfect moment, when Charlie was backed into a corner and desperate, and he used that groundbreaking leverage for a favor. That could be anything! Like breaking a deal only someone with her power could, or, since he clearly likes playing the long game, it could be something far less definitive, easier for Charlie to get behind. Something like helping him make his next move.

(Then the next, and the next, and the manipulation continues--ideally, I'm sure. Narrative folly and character development will almost definitely nip that evil scheme in the bud.)

You gotta love that classic Alastor guile when he tells her it's not for her soul. What it really is is a foot in the door for him, and a show of good faith for Charlie. It's a chess move, and if Alastor is as conniving and methodical as I hope he is, it's the equivalence of moving a pawn.

But then he backs up that dubious display of altruism by introducing Charlie to Rosie and the cannibals. Would Alastor really implicate a close friend and her community for something he wasn't truly invested in? That's a genuine question at this point. It's pretty much confirmed in the song that Alastor is choosing to help Charlie, that he sees the potential in her, but again, for his own benefit.

Which brings us to the radio tower, post fight. The vibes I picked up were immaculate. He's incredulous, desperate, shaken and very clearly trapped in circumstances that drive him absolutely insane.

Alastor's all about control. I think back on his spiel to Charlie about maintaining that control with a smile, but even now, when Alastor is cracking under the realization that he doesn't have that, he continues to smile.

I'm really under the impression that Alastor literally cannot stop smiling. (I'm not counting the single-frame-debacle.) It's either that, or he's forcing himself to smile, desperately vying for some semblance of control in a moment where he well and truly has none.

Then there's the line, "Great Alastor Altruist died for his friends". It feels sardonic. Bitter, like he regrets putting himself in that position, but was it really a choice to begin with? Because he let himself get too involved, too comfortable, and realized that that sentimentality he'd developed has become a weakness?

I think he really was forced to protect Charlie and the hotel (it would explain the seven year coincidence, and Alastor appearing at Charlie's doorstep so serendipitously). This is almost cemented by the following line, "I'm hungry for freedom like never before, the constraints of my deal, surely you have a back door."

He almost died (again), for the sake of Charlie and her hotel. That's a helluva fucking thing for a being who's toppled overlords and held power like he has. No amount of entertainment is worth his own life, there's just no way he willingly pits himself against Adam for anyone's sake.

Assuming that the source of his power is also the source of his subjugation, and considering how Alastor openly strives for control--yeah, he's having a bit of a moment™.  

I do hope that there's some genuine conflict in him in regards to his relationship with Charlie and the gang. That everything he's doing isn't inherently selfish anymore, but he veils that 'weakness' under his perpetual guise of deviant mirth. Bonus points if he's tormented by the good Charlie brings out in him. He deserves the angst, the fuzzy-fucker (/affectionate).

Couple of side notes here:

Thoughts on the way Alastor's mouth is sewn up when he strikes the deal with Charlie? Was he made to smile all the time, is it just a design choice? Personally, I'm hoping there's some angsty lore there, like maybe it's part of his contract as some twisted joke, idk.

I have a love/hate relationship with the Alastor vs Adam smackdown extravaganza. Yes, it was rad as fuck. Yes, of course Alastor was going to lose. But the way it was handled felt like a bit of a disservice, Alastor's reaction felt ooc. But then again that could just be me projecting my perspective of Alastor unto the character.

ALSO, having a character who is well known for not swearing dropping some casual, outta pocket f-bombs was a bit trite. it's supposed to feel like a reward, y'know?

ANWAYS. Yeah. Good shit. I'm losing my goddamn mind.

#alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel spoilers #hazbin hotel episode 7 #hazbin hotel episode 8 #don't mind me just casually spiraling into obsession #alastor analysis #i just think he's neat

[fallingintoyourlilaceyes]

The other woman (I could protect you part 2)

part 2 of 4 || series masterlist || previous part || next part

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x maid!reader

synopsis: King Viserys is finally gone, but with his passing the troubles for Aemond and you have only begun.

warnings: mentions of performing sexual acts, period typical mysoginy, secrert marriage

word count: 1.4k

The night Aemond leads you down to the sept of Baelor, long after everyone had gone to sleep ironically enough is the night of Viserys´ death. The only person beside the two of you there is an intimidated looking Septon, that swears he would not tell anyone of what they were about to do. You can see in his eyes that he thinks this is wrong nonetheless, but what does it matter. If the seven wanted to judge you for the things you had done, so be it. You were not scared of them. The ceremony is held short. Only the necessary words are exchanged as to decrease the danger of a guard or anyone else catching you. Aemond holds your hand the entire time. His single lilac eye glassy and wet with unshed tears of happiness over the fact that you had agreed to wed him. Overjoyed in fact. When he leads you up to his chambers, that you now share, you are surprised to see all your things there already.

Through your surprise, you feel his trembling fingers undoing the laces of your dress. The dark blue satin slides down your body to pool at your feet. You step out of the fabric and turn towards him. Your lips capture his in the first kiss you share as newlyweds, while your hands make quick work of his clothing. The leather is cool underneath your finger pads.

“I must admit I am not as experienced as other men my age.” Aemond whispers his confession into the dimly, candle lit room.

“I will teach you.” She replies in a low rasp. From then on make sure to take it slow.

Aemond is different from Viserys, you can´t help but notice. All Viserys did was take. Even things that you never would have wanted him to take under any other circumstance, without any regard for your pleasure, let alone your well-being. The only care you received from him were the gifts he sent the following day. Alongside a tea, that as the maid told you, was brewed with the most care by a maester. Aemond on the other hand was gentle and sweet, yet passionate. He asked if what he was doing made you feel good and let you guide him to were you wanted him. He beckons words of praise from your lips continuously and once you had both finished, he holds you close until you both drift off to sleep. Still the image of Viserys doing unspeakable to you haunted you in your dreams that night.

It is a wonder that your marriage stays a secret for as long as it does, which is not very long at all.

However the day of Aegon´s coronation everything goes south fast. The day had been a mess from the moment it started. Beginning with the common folk being rushed into the sept almost forcibly, to Rhaenys hurting gods know how many during her escape on Meleys and now this. Your new husband and you had been called to Alicent right after the end of the ceremony, where she questioned your place at his side for everyone to see. The queen dowager was pacing furiously in front of you and Aemond, trying to process what her son had just told her, while Otto Hightower´s face was expressing only one readable emotion. A very clear distaste pulled the corners of his mouth downwards.

“I cannot believe this. This level of defiance is unheard of. Truly, this is something I would have expected from your brother, not you. And to think of the shame. First Viserys parades her around, bringing shame and humiliation to our family. Your father willingly put my reputation at risk. And now you wish to do the same. Despite seeing how her presence has affected us for years.” Alicent´s words are broken up by unbelieving chuckles. To say she wasn´t happy about what the two of you had done was a harsh understatement. Not that either of you had expected her to be.

“Mother…” Aemond tries to get a word in to calm her down, but it is to no use as she continues to speak in a frenzy.

“Not to speak of the fact that it was entirely improper for her to be alone in a room with any man. We thought more of you, Aemond.” Otto finally gets a word in between Alicent´s enraged rant. His voice is equally as cold as the look in his blue eyes and it sends a shiver down your spine, where one of Aemond´s protective hands rests.

“I have heard enough. Did you stop to think once that she might have done this solely to keep her non existing claim on our money? That she does not truly love you, but the power that is attached to your position as a prince of the seven kingdoms?” She massages her temples, as the crease between her eyebrows deepens in exasperation.

“With all due respect, your majesty, but I fail to see how you are able to speak about my feelings towards your son. As you have never truly looked inside my mind. Or spend a day in my body. I admit that what I did with the late king was wrong, however he decided to treat me the way he did himself. I did not ask to be given gifts or be paraded around.” You finally find your words again to defend yourself.

The newfound courage is met by an outraged look on both the Queen dowagers and the hands face and surprise by Aemond.

“The love I hold for prince Aemond is much bigger than the love the two of you could ever be capable of feeling for anything.” Your voice raises and for a moment you aren´t even sure if all you did this for is your own selfish gain. For as the words leave your mouth you feel your heart beat higher and a warmth spread throughout your entire body.

You realize you had felt like this for the past days. Ever since Aemond and you had consummated your marriage you felt your cheeks heat up whenever he so much as laid his eyes upon you.

“She is right, mother. Whatever I do with my life is none of your concern. I am a man grown now and I love her. That is all that matters.” Aemond speaks up as well now. Judging by the reaction it gets him, it is the first time he has spoken up against his mother and grandsire.

“Aemond…” Alicent tries to say something though she has to cut herself short due to still bring speechless at the whole situation. Otto however does not.

“You will stop with this nonsense this instant. On the morrow we will get this marriage annulled. You will get married to Floris Baratheon as you have promised Lord Borros and you better make sure we will never have to see this… harlots face in the keep or in King´s landing ever again. Have I made myself understood?”

The way the hand towered over you from his height alone would be impressive enough to shut you up under any other circumstance, but right now is not the time to stand down. If you aren´t sure of it before, Aemond´s headstrong gaze further assures you of it. Even though his hands tremble even worse than they had in your first night together, the palm of his hand that holds yours starts to sweat and he swallows heavily.

“I will do no such thing. I understand you are angry, mother. I know you cannot understand me for the choices I made, but I do not care. For the first time in my life I am happy. Truly happy and understood. And you can say or do naught to change this. I will stay with my wife.”

You squeeze Aemond´s hand reassuringly while he speaks. The look you give him is filled to the brim with gratitude. You let your husband lead you out of the room. Your gaze hardening consistently as a realization strikes you.

No matter your or Aemonds true feelings, all of them would only ever see you for your mistakes. To the whole of the red keep you would always be the woman that king Viserys used to embarrass Alicent Hightower and now to break the promise towards Borros Baratheon. You would always be the other woman.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #prince aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #prince aemond targaryen #house of the dragon fic #hotd fic #hotd x reader #hotd #house of the dragon

[dedalvs]

Random question:

So a while back I read something where someone was talking about how if English spelling were reformed so every sound had a unique symbol that we’d lose the “visual alliteration” of Cape Cod.

I cannot figure out what that means. Are those /k/ sounds not both [k]? The only difference I’ve been able to notice is a feeling of the airstream moving outward in “Cape” and inward in “Cod”, but I can’t tell if that’s due to vowel influence or what.

Let's back up. The "someone" who was talking about this was either (a) wrong, (b) uncooperatively pedantic, or (c) imagining a very specific, non-alphabetic spelling reform of English (e.g. spelling English with logographic or syllabic glyphs).

Assuming (b), the only way that English spelling could be reformed such that the C's in Cape Cod would be different is if the spelling reforming was as sensitive as a narrow IPA transcription. If that was the case, then there are some transcriptions of English that would transcribe the first as [kʰʲ] and the second as [kʰ]. This level is detail is phonologically important for some languages. English is not one of these. A sensible spelling reform would spell those the same, whether C (because all instances of [k] become C) or K (because all instances of [k] become K). A nonsensical spelling reform would actually spell aspirated and unaspirated voiceless stops different, but even then, these two would be the same, as they're both aspirated.

The airstream is the same for both (egressive). What you're feeling, I expect, is the very slight movement in tongue position as the initial [k], which is palatalized, moves backward to an unpalatalized position. The reason you feel this is the tongue doesn't have to do anything in between the onset of the first word and the onset of the second. The tongue gets in position for [e], and in this position you can pronounce [k] well enough, then with [p], your tongue doesn't have to do anything; the lips take care of it. This means your tongue body can remain in place. For "Cod", it moves back as the tongue prepares to pronounce [ɑ] (or whatever back vowel you have there). Notice also that the tongue body has to go down, the tongue tip retracting slightly to pronounce [ɑ]. That's all part of it.

Now, assuming (c), yeah, that's indeed going to happen. Consider Japanese katakana. This is how "Cape Cod" is spelled: ケープコッド /keːpu koddo/. The relevant characters—the ones that begin each syllable—are ケ /ke/ and コ /ko/. And, yeah, they're different, so you do lose the visual alliteration. However, what you lose in visual similarity you gain in economy. To write /ka, ke, ki, ko, ku/ in an alphabet you need 6 different letter forms and 10 total glyphs. To write the same thing in katakana you need 5 different letter forms and 5 total glyphs. Consider an old style text message, which had a hard character count. A syllabary allows you to fit more letters in than an alphabet because each character encodes more information. When it comes to sheer character count, then, the Japanese writing system is much more efficient when it comes to writing Japanese than the English Romanization is.

Of course, that's for Japanese. For English it doesn't make as much sense because of our overabundance of consonant clusters. Typing lava in an alphabet takes 4 characters; in a syllabary, it takes 2. Typing straps, though, requires 6 characters in an alphabet and 5 in a syllabary. That doesn't save you a lot space—and a syllabary like Japanese's throws in extra vowels that have to be there, even if they're not pronounced, destroying its efficiency by, essentially, adding extra noise to the signal. Returning to straps, you have 6 characters, and all elements are vocalized. In katakana, you'd have to do ストラプス /sutorapusu/. You save a character with ラ /ra/, but then you have a whole bunch of vowels you have to remember not to pronounce.

Long story short, if you were going to reform the English spelling system, I don't think a syllabary (or even an abugida) makes sense, and a logography would be quite a thing to drop on the unsuspecting populace, even if it would be more equitable. This is why I guessed that what you overheard wasn't (c) and was likely (b).

Anyway, that's my 2¢. Hope it helps.

#language #linguistics #orthography #spelling #English #Japanese #syllabary #logography #alphabet #spelling reform