#THIS NEVER OCCURED TO HER BECAUSE THIS WOULD NEVER HAPPEN

[wasteddmoondust]

teacher || james potter

pairing: james potter x reader 863 words, preschool teacher au, james is a single dad (not for long...?), kindergarten teacher!reader, gender neutral reader, harry is her student so you know how it goes a/n: sorry this took months i have been in the slumpiest slump ever. hope you enjoy :,) I'm not too sure about how preschools fair in other countries but this is mostly based on my own experiences!

"Mr Potter! Lovely to see you today."

James walks into your classroom, and it's humourous to see you seated in a chair and table meant for six-year-olds.

He smiles at you and waves. Unfortunately, you're swooning on the inside.

Yes, it's unprofessional to have a crush on a parent, let alone the parent of one of your beloved students. Very unprofessional, actually. But you can't help but be enamoured by his looks. He looks exactly like his son, Harry. Messy hair and gold-rimmed glasses.

Or maybe he's just one of the only few parents who are the same age as you. And it doesn't help when you know he's a single father and always strikes a conversation with you whenever he has the chance to. In your head, maybe it wouldn't hurt to make a move.

"Of course, I'm happy to be here today, though it's the last time," he says as he sits down in an identical tiny chair.

You know you have to push these thoughts aside, because this was the last parent-teacher meeting for your kindergarteners who will be graduating in a few weeks. No matter your feelings, your job was to tell parents how their child has faired so far in their education.

You take a deep breath and fix your hair. "Okay, let's get started."

You adore Harry, a joy to have in your class. He is very friendly and communicates very well with his peers and teachers. He actively participates in class. He is developing well in the different aspects. You explain everything in layman's terms so he can understand, and he nods along, listening.

"Needless to say, Harry's definitely ready for primary school. If you'd like, it would be great if you continued his learning at home as well, before he officially starts school." you finish, nodding at James. You unconsciously bite the inside of your cheek, knowing that it won't be long until you'll never see this man again.

"That's great," he says, looking up from Harry's portfolio from over the year. "Harry really appreciates you as a teacher, you know? He always loves coming to school."

You smile at that, it warms your heart. "I'm glad to hear that. I'll definitely miss him when he graduates."

There's an awkward silence between the both of you, not particularly knowing what to say. You both nod and look down. You know it's the end.

"Well..." you start. "If you don't have any more questions, that will be it. Thank you so much for joining us on this journey, Mr Potter."

"I do have- um- a question?" he says abruptly. He suddenly seems more fidgety and nervous, gripping the binder of Harry's portfolio.

"Um..." he scratches his head. You look at him expectantly. "I appreciate you as Harry's teacher, of course. He always says that you're very nice and pretty... I also think you're very nice and pretty..."

You nod along, trying to keep your cool by controlling your facial expressions.

He continues, his shoulders slowly rising in a shrug. "So if you'd let me, we can meet outside of school for once," he spits it out quickly like he's ripping a band-aid off.

Blinking slowly, you process what just happened. "Did you just ask me out?" you ask, eyes wide.

His eyes dart to the side and then back at you. "Yes," he says.

"Mr Potter-" you start.

"Please, you can call me James-"

"Your son is my student."

"He won't be by next week."

"It will be very unprofessional of me-"

"I don't hear a no, though..."

And you're both in silence again. You sigh and bring a hand to your face, resting your chin on your palm as you look away from him. You try to think of your next move.

Aside from all of the consequences that may occur, this is a golden opportunity. Your teacher life always gets so hectic and you barely have time to go out and meet people. If you miss this chance you may never get to have one like it again.

You bite your lip and accept whatever fate may come.

You speak in a hushed voice, willing that no one hears this conversation. "Fine, yes. I'll give you a chance. But if anything goes wrong, my priority is my job and yours is Harry. Got it?"

James let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. He looks up at you with sparkling eyes. "Yes, okay. I will-"

He's cut off by a knock at your door. Your colleague opens it and her head pokes into your classroom. "Hi, sorry to interrupt, but the next parent is waiting outside," she says. You nod at her and she leaves. You stand up, and James does too.

"Well, this is... unofficially goodbye, Mr Potter. It really has been a pleasure teaching Harry," you say, stretching your hand out for a shake. He takes it, and his hand is warm.

You mutter quickly to him, "My contact is in the binder."

He grins at you, childlike, and you watch him leave your classroom with a wave. You wave back, smiling.

You sincerely hope you won't regret this decision.

a/n: RRRAAHHH i really hope to make this a mini series of some kind because i have the softest spot for kids and i start being a real teacher in a month! asks are open if you have any thoughts <3 thanks for reading!

#marauders x reader #marauders imagine #requests #james potter x reader #james potter imagine #james potter x you #zee writes

[cannedpickledpeaches]

Insert Your Name (11)

Mafia!Jade Leech x Mafia!Reader

Link to part one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten!

Notes and TW: Congratulations! You have successfully made it all about you (positive). This series will have mentions of blood, violence, crime (kidnapping, attempted assassination, extortion), and harassment, as one might expect from a mafia AU. Please enjoy!

Sorry that the tags haven't been working for the past couple of posts! I had to go in and edit the html for each individual one T-T please forgive me

Tags: @guava-enjoyer @itszzmoon @twstsandturns @myteacupisempty @rou-luxe @chikitasmol @night-shadowblood-writes2 @haveneulalie @owodi

A strange sense of satisfaction fills you as surprise fills the man’s face, but you don’t show it. You need to see this through. If you’re powerless in the face of his ability, you simply need to borrow his power. So what if he’s akin to a god? All you need to do is bring him to your side. Whoever that author is, whoever took over (Y/N)’s body—maybe they aren’t capable of using such an asset effectively. However, you’re confident you won’t let that advantage go to waste.

The man hums in thought. “I suppose it could be done without much fanfare. I would simply need to shift my attention to your experiences and abandon the current story. However, you would need to have your story recorded somewhere, in whatever form you may wish for it to take.”

You understand what he’s getting at. A story needs a medium, just like that manuscript. There are many options: on film, as a novel, as a collage of pictures. No strict rules exist for expression of self.

“I’ll keep a journal. Every day, I’ll write an entry, and I’ll also use it as a planner. This way, my ‘story’ will have the events that occurred in my life, how they affected my ‘character development,’ and also outline how I expect the story to ‘progress.’ Is that good enough?”

You still don’t think of yourself as a fictional character. You’re real, in every aspect, to yourself. But that doesn’t matter right now. Functionally, you’re a character to this man. You’ll use that assumption to put yourself in the most advantageous position.

“Yes, that would be a rather interesting way to tell your story. There are indeed many stories that were written in the form of diary entries, so this is not an issue at all. This would, in fact, make things easier for me. I would not have to go through the paperwork and expend energy to bring someone from another world since you already exist in Twisted Wonderland as an established character. There is just one thing you should know before you make this decision.”

“Tell me.” Of course there are strings attached. There always are. You prepare yourself. Self-sacrifice in small amounts is necessary, of course, but if there’s anything you can negotiate with . . . .

“I will have to take the previous author’s soul out of (Y/N)’s body. (Y/N)’s soul will regain control of her own body, since it was never removed, only dormant. Since the author’s original body cannot function without a soul, she cannot return to her world. It will disappear, never to be recovered, lost to the fabric of what forms this space. Are you still willing to proceed?”

“Is that it?” You expected something else. This has nothing to do with you giving up anything. In fact, it could even be considered a bonus. This woman whose story made your life and relationships exceedingly difficult will disappear down to the traces of her soul. It’s an easy decision. “Of course.”

“How cold-hearted you are.” He chuckles down at his teacup. It never seems to drain empty no matter how he sips it. “That is not an undesirable quality in protagonists, although they often do not have a happy ending in fairytales.”

“Is that supposed to deter me or something?” You stay resolute. “My future was always uncertain no matter if it’s a story or not. I’m in the mafia. I’ve come to terms that horrible things could happen at any moment because of the nature of my job a long, long time ago. It’s my responsibility to plan so that I reduce those chances as much as possible. And you’re going to help me.”

“Yes, I am.” He glances at the fireplace, which has burned down to glowing red embers. “Perhaps you should count yourself lucky that you are under my jurisdiction. I am partial to tragic endings, but I also do not mind if an amoral character triumphs in the end. Some of my peers would adamantly ensure it does not happen.”

You furrow your brows. This is not the first time he brought up something being under his “jurisdiction.” However, this is the first time he’s mentioned “peers” instead of “characters.”

“There are others like you?”

“Yes, of course. Twisted Wonderland is filled with too many stories for me to manage on my own. Since you are mainly involved with the Leech Mafia and stories of the Coral Sea, you fall under my jurisdiction.”

It makes sense. This man compared himself to a god, but he isn’t one. He isn’t omnipotent or omniscient.

“Who are they?”

He tilts his head. “You would not know us even if I told you.”

“I’m curious. Tell me anyway.”

“Such a curious character.” He glances at the embers again. “Alright, I see no harm in it. My peers overseeing Twisted Wonderland include Walt Disney, the Brothers Grimm, Hanna Diyab, Victor Hugo, and Lewis Carroll, among others.”

None of these names ring a bell. It is just a list of names, but having more information is never a bad thing.

“And your name? I should know how to address you.”

“Oh, I have not yet introduced myself to you? My apologies, I must be turning forgetful in my old age.” He laughs at himself in a good-natured manner. “My name is Hans Christian Anderson. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

You introduce yourself as well. He extends a hand to you. When your hands connect in a firm handshake, the new deal you’ve made feels solidified.

Anderson looks at the fireplace one more time. The light has died completely, the little room lit only by the moonlight pouring in the window. With a gentle but decisive clap of his hands, he stands from his armchair.

“That was a fruitful discussion, and I thank you for your patience and understanding. I fear time has run out, however, and so I will be sending you back shortly. I’ll place you right back where you came from: at the moment when I brought you here.”

“Hold on!” Too soon, too sudden. You still have so much to say. He holds up a hand, stopping your protests.

“If you’d like to communicate with me, simply write a request for it in your new journal. I wish you best of luck.”

And with that, the world goes white again.

This is the story of a girl whose name is no longer hers. A girl so common that she may as well be a faceless background character in another person’s story. A girl who wishes, more than anything, to be the protagonist of a love story that will sweep her off her feet and solve all her problems.

Her family is normal. Her friends, too. And so is she. It isn’t enough for her. The world inside that game she plays is so magical, so whimsical, so perfect. The characters are handsome, powerful, clever, funny, or rich, or some combination of those qualities. If she enters this world, surely all those wonderful characters would treat her as someone special. They’d love and revere her unconditionally. She pines for a man who would love her and her shortcomings in their entirety, no matter what she does.

The beauty about fictional characters is that because they are fictional, they can be whatever she wants them to be. She can wholeheartedly believe they’ll love her, and there is nothing wrong with that. But she isn’t satisfied with that alone. It needs to be real.

Desperately, she writes a story revolving around a faceless, flawless main character who she desperately wishes she could be. Everyday, the writing consumes her, dragging her into a fantasy of bliss. She begins to resent her reality. Nobody in real life will love her the correct way. Nobody can be as good as the characters she pours her love and headcanons on. She doesn’t consider how love can be gradual, nor does realize someone might have to get to know her before loving her. After all, in her fanfiction, the perfect mafioso loves her main character upon the first meeting and devotes himself with no questions asked. Isn’t that the ideal love?

One day, a miracle occurs. She meets a man who offers to make her story into her reality. Jumping on the chance to live her perfectly crafted life of happiness, she agrees. Finally. Finally, she will be loved the way she wants.

At first, everything went perfectly. Real life follows her fanfiction to the letter. Jade is charming, Floyd is endearing, and a string of coincidences leads her to meet Vil, another handsome bachelor. Love surrounds her at every turn. All she needs in this life are the handsome men who give her special treatment. After all, this body, this life—(Y/N)—was created by her, for her use. All of the previous relationships this body entertained no longer matter. They aren’t hers, anyway.

The polaroids that occupied her nightstand are probably in a landfill somewhere. The aesthetic was cute, befitting the tastes of a character she modelled after herself, but the person in them is irrelevant. Some side character she’s never going to see again. No matter; she’ll eventually replace those polaroids with cute photos of herself and her new love. (Y/N)—no, the placeholder—has served its purpose. It will not miss those useless decorations since it will never again have its own consciousness.

So where did it all go wrong? Perhaps it was wrong from the start. She should have cursed that old man for scamming her. Her happy ending was never a guarantee. How dare a throwaway side character upend her perfect, fairy tale ending? Is that even allowed? They’re all just characters anyway. How can they steal from a real person?

Until the very end, she couldn’t see anyone around her as anything other than characters in a story. Maybe if she did, she might have gotten the love she wanted. Now, she disappears, having never achieved the goal she so desperately grasped at. Like seafoam, her hopes and yearning for love bubbles and disappears.

Hans Christian Anderson places a book into an empty spot on one of his many shelves. He has always been fond of tragedies. As for this new story that’s unfolding . . . who’s to say how it will end? He’s a patient man. With a smile, he settles into an armchair and sips from a cup of tea. He’s looking forward to it. When it eventually ends, like all stories inevitably do, he’ll shelve it and find another story to bring to life.

The world suddenly flashes into focus. The sun’s dying embers flicker on the sea. Sand shifts between your toes. Fingers graze your neck. Before you can activate your Signature Spell, (Y/N) crashes into you and you both topple over into a bed of sand. Bloodlust raises the hairs on the back of your neck. But it isn’t coming from (Y/N). Instead, you instinctively wrap one arm around her and hold the other one out in front of you, shielding her from Jade.

“Wait, wait! Jade, it’s fine. I’m okay.”

He freezes. One of his hands stops a centimeter away from (Y/N)’s hair. She doesn’t react. Slowly, you lay back down, heaving a sigh. You shift her face to the side so that she doesn’t suffocate in your shoulder. Her eyelashes flutter against her cheekbones, complementing the slow rise and fall of her ribs.

“See? She’s asleep.”

Jade furrows his brows. “I fail to understand. Most importantly, are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah.” You chuckle, staring up at the stars that unveil themselves in the darkening sky. “I’m just a little tired.”

You explain everything to him. He seems skeptical, but eventually, he accepts it. He sits in the sand next to you, his hand covering yours. You pretend not to notice, but it offers a soothing calm to your exhausted mind.

“I’m sorry,” you say, glancing at his side profile. “Even if I write that Vil Schoenheit will cure your parents, it might not happen because of continuity issues. Maybe (Y/N) will still be able to convince him.”

“That’s alright.” He catches your gaze. “It would make the story progress more smoothly if we continue with our talks with Walrus.”

He accepted it so quickly. For that matter, so did you. You wonder briefly if there is something at play that makes you accept the reality of your situation as fact—if it’s because you’re a character after all—but that’s all speculation. Not worth your time and energy to figure out.

“Bottom line is, this is my story now. So I’ll make sure the curse on your parents is dispelled.”

“How reliable.” Jade gives you a gentle smile, one that causes an unfamiliar stirring in your chest. “Thank you. What would you like in recompense?”

You weren’t expecting him to offer anything at all. But since he offered, you aren’t one to refuse.

“Money.”

His quiet laughter blends in with the sound of rushing waves.

“No hesitation at all, I see. Of course, I will pay you adequately for your invaluable help.”

“I also want something else.” You fiddle with the strands of (Y/N)’s hair. “I’d like a vacation. Just a week or two after everything settles down so I can go back to my hometown with my mom.”

“Is that what the money is for?”

“Yeah.” Your heart feels a little lighter. “You should visit the Coral Sea after your parents wake up as well. I’m sure you’ll want to spend time with them.”

A pause. You scrutinize Jade’s expression in the low light, but his expression is wholly unfamiliar to you. He almost looks . . . nervous.

“Would you come with us?”

You blink. “Don’t you want to spend time with just your family?”

“Yes, but my parents would be delighted to have you over again. You have not been to our home under the sea in a long time, and I would be more than happy to show you around again.”

“It won’t be a bother?”

“Far from it.” His thumb rubs softly against the back of your hand. “I . . . We are very fond of you.”

You can’t help but think there’s an ulterior motive, but you accept. This wouldn’t be the first time you’ve travelled to their home under the sea, and this most likely won’t be the last.

Suddenly, (Y/N) shifts on your chest. A soft noise escapes her lips as though she’s finally awakened from a long nap. Her bleary eyes find yours. Kind, lovely, and gentle eyes. The eyes of the (Y/N) you know and love, the eyes of your friend.

“Huh? Are we on the beach? What happened?”

A relieved laugh bubbles out of your throat and you hug her tightly. Confused but sweet, she reciprocates with reassuring pats to your arm.

“Yeah, we’re on the beach. Let’s get you home.” You sit up and smile as she fusses over the sand in your hair. Normalcy is slowly but surely returning. “I’ll tell you everything on the way there.”

#twisted wonderland #disney twst #jade leech #twst x reader #twst jade #twst fanfic #jade leech x reader #mafia au #multi chap fic #slow burn

[burnednotburied]

Chapter Three

AO3 Link | Chapter 2 Link

Pairing: Abby Anderson x fem!reader

Fic Synopsis: Abby goes looking for Owen and ends up on the wrong end of your knife.

Tags/CWs: angst; slowburn; enemies to friends to lovers; talks of purity culture/ideals and “sin”; internalized homophobia and some comp-het feelings (they’re both so gay but so dumb about it); animosity between WLF and Seraphites; blood/gore; descriptions of being hanged; religious/cult-like ideas

Note: This is not at all how I thought this chapter would start. Alas, I am riddled with religious trauma, and Taylor Swift just released the song “Guilty as Sin?” I mean… “My boredom’s bone-deep This cage was once just fine Am I allowed to cry? I dream of cracking locks, Throwing my life to the WOLVES” Are you kidding me? It’s perfect. So this started out differently than I planned. But what was I to do? I am just a girl.

----------------------------------------------------------------

There were many topics on which you had been educated in-depth but were never supposed to experience first-hand.

Sex was one of those topics.

You knew the mechanics of it. The anatomy that was involved. Its purposes and benefits. The dangers of it.

You had been told, vehemently, that it was something that should never be done outside of the safe and proper confines of marriage.

Which meant you could never do it because you could never marry.

The Prophet had to remain pure.

Set apart.

Free from romantic, familial, worldly ties.

You were taught to suppress any desire to do otherwise. A task that you had been mostly successful at upholding.

But there were times when your eyes lingered where they shouldn’t and your own thoughts made you shiver and blush.

It was the sin of lust.

The other major vices were usually easily circumvented. You could be disciplined and selfless, just and kind, modest and brave.

You always did what you were told, and you didn’t ask questions.

You told yourself that you weren’t weak; you just knew your place. You knew what was expected of you, and no other options had ever been made available.

So, like thrown clay, you had allowed yourself to be molded into the person you were today, each piece of you carefully and intentionally shaped by the hands of others.

The Elders created the perfect Seraphite specimen. Quietly devout. Enigmatic. Indelible. Untouchable. Obedient.

A mouthpiece disguised as a leader.

A Prophet.

They made you.

You were not a naturally occurring thing.

Sometimes you didn’t even feel human.

Lust was one sin you knew could be concealed, buried far below your surface, unseen by critical eyes.

It was a small act of rebellion. A hidden glimmer of defiance. Although, you weren’t doing it on purpose.

And it was made especially loathsome due to the regrettable fact that it only ever happened to you when you were looking at or thinking of a woman…

Now the Wolf stood in front of you, hammer held tightly in her right hand.

Demons were quickly descending upon you, and you had just witnessed (and neglected to intervene into) the death of three of your own people. The only person you helped was the Wolf, your enemy, who you were meant to kill.

You could guess what the Elders would say if they were here now. How disappointed they would look as they pointed out your many failings.

For once, you didn’t care.

Strangely, despite everything, you felt like a bird whose cage door was just thrown wide open.

Or a well-trained dog that had been mistakenly let off leash.

You could breathe. Unrestricted.

Your eyes remained glued to the Wolf.

Her back was to you, her soaked clothes clinging to her skin. Her shoulders rose with each of her deep, deliberate breaths.

Time seemed to slow as your eyes traced down the length of her arms, taking in her strong form…

See, you knew the sin of lust was bad, if only because it made you stupid.

Or distracted, at the very least.

Demons were coming, and you had just been moments away from gutting this girl.

You definitely couldn’t trust her.

But you didn’t have to trust her to look at her.

A series of snapping twigs and high-pitched shrieks from the surrounding forest instantly brought your attention back to the approaching threat.

Demons were another one of those things that they taught you about but never thought you’d actually encounter.

When you arrived on the mainland that morning, you had been led to the network of Seraphite-built bridges, above the city, concealed in the clouds.

Nearly your entire day had been spent in the sky.

If there were any Demons below, you didn’t see them.

Honestly, you hoped you’d never have to come across the cursed creatures.

The sounds they made were animalistic, but somehow still eerily human. Like a voice that was either enraged or overwhelmed with pain.

You had been told that they were unsavable. Completely consumed by the disease and irrevocably punished for their sins. No longer even human.

As a child, you heard stories of the first Prophet valiantly fighting off hordes in defense of her early followers.

In training, they taught you how to fight both Demons and human adversaries alike. Although the former was always theoretical.

You were shown sketches, detailing the different stages of it.

Foolishly, you thought you were ready.

But nothing could’ve prepared you for what came running out from the cover of the trees.

It moved faster than you would’ve thought possible, too quickly for you to take it all in, but the glimpses you captured were grotesque.

It went straight for the Wolf, swinging its arms wildly. She effortlessly dodged its attack before striking with the hammer. Hard. It was dead in just three blows.

Two more approached from behind you, closest to Lev, and it was past time for you to be useful.

Lev was a skilled archer, but he was still a kid. And Yara, also a kid, only had use of one of her arms.

Both of the Demons were focused on Lev. He fired an arrow, hitting one of them in the chest, but it didn’t take it down.

Its back was to you.

You couldn’t let yourself freeze again.

You closed the distance between you and the beast, lifting your dagger with both hands and bringing it back down swiftly, piercing deeply through its skull.

It let out one last pained shriek as it fell.

The Wolf had taken out the other Demon before Lev had to loose another arrow.

But there were two more where those came from. One swung at the Wolf, and the other came for you.

You were able to dodge, narrowly missing the impact of its savage attack. Stepping back, you continued to evade its blows.

You swung at it, but the thing was fast. Your blade cut into its shoulder instead of its head. Ripping your weapon out, you tried again. This time, you hit your target.

That was two for you.

“Prophet, look out!” Yara shouted. Before you could discern which direction the threat was coming from, you were brutally thrown to the ground, the wind knocked out of you entirely.

Death wore the grisly face of the Demon standing above you.

You had dropped your dagger, leaving you completely defenseless.

Lev’s arrows pierced its throat twice.

It kept coming.

You blinked and it was on the ground. The Wolf knelt over it, hammer crashing over its skull repeatedly, past when the thing was decidedly dead, until the hammer actually broke in her hand.

You just blinked again.

She saved you.

Why did she save you?

You scrambled to your feet, your breaths coming too quickly.

You tried not to panic.

You had only almost died.

You were fine.

The Wolf dropped the splintered remnants of the hammer and stood, shaking out her hand. You stared as she walked over to where your dagger lay on the ground and bent to pick it up.

She looked at you for—as far as you could tell—the first time since you’d cut her down from the rope.

She walked over, holding your gaze.

You realized that she could kill you now. That that was likely why she had saved you.

So she could end you herself.

Because you were the Prophet, and a Seraphite. Or because you had nearly killed her before.

She could even do it with your own weapon. The one that had been meant for her.

You imagined that would be satisfying for a brutish Wolf.

As she approached, you noticed that she towered over you, making you doubly aware of the fact that this was not a fight you would win if it came down to it. Especially when you were unarmed.

She stopped when she stood only a couple feet in front of you, turning the dagger over in her hand and simply offering it to you, handle-first.

Dumbly, you slowly reached out and took it.

Her hand fell back to her side.

There was a hint of a smug little smile on her face, like she knew what you had been thinking.

“Try not to drop that again, yeah?” she said, voice low. It was the first time she’d spoken directly to you, and you resented the way it made your cheeks warm.

Before you could come up with a competent response, Yara interrupted.

“Prophet, Wolf! Come on. We have to move!” She held a lit torch in her uninjured hand. Lev stood at her side, ready to run.

“Where are you going?” the Wolf asked, unsure if she would be following. You were already moving to join Yara and Lev.

“Out of these woods. We’ve gotta run! Now! The coast is this way.”

They took off into the trees with you close behind. The sound of footsteps falling behind you informed you of the Wolf’s apparent decision to tag along, at least for the time being.

You could also hear more Demons, closing in on either side, chasing the torch’s light. Which meant they were after Yara.

You ran faster, trying to close the distance between you just in case.

As she passed an abandoned vehicle, one of the Demons jumped out, tackling her to the ground.

Lev shot an arrow through its head as you ran to her, pushing the dead Demon off and helping her back to her feet.

The horrifying chorus of even more of them, just beyond your vision, made you startle with each screech.

“They’re all around us!” Yara cried, moving closer to her brother.

The Wolf, weaponless after breaking the hammer, quickly looked around, finding a glass bottle. She grabbed it and threw it at the next creature that emerged from the forest.

The Demon slowed, momentarily stunned, and the Wolf wasted no time knocking it over and bringing her foot down on its skull hard and fast.

Just one stomp and it was dead.

You flushed again, transfixed.

Stupid.

You should not find that attractive.

But she was undeniably incredible.

You shook your head in an attempt to refocus as you turned to watch Lev take down another with a couple well-aimed shots.

A shriek behind you revealed the presence of yet another. You turned to meet it, killing the thing easily enough.

It seemed your training in combat had been sufficient after all, at least where Demons were concerned.

“That was the last of them,” Yara said.

“You guys okay?” the Wolf asked, like she might actually care.

“Yeah,” Lev breathed out, bow and arrow still at the ready.

“We have to keep moving before more come,” Yara insisted, taking up the lead again as she pressed forward.

You all ran after her.

“Every direction looks the same,” said the Wolf. You were inclined to agree. “You sure you know where you’re going?”

“It has to be this way,” Yara said, quietly determined.

“What the hell am I doing?” the Wolf muttered to herself under her breath.

The four of you picked up your speed as the Demons grew closer.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Abby seriously had no idea what the hell she was doing.

She was running through the woods, fighting off Infected with three Scars.

And one of them was the Prophet.

Who had been fully intending to disembowel her not too long ago…

Something had to be wrong with her. Maybe it was brain damage from nearly suffocating.

Because this wasn’t like her.

A couple hours ago, Abby was killing Scars. Happily.

Well maybe that wasn’t the best word for it. It didn’t make her happy. She just didn’t feel bad about it.

And now, she was prancing through the forest and going out of her way to protect Scars?

The kids were one thing. They seemed to be just as in danger with other Scars as they were with the Infected.

What had that one woman called them? Apostates?

Abby had done enough reading to know what the word meant. She guessed they must have broken some stupid, insane rule and run off.

Or been kicked out.

Either way, from what Abby had gathered, they had gone rogue and were being hunted by their own people.

Which meant they weren’t necessarily her enemy.

But the other girl. The Prophet…

Abby didn’t know what was going on with you.

Were you going rogue too, or were your friends just dead and you needed help getting past the Infected and out of the woods?

And yeah, you had been about to kill her before. But you’d stopped as soon as there was a distraction. Took the out the second it was offered.

And then you had been the one to cut her down.

So maybe you didn’t want to kill her.

That counted for something, right?

Abby didn’t let herself think too much about how pretty you were.

How stunning your eyes looked when they met hers.

How your fingers felt, lightly grazing her bare skin for just a second, then leaving all too soon.

And how you had definitely blushed when she spoke to you.

See? She totally wasn’t thinking about any of that at all.

And she was probably delusional.

And way too distracted, spending any amount of time or energy thinking about such crazy shit while you were all actively running for your lives.

Abby was bringing up the rear of the group, and she knew a horde of Stalkers was not far behind her.

She really hoped these Scars knew where they were going.

“It’s just up here!” the girl, Yara, shouted from up ahead, leading the way to a wall of hanging vines.

The boy, Lev, pulled the vines aside, revealing an opening behind. Yara carefully but quickly maneuvered through. You waited until both she and Lev were on the other side before looking up at Abby expectantly.

There wasn’t time to argue, so Abby went next. You followed closely behind, then let the vines fall back into place, hiding your path from the Infected that pursued.

On the other side, Abby was met with the sight of several dead bodies, clearly recently slaughtered.

She couldn’t tell from this distance what had killed them. Or if they were Scar or WLF.

“Those are fresh. There another way around?” she asked, maneuvering around the corpses.

Lev spoke up. “If there were, would we be going this way?”

Okay. Fair point.

Yara pointed to a chain link fence with the torch. “Come on, Lev. Get it open.”

The kid tried to bend the steel wires up to create an opening. It didn’t budge, despite his efforts.

“Move,” Abby said. He did.

She strained as the piece of fencing gave way beneath her hands.

“Get in there, Prophet,” she said, teeth clenched.

----------------------------------------------------------------

You quickly slid through the opening and popped up on the other side.

Finally, you were free of the suffocating forest.

The clearing was illuminated with light of the full moon.

You wandered on ahead as Lev, Yara, and the Wolf came through the fence behind you.

“Prophet?” A new voice spoke out as you turned the corner. The reverence in the person’s tone alone told you that you were dealing with a Seraphite.

You turned toward the voice to see a woman you recognized but whose name you couldn’t recall. She was large and stood tall, the side of her face bloody and a pickaxe in her grip.

She had been part of a patrolling squad in the area. You’d seen her briefly earlier in the day, with Emily, after the Wolf had been captured.

The woman saw that you were, in fact, who she thought you were, and she bowed her head out of respect.

“Are you alright, Prophet? What are you doing out here? Where is Emily?”

You were at a loss for words.

Her voice was calm and concerned now, but you knew that she would kill Lev, Yara, and the Wolf if given the chance.

“I—”

Your two friends entered the clearing behind you, drawing her eyes toward them.

“Apostates,” she hissed, and instantly her demeanor changed.

She rushed past you, ruthlessly throwing Yara to the ground and lifting Lev up by his neck.

You moved without thinking, your dagger still tightly clutched in your fingers. Again, you raised your arms above your head, just as you had done when fighting the Demons. Using all of your strength, you brought the blade down above her head, piercing her skull. The weapon was long enough that it exited through her chin.

Her body slackened and slumped to the ground. Dead.

You stared down at her, feeling the weight of what you had just done.

This wasn’t a Demon. It wasn’t an animal.

She was a living person.

And a Seraphite. One of your own people.

You were supposed to be her Prophet. Her leader. Her new hope.

She hadn’t been watching her back because she never imagined that you could betray your people like that. That you would pose a threat to her.

You continued to stare, holding your breath. You couldn’t look away.

You didn’t deserve to look away.

You felt a sob rising in your throat. Your eyes began to water.

No. You would not cry.

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Abby was the last to enter the clearing.

By then, the Scar was already holding Lev in the air, and you were already approaching from behind, lifting your dagger.

Abby watched as you killed her.

Woah.

You were good with that knife, she’d give you that.

Yara and Lev got back to their feet and watched as you stared down at the dead Scar, unmoving. Like you were frozen.

You weren’t even breathing, and you looked like you might cry.

Abby had been wondering how many WLF soldiers you killed today before you got to her. If the three she’d seen hanging when she first came to were yours.

Now, she was sure they weren’t.

Because based on your reaction, that had to be your first time.

She wasn’t usually one to be especially sensitive to the emotions of others, but when she heard you sniffle, finally taking in a ragged breath, she couldn’t help but move towards you.

Abby thought of her own first kill. How easy it was to do in the heat of the moment, but how torn up she’d been in the aftermath.

She understood that it was necessary, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t hard as hell.

She fought the urge to put a hand on your shoulder, or even rub your back soothingly. Reminded herself of who you were and who she was and all the reasons why she shouldn’t even be here right now.

Instead, she bent to retrieve your dagger from the body. She tried to hand it back to you, but you were still stuck, staring down.

“Hey. You did a good job.” She took your hand in hers, placing the handle into your palm and closing your fingers around it. She didn’t let go, allowing her hands to fully encompass yours.

Abby waited until you met her eyes. “You saved them,” she said, nodding towards Lev and Yara, who were both silently watching this unfold. “You did what you had to do.”

You drew your eyebrows together at that, like you wanted to argue. But you seemed to change your mind, ultimately just nodding your head lightly.

She let her hands drop and glanced back down at the slumped body again, her eyes catching on something.

“Wait. Is that my backpack?” Abby asked, looking more closely.

Beside her, you lifted your shoulder in a half-hearted shrug.

“Probably. Emily gave it to her earlier,” you said numbly.

Abby didn’t need to ask who Emily was. She could guess.

She reclaimed her belongings while you pulled yourself together.

“Are you two alright?” you asked the siblings.

“Yes, Prophet,” Lev answered, watching you closely. Abby noticed that you seemed to bristle ever so slightly at his use of your title. You didn’t say anything though.

She held her rifle in her hands again, happy to have her stuff back.

Especially the guns.

Wordlessly, the Scar kids led the way into the nearest building.

Out of habit, Abby began gathering supplies as you went along, taking ammo and medical supplies and anything else that seemed useful.

“How’s the arm?” she asked Yara, breaking the long stretch of silence.

“I have it under control,” the girl insisted defensively.

“Okay…” Abby took a box of ammo from a cabinet. “Grab any supplies you find.”

“We can’t touch this stuff. It’s Old World,” Lev said, like that should’ve been obvious.

“Are you fu---? You need supplies. We’re not out of the woods yet.” She opened and then shut a drawer. “Pun fucking intended.”

“What’s a pun?” Lev asked from another room.

Abby didn’t have the energy to answer that question.

Instead she said, “I’ve never seen Scars go after Scars like that before.”

“Seraphites,” you and Lev corrected in unison as you explored different rooms of the building.

Again, she ignored. “So what the hell did you do?”

“I shaved my head,” Lev answered simply.

Abby scoffed. “Fine. Don’t tell me.”

The group passed through building after dilapidated building, heading towards the coast. At least in theory.

“We’re almost there,” Yara said. “Just a little farther.”

She led the way down a steep drop-off into another run-down building. One where you wouldn’t be able to get back out the same way you went in.

“Now what?” Abby threw out, tired and frustrated.

“I’m quite confident it’s this way.”

“Quite confident?” Abby repeated incredulously.

“You don’t have to follow us,” Lev pointed out.

“You want me to leave you three out here alone?” Abby shot back.

Your response was an immediate and insistent, almost panicked, “No!”

Everyone else turned to you, surprised.

“Let’s just get out of here,” Lev offered.

Abby found the front doors, but they were held firmly closed by a metal gate on the outside.

Above the door was a large opening, too high for Abby to pull herself out of, but not too high for someone to climb through with a boost.

“If you get us through there, we’ll open the gate,” Lev said.

Abby remembered again that these were Scars she was dealing with. And like hell was she going to boost you all up to safety just so you could leave her stranded here.

“Get them out,” you said, as if you could read her mind. “I’ll stay with you.”

Lev started to protest but stopped after one shake of your head.

Abby nodded. “Okay. Come on.”

He gave you one last look before walking over to her, stepping into her open hands and pulling himself through the opening.

“Your turn.” Abby looked at Yara. “Watch that arm.” She carefully helped the injured girl maneuver up and out.

The all too familiar shriek of Infected sounded off behind you, coming from deeper in the building.

On the other side of the doors, Lev pushed at the gate. It wouldn’t budge.

“The gate’s stuck!”

“Fuck! Hurry up!” Abby looked back and forth between the door and the direction the Infected were coming from.

“We’ll look for another way!” Yara said, and the two of them disappeared from view.

Abby tried to stay calm and prepared herself for the inevitable fight.

“They’re not going to leave me,” you said, drawing her attention. You held your knife at the ready, rolling your shoulders back.

She didn’t respond, not sure if she believed you.

“They won’t,” you reiterated.

“I hope you’re right, Prophet.” She offered one of the weapons from her stash. “You ever shot a gun before?”

You shook your head but accepted the firearm anyway.

“Come here. I’ll show you.”

What Abby hoped would only be a few Infected turned out to be an entire horde. Runners, Stalkers, Clickers, and even a couple Shamblers.

You were fighting them off like a champ.

Seriously. She was impressed.

You’d kept the gun, watched her rushed demonstration on how to operate it, but ultimately chose to primarily stick with the dagger.

Both of you had been fighting for several minutes as you moved through the building. No sign of the other two Scars. Abby had pretty much resigned herself to needing to find her own way out.

She cleared the room she was in, lowering her weapon to take a breather.

You were in the next room, and it sounded like you had cleared that one out too.

The only warning Abby had before she felt the blow was you urgently shouting, “Wolf!”

A Stalker that she failed to notice had her pinned to the ground, knocking her rifle from her grip in the process.

It reared its head back as Abby struggled, fighting to get it off her.

A gunshot rang out, and the Infected slumped, lifeless.

She shoved it off her and sat up to see you standing there, borrowed gun still aimed and ready.

“Good girl!” Abby exclaimed, beaming up at you from where she sat on the floor.

Wait.

What the fuck?

She meant to say “good job”…

Actually, she hadn’t meant to say anything.

You lowered the weapon. Based on the look on your face, you were just as taken aback by her use of those words as Abby was. Although, she managed to keep it from showing on her face. Mostly.

She stood quickly and fumbled through a recovery. “Good shot. That was—I mean—It was a good… A good shot. Good job.”

You smiled softly at Abby’s obvious display of nerves, walking over to where her rifle had fallen when she was attacked.

You picked it up and returned it to her.

“Try not to drop that again, yeah?” you said, mimicking the teasing tone Abby had used when she said those same words to you earlier that night.

She made a face. Something that was equal parts embarrassment and amusement.

“Prophet! Over here!” came Lev’s quiet voice from the next room.

You shot Abby an I told you so look before the two of you ran after the sound.

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When Yara collapsed, the Wolf picked her up and carried her.

You listened as she quietly comforted your dear friend, encouraging her to keep breathing and promising to find somewhere to rest soon.

Your heart felt soft for her in that moment.

Or maybe you were just exhausted.

Lev led the group with you in the back, gun drawn and alert to the best of your current abilities.

You entered a clearing, full of enormous metal boxes and small, raised buildings. All things from the Old World that you had never seen before and didn’t have words for.

The Wolf instructed Lev to start checking the doors of all the small buildings. It took a few tries before he found one that was open.

The inside was in noticeably better shape than any other structure you’d seen on the mainland, with a few simple, fully intact pieces of furniture.

You watched as the Wolf moved through the first small room and into the second, carefully setting Yara down on the couch. She went over to the windows, checking again to make sure the four of you hadn’t been followed.

When Yara began to slowly remove her overshirt, you were quick to help, being especially careful with her injured arm.

It was swollen and bright red from her elbow down to her fingertips, visibly mangled. You had to bite back a gasp.

Lev stood on the other side of the room, a horribly worried expression on his face.

It wouldn’t be helpful for you to panic now.

“Hey,” you said to him, light and encouraging, drawing his gaze to you and away from his hurt older sister. “It just needs to be set. Okay?”

You turned your eyes to the Wolf who was still hovering by the window. “You know how to do that?”

The face she made confirmed what you already knew. Yara needed much more than just for the arm to be set.

Still, the Wolf walked over, instructing Lev to cut the discarded overshirt into strips and telling Yara to lean back.

You helped her, kneeling on the floor by the side of the couch where her head lay, ready to assist in any way you could.

“I’m gonna move it, okay?” said the Wolf.

“Okay.”

They were both speaking so softly.

“You ready?” she asked.

Yara nodded, reaching her uninjured hand out for one of yours. You held it, letting her squeeze as tightly as she needed to.

The crunching noise the arm made as it was set nearly made you sick.

Yara let out a series of pained noises, panting and grunting. You used your free hand to gently brush the loose strands of her hair from her face, tucking them behind her ears.

You whispered that the worst was over, and that she would be okay now.

You didn’t know if that was true, but you hoped it comforted her a little.

The Wolf broke a leg off a wooden chair, took the newly cut strips of fabric that Lev offered, and went to work bracing the newly-set arm, using the chair leg as a splint.

Yara watched the Wolf’s face.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

The Wolf secured the last piece of cloth before she answered, meeting Yara’s gaze.

“Abby,” she said.

She stood, looking to Lev and then to you.

“I should go,” the Wolf—Abby—said.

You stood too, to walk her out.

Lev quickly filled in the space that you left, kneeling the same spot and taking Yara’s waiting hand in his.

Abby grabbed her backpack and followed you into the first room, toward the door.

You paused, turning to face her.

“Are you—” You wanted to ask where she was going. What she would do next. Really, if you were being honest, you didn’t want her to go at all.

But you didn’t have the right to ask for any of those things, so instead you went with, “Are you okay?”

You gestured to your neck, meaning to indicate the dark, noose-shaped bruises that circled her own throat.

It felt like so long ago that she’d been hanging in front of you, unfortunate to find herself on the wrong end of your dagger. But, realistically, only a couple of hours had gone by.

She cleared her throat, her own fingers instinctively ghosting over the marks.

“Oh umm… Yeah. It’ll be fine.” She waited a beat before adding, “Thanks for cutting me down.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, considering it was technically your fault she needed to be cut down in the first place.

You settled on a nod and a tight smile.

She turned to go, twisting the doorhandle and stepping back out into the rain.

Before you could close the door behind her, she looked back and said, “This area gets a lot of traffic. Whatever shape she’s in…” Abby leaned closer, hand on the door frame, “You need to get out of here by tomorrow.”

Again, you nodded. “We’ll be fine.”

She held your gaze for a moment longer before she turned and walked down the steps.

You shut and locked the door.

----------------------------------------------------------------

As Abby walked away from the office trailer, she couldn’t help the images that came to mind.

She kept envisioning you and Lev and Yara, dead.

Hanged and gutted by the Scars.

Or shot by the WLF.

Or ripped to shreds by Infected.

She had real responsibilities. A friend to look for. A whole community counting on her.

She had a war to get back to.

But if she left now, would she always wonder about what happened to you?

The urge to stay near you—to protect you—was so overwhelming. She didn’t know where it was coming from or what she should do with it.

You were not safe, but she knew you were much safer with her.

Isaac had warned her that the first Scar Prophet had been able to make even the most dedicated soldiers turn on a dime. He said that with just a few carefully chosen words, she could make a person question where their loyalties lied.

It had seemed so ridiculous just that morning, but now you were doing the same thing to Abby.

You were in her head.

But this didn’t feel like manipulation.

She didn’t know what it was that drew her to you, but it felt real. Natural. And entirely unintentional.

Or maybe she was reading you all wrong, and you really were a master manipulator.

Abby needed to make a decision. Because she was currently standing still in the pouring rain with the trailer still in view.

She chose to trust her gut.

And her gut was telling her to turn around. To stay with you.

Owen would have to wait.

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Note: Thank you to anyone who’s read all three chapters of this! The fact that literally anyone has is absolutely bonkers to me. I’ve already learned so much about myself as a writer since I started writing fics a couple weeks ago. For example, this week I learned that I DO NOT enjoy writing fight scenes… Unfortunately it was thoroughly unavoidable for this chapter. Regardless, I really hope it was interesting to read, and I’m looking forward to fleshing out the relationship between Abby and my reader more and more!

#abby anderson #abby anderson x fem!reader #abby anderson x reader #abby x fem!reader #abby x reader #abby tlou #tlou2 #abby anderson fanfic #abby anderson fic

[zahri-melitor]

Thinking again about the whole "Dick told Damian he would have adopted him" scenario and remembering how ridiculous this is:-

Firstly, Bruce would have had to be dead. Since Bruce became aware of Damian, Bruce has always been a fit parent in the eyes of the law; there's no evidence of any situations that would lead to Damian being removed from Bruce's custody, and in terms of what a social worker would care about, the worst that's going on is...Damian runs away on occasion, plus your standard set of vigilante bruises.

For Bruce not to have at least partial parental responsibility for Damian, some of the following elements would need to be in place: Damian has a birth certificate without Bruce's name on it; nobody has provided a DNA test showing that Bruce is Damian's father; someone has legal paperwork stating that Damian has two different, legal parents; Bruce has permanently relinquished custody of Damian; a parenting order has been made that says Bruce doesn't get custody or parental responsibility (whether by agreement or by court order). Aside from the fact we don't know what's on Damian's birth certificate, none of this is the case.

Damian is clearly in Bruce's custody, legally, from about Battle for the Cowl onwards, and has had visits to the household prior. This is because, as far as the public and the legal system is concerned, Tommy Elliot is currently 'Bruce Wayne' for any public appearances. Now you could have a (fun!) scenario where Damian needs a DNA test to prove his identity and since Tommy obviously would not match, the courts find Damian is not Bruce's biological child...but given Dick is literally also building his own forensic testing lab as part of Wayne Enterprises at that time, they'd obviously do it in house and use a sample Bruce had on file.

Bruce provides care, support, housing, paid supervision (Alfred), and so on for Damian whenever Damian is in his custody or in a Wayne household.

Damian also specifically chooses during B&R09 that he wants to be in Wayne custody not in Talia's (after his back surgery) and everyone involved actually works to make that happen, including Talia (and preference of the child is something that's taken into account in terms of parenting orders).

And in any circumstance where Bruce is not considered to be a fit parent for Damian (due to, for instance, being dead), then Talia is still Damian's biological mother and the person who had parental responsibility and custody of Damian up until the age of 10. You'd need to prove that Damian should not be in Talia's custody and that the circumstances were such that she couldn't even have, say, supervised visits. Now whatever the DCU position on international assassins having custody of their children is, Talia, unlike Jade Nguyen, has never been charged or convicted of killing people, to my knowledge. She doesn't have a known criminal record.

To show Talia to be someone whose rights as a parent have been removed, you'd need something of the following: Talia would need to agree to give up all parental responsibility (which she has never done, see how often Talia drops in to 'sort things out' for Damian); Talia would need to be found by a court not to be a suitable parent for her child; Talia gets imprisoned for killing people and thus couldn't have custody of her kid; Damian has paperwork that says Talia isn't her mother/we have DNA evidence showing she isn't his mother.

For Dick to have any chance of adopting Damian, they would have needed for both Bruce and Talia to be legally dead, have had their parental rights removed, or have voluntarily relinquished their parental responsibility, to permit the adoption to occur.

This isn't a small thing. Bruce might have been 'dead' during that period but he was also legally alive in the eyes of the law. Talia has a legal existence in the US under her identity as Talia Head. For Damian to get adopted, he'd need both of them to sign that Dick could adopt him, or be in the custody of the State and have the State agree for Dick to adopt him.

There are scenarios where you could get to that point, particularly if Bruce had remained dead. But in the stories we have? As much as Dick thinks it might have been a nice thing to do, he absolutely could not have done it without a protracted legal fight (or agreement of both Bruce and Talia) and he'd probably lose that fight.

#adoption isn't magical people #it legally replaces the parents of a person with other individuals #Dick could not have just...asked to adopt Damian #Damian had two legal biological and living parents!

[isfjmel-phleg]

I feel a lot of things that I don't like tonight, so I am going to tell you about one thought that crept up on me recently that was good in a way that took me aback.

I was thinking about my grandfather, my mom's dad. When I was sixteen, my mom and siblings and I went to stay with my grandparents while my dad was in Iraq (...again). It was a really stressful time, and a lot of unpleasant things were happening, like Grandpa dying from leukemia.

I was in high school and homeschooled, doing video lessons. Every day started with a Bible class, which meant singing a couple hymns along with the class on screen. They would have one of the boys in class lead the singing, and they never sang in keys I could hit.

So I would be in the living room every weekday morning, caterwauling out the day's hymns, and Grandpa would come in from his room, which was just a hallway away, and say with complete sincerity, "I hear angels singing."

I always felt kind of...well, not quite embarrassed about that, but I was painfully aware that my singing was not good, that I could do better, and I didn't deserve such a remark. After all, he had one daughter who's a coloratura soprano and two others who are also excellent singers, and yet he's telling his unmusical, untrained granddaughter that she sings like an angel. He was just saying it, right?

And I don't know why I was thinking about this recently, but it suddenly occurred to me: he really did like it. The point was not whether I was good at singing (and I wasn't). The point was that it was his granddaughter singing and he liked hearing that because...he loved her. And "I hear angels singing" was another way to say that.

And yeah, that sounds completely simple and obvious, but I guess I'm not used to thinking of things from that angle? without trying to argue myself out of it? and somehow it seems a very novel idea to realize that being valued not for doing everything just right but because one is simply loved is a real thing? like in real life? like a thing that can happen to me? I guess? if that makes sense?

#random personal stuff #tl;dr long-winded personal story

[buckybarnesss]

Heather - I once again come to you with strange character choices that Jeff made that actually make sense?

Like how Derek just stood there and took Allison's abuse of him (and by extension his pack) when she was manipulated into becoming emo!allison at the end of season 2 - but he still doesn't tell her??! that her mom was also a kool aid drunk psycho who wanted to kill the love of her life and also just a tiny baby 16 year old?! He doesn't tell her! He just stands there, stoically and withstands the abuse.

S3 derek is so _chefs kiss_ I LOVE LOVE that arc of him becoming more like his mother, where he embraces his ideals of power and family and pack and GOD I will never forget that moment in s4 where satomi looks like LOOKS at derek and goes "you really remind me of your mom" I gotta make that gifset one of these days.

derek and allison parallels my beloved.

derek is fully aware allison would never believe him about what went down with her mother no matter what he said. instead he tells her, "your family's little honor code killed your mother, not me." which is true. the argent code of suicide rather than be a werewolf due to their own bigotry is what ended up really killing victoria in the end. not once did chris or victoria stop to question it or the impact this would have on allison or how gerard could manipulate them and her. they're both fully indoctrinated into the hunting delusion of righteousness.

no the information that victoria attempted to kill scott has to come from scott. that's why derek kept pushing scott to tell her the truth. he could've ignored it all together but derek respected allison enough to believe that she deserved the truth of what happened. that it was unfair to hold back a vital piece of information as to what occurred in the timeline of victoria's death that led to allison being manipulated by gerard.

the truth doesn't exactly clear his name with allison but it provides context that derek was acting in defense of scott. something that could change allison's perception. i think some part of derek sympathizes with her because he's been manipulated, lied to and abused in the past himself. he knows what can happen to an otherwise decent person under those circumstances. he to an extent understands allison's pain.

scott withheld the information from a place of good -- he didn't want to hurt allison further by tainting the memory of her mother -- but ultimately doing so i think was selfish. the lack of information is what harmed allison more in the long run as it allowed gerard to manipulate her.

derek values truth and forthrightness which contrasts peter and lessons peter has attempted to teach derek. derek spends a lot of season 2 contending with that conflict and when he gives up his alpha spark to save his sister he proves to be his mother's son over peter's protégée. derek was able to walk away from power in a way that duecalion, peter, kate, gerard and jennifer were not. they were consumed by it and derek instead used his to save cora's life.

#my blog #thoughts on teen wolf #teen wolf #derek hale #allison argent #my forever girl #derek graduated from peter's school of lying murder and deception only to shred the diploma in front of him

[thedreadvampy]

Losing my shit about this article in which a transphobic Tory was so busy panicking about existing in the vicinity of a Trans that she almost certainly misheard "jeans" as "penis" and decided that not only was this a problem with the other woman, but also that the world must be informed of this pressing danger.

"a trans woman! I had to stand directly behind her....I thought, 'this is going well', I'm handling The Situation fine'..."

translated: I saw a tall woman with broad shoulders. How would I get out of this alive? I thought. she has a PENIS. PENIS PENIS PENIS. through some force of PENIS I mean will I managed to PENIS behave normally towards her. My hands were PENIS PENIS PENIS shaking as I tried to dry them. summoning up all my PENIS courage I said 'dryer's crap innit'. she turned to me and said " yeah I'm just goiPENIS PENIS PENIS"

It's been a week and I'm still shaking. This proves trans women are the problem and I'm not weird. I'm fine. It's fine. If you think about it I'm the hero hePENIS!!!!!

very this

#red said #it's just. I'm obsessed. #everyone on Twitter is saying 'never happened' and i think they're wrong #this absolutely did happen and she's been obsessing over how vindicated it made her feel enough to WRITE AN ARTICLE ABOUT IT #because she MISHEARD SOMEONE IN A CASUAL CONVERSATION #i lay out my reasoning thusly: if you were INVENTING a scary trans woman in bathroom story out of nothing. why would it be this? #why would you go with 'we had a banal conversation until she said a sentence that makes no sense and that no human has ever uttered #but which does coincidentally sounds almost exactly like a mishearing of a very NORMAL thing to say in the circumstances #then she left and nothing else occurred' #if you were going to INVENT a story you would probably make it MAKE SENSE or SOUND THREATENING #i truly believe this is a very authentically told account of what she thinks happened #because who would. by means other than mishearing. think 'I'm going to wipe my hands on my penis' makes any sense at all. #a) 'I'm going to dry my hands on my genitals' says the presumably fully clothed woman #b) who then proceeds to leave without doing anything threatening #c) WHO SAYS PENIS THREATENINGLY? sorry it's writing out 'penis' repeatedly that made this jump out to me but like. who says that? #you might hear someone talk casually about their dick or cock but i stg it's only doctors and TERFs who casually use the word penis much #it's so. clinically descriptive. it's a weird use of language. but it IS. something you could plausibly mishear from 'pants' or 'trousers'

[deputy-morgan-malone]

OC Aesthetics for the Entities (Magnus Archives)

I'm not sure how much new Spooky Month content I'll be doing this year, I'm pretty tapped out at the moment, but I have had this for a while (created by @sagamemes) and it's pretty spooky, so I figured I'd do it for the start of the spooky season \o/

Tagging @inafieldofdaisies, @turbo-virgins, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @direwombat, @adelaidedrubman, @florbelles, @cassietrn, @unholymilf, @strafethesesinners, @paganminiskirt, @henbased, @deputyash, @roofgeese, @fourlittleseedlings, @josephslittledeputy, @jillvalentinesday, @corvosattano and @voidika to do it too - ONLY if you want to <3

aesthetics for the entities.      bold what applies to your muse, italics what applies situationally or only in certain verses. rest of the fears here.  this is based on a horror podcast;  potentially triggering and / or upsetting content ahead!

Deputy Morgan Malone (FC5 OC)

i.  THE BURIED.          weighted blankets.   drowning.   the comfort of a loved one’s weight. soil & sand piling on top of you. hugging so hard it hurts a little. cramped hiding spots.   letting out air underwater to sink to the bottom of the pool.   walls pressing in on you. not moving from a position even though you’re cramping a little.   dragging the last second before you have to inhale.   lonely subways.   feeling like one with the earth.   a layer of dirt on you.   looking for something below.  cardboard boxes & tiny pillow forts.   hands calloused from digging.  knowing that your purpose is just below the surface. entering your final resting place before it kills you.   a storm drowning you out.  dust & sand speaking to you.

ii.  THE CORRUPTION.          insects.  a close imitation of the natural course of life. an illness in a community. a rag that dirties more than it cleans.   an untreated wound.  containment.   breaching containment.   unbreathable air.   fungi.   one with that you love.   one with what loves you.   a corpse unfit for a glass case.  hearing a song in the sound of tiny wings & legs.  honeycomb patterns.   an ecosystem within a person.  a curse passed on.  the hubris of a scientist.  an ugly death where a glorious one is owed. blood on a handkerchief.  parasites.  something pushing up the sewer.  a mask to keep something out.   trypophobia.  knowing you belong.  death weeks after impact.  fever. food that’s gone off.   pandora’s box.   death behind a glass.

iii.  THE DARK. shadows. lights that turn off by themselves.   the feel of cold marble.   a beaked creature in the night. the difference between seeing darkness & seeing nothing. touch of something you can’t see.  hiding under a blanket.  white,  clouded eyes. months without going outside during sunlight. pouring dark. unscrewing lightbulbs. black matter. light sensitivity. a starless night.  time before light was created.   a shadow on the wall without a body to attach to.  withering plants.  a world without a sun.  footfalls in an empty house in the night.  a light that doesn’t reach as far as it should.  desperate reach for a flashlight.  clothes that hide your shape.   staying unperceivable.   winter months in the north.   an empty church.

iv.  THE DESOLATION. senseless pain.  warmth of faith. wax where skin should be.   a blazing fire.   heat without a source.   the third or fourth tragedy in the family. losing everything you’ve ever held dear. so much to live for,  gone so soon.  the smell of gasoline.   touch that scars. coffee cup that never goes cold. scorch marks on wood.  inescapably warm air.  a child born in fire.  death of a loved one.  a candle without a flame.  an altar in the middle of the woods.  animals with burnt fur.   plastic explosives. burning hot metal.  sweating in an interrogation room.  never touching a loved one. disfigurement. kiss that ruins you.  the scent of burning fat. a tattoo that terrifies its viewer.  the agony of hellfire displayed as art.  auburn hair.  little clothing in cold weather.  a ripple in the air.  trying to cool down in vain.

v.  THE FLESH. body horror.   factories.   a hunger for something more filling. never quite happy with how you look. the terror of an animal waiting for slaughter. a very good meal. the liquid of a perfect steak. fighting your worst survival instincts. a twisted bone.   long nights working out.   more than one heart.   appearance that shapes like clay.   a bag of bones.   bone broth in a pot.   knowing to fear pigs.   the butcher’s shop.   plastic surgery.  something alien inside your body. a hunger in the gaze laid upon you. unwitting cannibalism. forgetting what you used to look like. being admired for your appearance & appearance only.  teeth marks on skin. scars from wounds that should’ve killed you.   cooking in scarcity. fenced in with one way to go.

vi.  THE END.          the last page of a book.  nightmares that don’t feel like nightmares.   a skeletal hand.   the grip of the grim reaper around your throat.   existential pain.   ivory dice.  flatlining in a hospital.  gambling with death.  as old as the universe.  soul & spirit tied to an object.  a dream where you die. closing your eyes for the last time. the pleas of a dying one.  knowing the fate of someone you know & being unable to prevent it.   a thousand cords tugging you towards your end.  skin that’s freezing to the touch.   an act of desperation. someone’s life for yours. an eternity spent alive. the cost of your selfishness.  watching your own burial.   causing your own burial.  the smell of death.  numbness to fear.  words from someone gone. meaninglessness of the actions or lives of single people in the universe.  multiple near-death experiences you refuse to die from.

vii.  THE EYE.          googling something you shouldn’t have. eureka moments.  the unforgiving lens of a camera.   witness reports.   hidden libraries.   eyes of different colors.   feeling of being watched.  a death recorded in tape.   a tragedy you can’t look away from.   endangering yourself for knowledge.   truth.   analog records.   a symbol of an eye.   a watch tower.   compulsion to document.   turning on recording devices without thinking about it.   saving the evidence before the person. extracting information.   truth or dare,  without the dare.  a thirst for knowledge. books that speak to you.   coordinated shelves.   cataloguing systems.   voyeurism.   police report you can’t put down.  reasoning your way out.  smell of old papers.  books that read you back.

viii.  THE HUNT.          sharp canines.   sore calves after a run.   the scent of blood.   an adventure for the journey’s sake.   the adrenaline right before the kill.   a whistle’s echo.   the woods.   the doe eyes of a prey animal.  your own breath in the air.  sharpened claws.   being tracked.   fear of someone knowing your every movement.   hunting down monsters.   hide & seek.   running away only to end up where you started.   staying alive purely because the enemy enjoys seeing you run.   a set of footsteps behind you.   blood dripping from bare hands.   barks & growls.   focused eyes.   a victim going limp under your hands.   a mouth full of fresh blood.   catching the scent of something monstrous.   perfecting your craft.   peering into the dark & running after it.

ix.  THE LONELY.          an apartment too small for a double bed.   completely vacant streets.   waking up to see everyone gone.  fog.  point nemo.  a house too big to hear your family members in.  alone in a faceless crowd.  a mask with nothing behind it.  separated cubicles.  a deafening silence where joy should be.  a blinding spotlight.  the least missed in your friend group.  streets without lights in the windows.  isolation.  not truly knowing your friends.   your friends not truly knowing you.  need for silence.  fear of crowds.  staring into space knowing nothing is looking back at you.  a ship alone at sea.  depression.  knowing your friends are better off without you.  talking to someone only to realise they’re gone.  a family too large to notice you there.  safety in being alone.

x.  THE SLAUGHTER          a game of tag.   senseless violence.   a true crime hobby.   improvised weapons.   blinding rage.   intent to kill.   a horrific day in a quiet community.   a medal of bravery.  holding on to what validates your anger.   history books that spare no details.   an injury you want revenge for.   war.   counting kills.   songs of soldiers.   a knifeblock on the counter.   a pool of blood.   shellshock.   unspeakable horrors.   anger pushing you forward.   unimaginable pain.   not seeing who will hurt you but knowing the pain is coming.   a fully human monster.   an authority sending its lessers to their deaths.   kill or be killed.   unedited wartime memoirs.   a weapons collection.   not knowing the names of who you kill.   too many to remember.   loss of hope.   there’s no heroes in war.

xi.  THE SPIRAL          sleep deprivation.   corridors you can get lost in.   maze puzzles that loop back on themselves.   losing possessions.   losing people.   losing your sanity.   corkscew curls.   rows of funhouse mirrors.   optical illusions.   a separate reality.   walking through the wrong door.   delusions.   not knowing what your hands are doing.   blank spaces in documents.   hallucinations.   wrong proportions.   a nameless thing.   a place that has never existed.   doubting your own mind.   blind faith.   losing track of names,  labels,  categories.   distorted sound.   an imperfection in a glass that twists the view.   loss of time.   a garish colour.   doors that open to nowhere.   lies.   an unnatural laugh.   jokes & tricks.   illusions.   a doorway.   a sculptor with a wild imagination.   limbs in impossible angles.   doing what’s fun,  not what’s sensible.   fractals you can get lost in.

xii.  THE STRANGER          wax figures.   a close approximation of a human face.   a borrowed appearance.   a strange smell.   glass eyes.   furs & pelts.   a dance.   a song of a choir.   the uncanny valley.   stitching yourself together.   the colours of a circus.   a puppet with no strings.   mannequins.   glitter & sequin.   a stranger you’ve always known.   someone strange in the place of someone you knew.   stolen identities.   stolen skins.   a machine imitating humanity.   the anonymity of a service worker.   hiding in plain sight.   uncomfortable to look at.   a faked accent.   concealing.   forgetting who you are.   forgetting who others are.   a replacement no one notices.   images that look posed.   the only one seeing the false face of someone.

xiii.  THE VAST.          open spaces.   carnival rides going up & down.   fear of heights.   endless infinity around you.   your insignificance in an universe.   stomach turning at a drop.   fear of not the crash down but the moment you slip.   the sway of a cable car.   an adventure holiday.   losing track of where the surface is.   miles & miles of nothing around you.   staring at the sky & feeling like you may fall into it.   loss of control.   a fall that doesn’t end in death.   glass floor to the view below.   terminal velocity.   the sound of wind in your ears.   a reach over the railing.   a jump from the top of the building.   falling into nothing.   feeling your feet let go of the ground.   a leap of faith.   motion sickness.

xiv.  THE WEB.          undecipherable code.   a puppeteer holding the strings.   power over the weak—willed.    strings of fate.   manipulation.   an arranged accident.   a hundred minions doing your bidding.   cobwebs.   spiders.   a laid trap.   never voicing discomfort.   outwitting a cheater.   doing things without realising it.   red string across a corkboard.   finding something lost where you were sure you checked.   power over the unrealiability of chance.   watching others dance for you.   an entangled death.   a thousand tiny legs & fangs.   shady forum threads.   something important gone missing.   suspiciously disregarded case.   a missing witness.   connections.   the world wide web.   power of victimhood.   gullibility.   no control over your own decisions.   an invisible leash.   mass psychology.   a horror film in the making.   scapegoat.   never remembering to ask for a name.

+  THE EXTINCTION.          the end of an era.   apocalypse movies.   the alarms of warning systems.   a desolate landscape.   end of the world cults.   nihilism.   the last written history.   a changed world.   no survivours.   old prophecies.   a thousand predicted ends.   a new chapter.   an end with no escape.   catastrophes.   a calendar counting down.   breaking point.   overindulgence.

#i tried to do a mix of morgan's canon life and pre-canon life - and then a few of her more regular aus for the 'situational' occurences #she honestly got the most 'definitely''s for Slaughter but that's mostly because of what others do in the reaping tbh #and she got one more 'never' in Slaughter than she did in The Hunt #so I would say overall she got the Hunt #i didn't actually know that much about the magnus archives and all the entities before this so i didn't know all the options #but i'd say the Hunt suits her frankly #between her 'lust' for life and adrenaline junkie nature - she is a bit of a hunter at heart #couple that with a love of nature and predators and a bit of dabbling in actual hunting herself #and the general nature of what happens during the Reaping #the Hunt probably is the one that typifies her life the most #with some dabblings in the Slaughter (due to her experiences in the reaping) and the Vast #with honourable mentions I think to the Extinction (also due to the reaping) the Eye and the Web #aesthetic games #bold your aesthetic #tag your aesthetic #spooky month 2023 #horror #blood tw #gore imagery #the magnus archives #the entities #tag games

[gibbearish]

oh psa but if you're in an industry that checks IDs and the person in front of you is clearly trans, don't make comments about anything on that ID. for instance saying "OMG your middle name's Danielle? that's my name too!!!" to someone 5 feet tall with a full beard is perhaps not the best choice one could make if one didn't want to put a neon glowing sign above that person's head saying "THIS IS A TRANSGENDER" to everyone they're with

#it is p funny tho going out places with cis / nb-and-always-presented-as-agab friends and always getting singles out abt my #id in Some Way and them always being like ??? wtf that was so weird what was up with that #and i have to be the one to be like 'remember that my id has an f on it' and theyre like :0 ....... >:0!!!! #like fuckin. the time i got id'd at goddamn jack in the box???? #she was like 'yeah we have to check it on all orders over $25' which had never happened before and has never happened since because #its fucking jack in the box so every stupid order is over $25 #for important context i was driving and bf in passenger seat was paying so id handed her his card and was way less passing than now #so once we left travis was like yo wtf that was so weird why on earth would they id someone at jack in the box????? #and im like well because i look like this and i handed her a credit card with the name travis on it and people making #up reasons to check trans-looking peoples ids to verify if theyre trans or not is unfortunately not an uncommon occurance #and he was completely floored that that was even a possibility #which like mood when i was doing bev steward literally the only thing i was thinking about on those ids was birthdays #course i was working at a theme park so we had ids from all over the country #and world but nonamericans had passports which are much more consistent than state ids #so id get handed someones id and just be like ugh ok where do they hide it on this one i have 50 people in line i dont have time for this #like why would i be wasting time casually perusing their gender marker yknow i have shit to do #so the fact that there are people who will feel the need to know that so bad that theyll do that is just wild to me and presumably him too #(working there was how we met and he ended up being bars lead then full water park sup after i left the job) #but yeah after he had his 'wait people actually do that?' realization he was just like '....well then good thing it was my card so we had to #give her my id so she'll never get to know for sure‚ get fucked' LMAO #ooh or when me and a friend went to trader joes and bought drinks cause i collect cool drink cans and when the cashier was checking #my id i made a joke to ny friend abt my picture looking like bobby hill and the cashier was like 'GASP dont say that about yourself youre #beautiful!!' which i believe i did have the beard by this point so it was a pretty obvious dig #and the picture super does look like bobby hill by the way like ill show yall if anyone's curious but literally no one irl has disagreed #except this one random woman lmao. but we get out and my friends like ????????? that was so weird #why did she say that????? and im like. well it has an f on it remember #and once again the :0 -> >:0 transformation #like it sucks having it happen but there is smth really funny abt watching friends so inclusive something like that never even #occured to them realize that thats a thing people will do and it just happened right in front of them #shoutout to my roommates friend tho who has worked at a sex shop and weed shop and changed my rewards account name for both to chosen name

[fruitgoat]

The good news is that I’ve been being Empowered and Standing Up For Myself and Refusing To Be Ignored. The bad news is that my family apparently had no idea that I have feelings. So, you know, it’s been a weird week.

#sometimes in real life #I love my family #I called out two of my siblings for excluding me to nearly unforgivable lengths #they have planned parties that I wasn’t invited to in front of me #they took my bell set (without asking me) because it would be perfect for the marching band they want to start #never occurred to them that I might be interested #the fact that it was largely a fantasy (which I fully understood) should have made it easier to include me #but nope #I called out my mom for telling me that I had to remove everything from my bathroom for guests #she wanted me to replace everything in my shower with little hotel bottles I’ve stolen over the years #not happening #I live here and I will not apologize for existing #one of tomorrow’s houseguests has pictures of me from when I like a month old #that she took #I honestly don’t think she’ll give a single shit about my mouthwash #she knows I live here #she is/was an actualfacts therapist #she lives with her daughter and her (at one time) lightly abusive dad #I really don’t think the knowledge that I use dandruff controlling shampoo is going to make her feel unwelcome #if anything I think my three grapefruit bodywashes are a good invitation to try one #last summer my sister (in law) tried to apologize for amount of shampoo and soap she and the kids used #she bought me some more shampoo before they left #it wasn’t my brand but it was a sweet gesture #and when the twins are here for week next month it will appear in the shower #just like anytime she or my niece stay I move the contact lense cleaner to the front #wow I got really off topic there #but i feel better now #thanks for a good session therapist tumblr

[myname-isnia]

Just remembered I stayed up until 5 a.m writing 2.6k of the filthiest smut I have ever written

#of course. a thousand of that word count is actually kuvira's jealousy and abandonment issues causing her to spiral #but still #and I'm nowhere close to being done. I stopped at the point of first penetration #so that's... 1.6k words of foreplay. damn #this is probably more than I have ever written in one sitting before #goes to show what I'm capable of when something actually interests me. turns out I don't even hate writing that much I just hate AIDIB #okay I don't hate AIDIB. not really. but I've struggled with it for so long that I can't help but resent it a little #and it's become very clear that I don't want to write it. I love the au and the idea and I will likely want to continue it in the future #but AIDIB in particular has been nothing but a hurdle keeping me from writing what I actually enjoy #I'm the kind of person who can't just focus on something else when I have an unfinished task #so it's hard to write anything without getting overcome by guilt that I should be working on something else #it's different with sotrl because I've given up on it by now. a miracle would have to occur for me to want to continue it #aidib is part of a series I share with kat and I want that series to continue. aidib needs to be finished for that to happen #but do I put in all my free time and energy into finishing it? no. #instead I stay up all night writing self indulgent smut that will never even see the light of day. what's even the point

[cursingtoji]

ᥫ᭡ 𝐬𝐨... 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐰?

— where satoru comforts you after breaking up with toji

gojo being lowkey yandere, fem reader, toji is the ex, mentions of baby trapping, reader is older, gojo calls her senpai (almost as a mock), classroom smut, fingering, gojo has to wear a condom and he hates it, he’s also a bit pathetic and in love, reader is a bit of bitch. 4k (this was supposed to be drabble idk what happened)

“i know what you’re thinking” gojo’s voice breaks the silence in the classroom where you were supposed to be grading papers but instead has been looking through the window for god knows how long now.

the sudden appearing happens after gojo catches your lost gaze on the field some of his students were training at. he saw your profile looking down at your desk, then after a few minutes you looked through the window until your eyes set on gojo’s protégée and the son of the man that broke your heart.

“but if you keep doing that megumi will get creeped out by you” gojo simply manifested in your classroom as soon as he realized you would stay in trance not even noticing your fellow teacher staring back at you from below.

“whatever, he never liked me anyways” you brush off, then remember what he said before, “and what the hell makes you think you know what i’m thinking?”

“ah, you forgot? i have an eye or six for this sorta thing” he points to his blindfold.

“you saying you can read minds now, you freak?” your relationship with satoru always had that dynamic. toji usually got very annoyed whenever he was in the same room as the two of you, he tried to pull you away or make an excuse for you two to go back to his place. deep down you knew he felt some type of way whenever you and satoru banter like that.

“please you’re so transparent i wonder how megumi haven’t seen it yet, i'm concerned that he might need glasses…”

“just say what you wanna say, satoru.”

gojo, on the other hand, didn’t need an instinct to see how jealous and possessive toji could be when he was around. all that gojo needed to say was one word to trigger the old man.

“every time you see megumi you think about him, don’t you?” he takes a step in your direction while you sink in your chair looking away, “senpai.”

gojo never showed respect for anyone, he was scolded several times by yaga because of it, utahime tried to hit him whenever she could, demanding formal treatment since she was his upperclassmen. but you, for whatever reason he decided, was the only one he used that honorific with.

“he’s his kid, of course i’ll—“

“ever since i heard about your breakup you’ve been acting like everything is fine, except for when you see megumi, then you frown,” gojo extends his index and taps the space between your eyebrows “and your cursed energy increases” he then sits on your desk looking down at you, “don’t tell me megumi had anything to do with why toji—“

“of course not” you stop him, although megumi was never fond of you, you know he’s a good kid and wouldn’t try to get in the way of your relationship with his father. as far as you know, he’s not particularly close to his old man either. actually, anything related to toji — bets, races, you — is automatically disregarded by him.

“then you gotta stop looking at him like he did something, or before you realize your energy towards him will become hostile and i can’t let that happen” gojo’s tone became more severe, it’s one of those rare times where he drops the playful persona in order to get serious. truthfully, megumi did nothing, but you can't unsee toji when you look at him, especially after seeing what your ex-boyfriend used to look like in the old days when he showed you some photos. it never occurred to you before, since you barely saw megumi anyways, you're not his sensei and in your free time you were with toji so there wasn't much time to get to know megumi since they don’t live together since the boy was five. you suppose gojo is right, pushing your hurt feelings away only makes them come out stronger when you see anything that reminds you of toji.

“that’s not gonna happen, i have my energy under control” you cross your arms, feeling exposed under gojo’s gaze even through the mask.

he stays quiet for a second, then his annoying tone is back.

“what did you even see in him anyways? he’s definitely not a good guy.”

“that’s rude, toji is—“

“did you think you could change him or something?”

“i— no, why—“

“from what megumi said he was cheap as fuck so it was definitely not the money” he rubs his chin.

“gojo, i swear—“

“was it the sex?”

you widen your eyes and close your mouth, not having a simple answer for that.

“jackpot” satoru whispers.

“fuck off, satoru” you raise from your seat but he raises too, blocking your way and trapping you against the black board and his body.

“you stayed with that guy for years just for the sex?” he has a mocking tone that makes your blood boil.

“no! and that’s none of your goddamn business.”

“and you’ve broken up, what? two months ago? you’ve been all this time without sex?” you raise your hand ready to slap his face or punch his nose but he sees your movements faster and catches your wrist, “don’t be like that senpai, your energy is getting hostile again” he takes all the time in the world lowering his blindfold and letting his hair fall down while staring at you with those freaking blue eyes, “although, on second thought i think that might be mmm… sexual frustration? it’s a color i never seen in you before” he grabs your wrist firmly.

“you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“oh but i do, senpai. i’m just wondering how you haven’t downloaded a dating app or tried to rub one off yet” gojo knows exactly which buttons to press to make you wanna stab him, or worst, make you wanna fuck him.

gojo gets closer to your face, so close you can smell his aftershave, and just the realization that it’s a different scent from the one you were so used to makes your heart ache and your clit throb.

“or did you?” he’s fast, gojo catches your phone on top of the table putting it right in front of your face to unlock then moving away from you to check it, “definitely no dating apps” you yell his name and try to snatch your phone back but he puts infinity on and you can’t reach him, “browser history?”

“satoru, you have no right, gimme that” your face is hot with shame.

“nothing either, well i suppose your camera roll…”

“no!”

“aha” he deactivates the invisible shield and right when you think you can retrieve your phone he turns you around, holding your arms behind your back and pressing your back against his chest, “is that what you use to get off?” he puts the phone in front of you, it’s opened in the gallery, more specifically in a part filled with lewd videos and photos.

“not bad, you could make some cash outta this” gojo puts his chin on your shoulder, playing a video which clearly was filmed by toji, his dick is getting in and out of you from behind, he gets a close look with the phone, his glistening dick shining under the flashlight while your pussy stretches to accommodate him. you press your legs together remembering the feeling, you’re not even struggling to get out of gojo’s hold by the time the video ends.

“you don’t need to get off by yourself, you know?” he smells your hair and kisses your ear, “it’s not like we haven’t done it before.”

“that was forever ago” you reply, at the time you thought satoru was going to use that against you, just wait for an opportunity to drop that bomb on toji’s lap and proudly say he fucked his girlfriend before, but whatever image you had of him back then was proved wrong since no one knows about your little escape with gojo till this very day.

“and wasn’t it good? huh?” he presses, sucking the spot on your neck that has you throwing your head back.

“yeah, it was” you confess, too sensible from the light touches to rethink your answers.

“see? i can make you feel good so you don’t become a little monster” he trails his hand on your thigh, pushing your skirt up until he finds your underwear, playing with the hem to tease you then pressing a finger on your clit.

“so charitable of you” you mumble sarcastically.

“i would gladly do this favor to you” he replies in the same tone, “even though you still own me.”

“for what?!” you close your legs around his hand turning your head around to look him in the face, not even considering a world where satoru did you any favors.

“for raising your boyfriend’s son? you really think you would’ve had a sex life with an eight year old summoning pets around the house?” he raises an eyebrow.

“don’t pretend like you did that out of the goodness in your heart, if megumi didn’t have the ten shadows you wouldn’t have bat an eye if toji sold him to the zenin’s or whomever.”

“you sound just like him” gojo’s eyes get darker, now he has your clit slowly rolling between his thumb and index over your underwear.

“besides— hng i came in the picture years after you took megumi… so don’t blame me” you wiggle your ass on his crotch.

“a ‘thank you my favourite kohai’ wouldn’t hurt” you sincerely laugh at that, never thinking of satoru as your underclassmen since that fucking minx is everyone’s exception on their cursed technique due to how powerful he is, so him being below you somehow was never a posibility, at least not strength wide.

satoru pushes your underwear to the side, rubbing the wetness all over your pussy and teasing your entrance.

“five years” you murmur as he inserts a finger then pulls it back to join his middle one too and go back in.

“hm?” satoru gets quieter, after talking so much and having so many things to say you’re surprised he stayed silent for a whole minute.

“last time you fucked me, it was five years ago” you get comfortable on his hold, his leg is between yours, serving as support for you to lean on while he scissors you.

“that long huh…” he sounds… sad? no, maybe nostalgic.

“crazy, right? so much has—“ you sigh when he curls his fingers, “changed.”

satoru take a long sniff of your hair, keeping a pleasing rhythm with his hand, it feels like giving someone a massage. he could go crazy and have you stripped out of your uniform a while ago, fucked you on your desk and left after marking your body and giving your ass a mean slap.

he could still do that, but whatever feeling bloomed in his chest has him enjoying this moment with you in his hold, stroking your insides and smelling your shampoo while discreetly rocking his hips on your behind for some relief.

he almost feels sleepy, the relaxed state has his mind going other places. he thinks of a world where he can tease you under your uniform every other day, you would tell him the school is no such a place for that then the day ends and you go home with him, holding hands, and finally when you arrive home he gets to finish what he started. then, he cooks whatever quick meal he can find the ingredients for since he knows you don't like to cook, afterwards you fall asleep on his lap on the couch as he strokes your hair, your belly is full, your heart is warm, you feel loved and he feels—

“toru~” he comes out of the trance he fell at when you call for him, he thinks for a second you were calling his name cause you felt he was off, but in reality you were calling him cause you are getting close, “right there” your breathy moans makes gojo smile and kiss your temple.

“where? here?” he pretends to not know, when the truth is he never actually forgot after your first time together, “right here, senpai?”

“y-yeah” you throw your head back, shutting your eyes to give in to the orgasm. gojo looks down at your pretty face, he feels the urge to kiss you right now, but he wants you to ask for it first. your walls clench around his fingers, he strokes that spot sweetly, like he's caressing a pet.

which is an ironic comparison since he’s the one that would gladly accept being your pet.

when you open your eyes gojo is staring at you silently through half lid eyes, it is truly a shame that he keeps those hidden for so long.

“desk, now” you demand needly.

“yes ma'am” gojo picks you up easily, moving the papers on top of the table to the floor.

you immediately go for his belt, choosing not to comment on the wet spot on his pants.

you feel a pressure on your chin as he guides your head up to look at him.

“ask me” he pleads.

“for what?”

“for a kiss” you smile, looking at his lips and how inviting they look. you ponder if you should tease him for it, since he's been teasing you with words a lot today, but then you chose to comply, despite going through your phone without our permission and claiming your frustration comes from lack of dick, he's actually being good to you.

“gimme a kiss” you raise your chin higher, he gazes at your lips and eyes, looking for something other than lust, yet he gives in, sealing your lips with his trying to keep his mind away from thinking of the man that had your lips previous to him. and how dumb that motherfucker is to let you go.

gojo's lips are soft, he starts gently which feels foreign to you, but it doesn't take long before his hand presses your lower back, pulling you closer until his cock hits your clothed cunt. the warmth he feels is enough to relish the passion in him, he kisses you harder, tongue intruding your mouth like he's trying to devour you.

the wet kiss also awakens your urge for him, you pull his cock from his underwear in the tiny space between his and your crotch, the second it's out it's already against your folds, the leaking tip hot against your skin.

“nuh-uh you better have a rubber” you push your knee onto gojo’s pelvis when he starts to rub himself on you to spread your wetness on his shaft.

“did you make toji wear one too?” he raises a questionable eyebrow at you, willing to bet all his heritage on the answer.

“he had to earn that privilege” you reach for gojo’s wallet, not failing to notice the black cards and considerable amount of cash, “i don’t know what you do after 6 so…” you take the packs, ripping it open yourself and rolling on him. with a face and body like his you doubt gojo spends most nights by himself.

“unbelievable…”

“satoru” you warn stroking him slowly, “can i get another kiss?” you bat your lashes. gojo comes closer, his nose even touches yours, then you feel his hands on your waist, turning you around till your elbows and chest are against the table and your skirt is being flipped over, underwear pushed down.

“you have to earn it, senpai” he spits the words against your ear as he pushes his dick into you. until a few moments ago, satoru was composed, happy to accept whatever crumbles you chose to give him. you managed to trigger him by saying toji still had something he couldn't have.

he's still gonna go through this — that's how whipped he is for you — though now he’ll be less gentle.

his cockhead hits your spot, nothing accidental of course, satoru knows your spots like the back of his hand. you whine and arch your back, satoru pouts realizing he won't get to suck some hickeys on the skin of your back and shoulder, not now at least, but the night is young.

“c'mon satoru, don't be like that” you look over your shoulder, licking your lips at the sight of him sweaty, flushed and frowny.

the sound of his name in your voice makes him want to cum on the spot, he dips his head on your neck sighing, not stopping thrusting your behind. he wanted to feel you so badly, why the fuck did you make him wear a condom? he's clean, of course he is, he's gojo satoru for heaven's sake! even viruses are afraid of him.

or was it something else you feared?

“hey… you on the pill?” he lifts his head slightly, his voice still muffled by the material of your dress.

“you’re not fucking me raw, satoru.”

“just wondering… you said you didnt wear a condom with him, so what kept you from getting knocked up?” he wiggles his hand between you and the surface of your table till hes palming your belly.

“you keep bringing toji up a lot, obsessed much?” you tease him, avoiding the answer, gojo pinches your clit.

“please, he wishes. now tell me. iud? implant? injections?” you push him away turning around then pulling him back.

“okay, you clearly had sex ed classes, now shut up and fuck me right” gojo takes your leg and places on his shoulder, you bite your fist to contain your moan, the new position makes easier for him to nudge your clit with his pelvis.

“i could be fucking you better, you know how?” he bites the skin of your leg, not harshly but enough to make you yelp, he smiles, giving a particular hard thrust that makes your eyes roll.

“condom stay on, satoru, i can’t risk getting preg—“ you slap your mouth. satoru stops.

“you’re not… on anything?”

“listen you can’t tell anyone about this, okay?” you cover your face, “i had a pregnancy scare a few years ago so… gosh why am i even telling you this…”

“go on” gojo massages your thigh.

“toji got a vasectomy. birth control wasn’t working for me anymore and it was only a matter of time before— well it doesn't matter. you can see why you have to use it right?” you place your elbows on the table, sitting up enough to see the look on his face, it’s not what your expected to see.

satoru looks like a child that just found out where his parents keep all the sweets. he’s grinning, dick throbbing.

“yeah, i see now” he bends, holding your neck and kissing you, he makes the kiss feel like a ‘thank you for trusting me’ but if this was a cartoon his shadow would have horns and a pointy tail.

all he can think now is exactly how to make you his, he can sweet talk you into allowing him to hit it raw, promising to pull it out, then… whoopsie.

the new discovery gives him a different kind of stamina.

“don’t worry, your secret is safe with me” he kisses your cheek after leaving you breathless.

he plunges in and out, a rhythm that has you seeing stars. gojo craves you so much, he’s quite bothered by all the clothes and the need to keep it down, otherwise he would have torn your dress apart and have you screaming by now.

“fuck— keep doing that” you run your nails on his undercut, gojo mewls and take your other leg, pushing it further to go deeper. he sees the white ring around his cock, getting high on the sigh of it combined with your pussy illuminated by the natural light coming from the window behind him.

he wonders if toji ever fucked you in a classroom like this, then he shakes his head, not allowing the image to form in his mind, instead he focus on you, and how your pretty face contorts as your orgasm approaches once again.

“so fucking pretty” he whispers quietly.

you attempt to lower your legs. feeling it’s gonna be too much.

“nuh-uh keep them here” he pushes back, “so tight” he closes his eyes.

you’re a moaning mess at this point, almost forgetting where you are.

“that’s right, let it go baby” your legs shake as your orgasm hits you, satoru can see the shape of your cursed energy peaking then getting softer.

he fucks you a little more, trying not to think about the condom trapping his dream of knocking you up.

god, you would look so fucking gorgeous carrying his baby, all round up for him to showcase around. he would do anything for you, you wouldn’t have to lift a finger.

if only…

“fuck“ he fucks his load — into the condom unfortunately.

after the initial high goes away he starts to hear his students asking where he went and why he’s taking so long, “wait here, i’ll take you home.”

“you don’t have to” you smile, poking his cheek.

“oh i do, i’m not done with you” he takes your hand from his nape and gives it a kiss before pulling out and throwing that despicable rubber into the bin, making a mental note to empty that bin outside where the evidence of what happened between two teachers is not so easily discoverable.

you sit up adjusting your dress and looking around, “did you see my…”

“nope” gojo leaves the classroom pushing the material of your panties further into his pocket.

gojo had the weekend of his dreams, he convinced you to stay in his place that night and the next one too, he rubbed your sore legs after you came so much you were spasming then made you breakfast, it almost made him believe of a happy ending for the two of you.

a dream that was shattered when, a few days later you returned from a mission and stood by the entrance of the school kissing… toji.

gojo watches the scene from above, a frown on his face.

“yeah i was surprised too” he almost forgot that megumi was with him, “thought she finally created some sense” he confesses.

gojo doesn’t say anything, he watches silently as you tiptoe to kiss toji, the fucker doesn’t even hold you right, he keeps his hand in his pockets and lets you with all the effort.

“meet you in the classroom in five” gojo disappears from megumi’s sight.

on your way to report your mission to yaga you see satoru leaning against a tree. you say his name in a surprised manner, not having prepared what to tell him beforehand.

“listen, i— hm… i thought you should know that toji and i are back, so—”

“did you tell him?” his arms are crossed.

“about… us? of course not.”

“why? don’t you think he should know?” you hear the challenge in his tone.

“no, and you’re not gonna say a word to him either” you step closer to him, trying to look intimidating which can be difficult due to the height difference, “may i remind you that between the three of us there’s a teen boy who would not appreciate the drama.”

“look at you, using fushiguro as an scapegoat” he smiles at the look of anger forming on your features, “it’s fine, i’m just a bit surprised at how quick you were to go back to him, that’s all.”

“let’s be real, satoru. it’s not like you were going to take me on a date or anything” gojo pulls you by your wrist, your body hits his, the sudden proximity has your eyes widening, anyone could see you and take the wrong conclusion. i mean, it wouldn’t be wrong but you didn’t want any conclusions to be taken for that matter.

“this is not going to be the last time and i don’t give a damn if you’re dating him or married or widowed.”

“satoru!” you shout his name in a whisper, immediately rejecting the idea of becoming a widow.

“you can tell toji or not, i don’t mind fighting him” he pushes himself out of the tree and past you. megumi is grown now, of course he still needs a lot of coaching regarding his skills, but emotionally speaking, he’s been a grown up since he was six.

before going to his classroom as promised, he teleports himself to yours, picking up the bouquet he left at your desk then teleporting to the fountain across the campus where he rips the paper that holds the flowers together and lets it all fall into the water.

satoru watches it for a moment, hurt but still decided to go through with his plan.

he wonders what would you tell toji if you got pregnant, maybe you could convince him the child is his, a miracle. then when the kid comes out with white hair and blue eyes you’ll have no choice other than be with him, the father of your child, the man who truly loves you. gojo satoru.

#there’s no part 2 leave me alone #divider by @cafekitsune #gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru #gojou satoru x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #toji x reader

[chunksworld]

Double Fantasy

NewJeans Minji x Male Reader | (Tags: Smut)

A/N: Apologies for the long hiatus, ya boi was busy with life. Also, thank you @kaedespicelatte as always for beta reading. ————————

“My room. I’m giving you 15 minutes or we’re never doing this again.”

Kim Minji be damned.

You hate how every ounce of self-respect you have flies out of the window when it comes to her, as if you’re nothing but an outlet for her carnal desires (as she was to you). And perhaps you are—maybe it was just part of your delusion to think that she perceives you differently than the hundreds of men that shamelessly ogle her. That she views you more than just that guy that fucks her so good she struggles to keep that mouth of hers shut. But who are you to complain? Every encounter with her leaves you starstruck, wanting for more, tongue tied—as if she commands an unquantifiable amount of gravity that leaves you speechless literally and figuratively. As much as your brain is telling you that she’s dangerous, that everything that’s happening between the two of you can jeopardize everything you’ve worked so hard for, it’s the thrill that keeps you coming back time and time again.

I mean who would’ve thought that the two top students on campus would be engaging in such unholy acts? Not when everyone (your professors included) think of you two as the embodiment of the values that this very institution was established upon. The beacons of hope that would serve as inspirations for the rest of your peers, that through hard work they can attain the level of success that you two have. That couldn’t be any more farther than the truth however. Certainly your after school hookups with her inside empty classrooms, behind the bleachers, and inside the gym showers would beg to differ. But it’s not like you have any morals, that disappeared eons ago when you found yourself down this treacherous path of self-destruction in an attempt to alleviate the stress that comes with such expectations and responsibilities.

On the surface their perception of you two is true; students that constantly receive top marks in every subject and find themselves involved in as many activities and clubs as possible. Racking up awards was just second nature, as you would always receive the highest recognition much like she did over the years. It was only natural for a rivalry to spark between you and her; a byproduct of your competitiveness and your desire to come out on top. It was friendly at first, you would congratulate each other and encourage the other to do better next time. But it soon became ugly, the once wholesome banter turning into horrifying insults that you wouldn’t even think to come out of your mouth—needless to say you both became jealous of each other, of how successful the other one became.

You could say it was a petty affair, one that was exacerbated by the fact that everyone was pressuring you two to continuously be the best—a mental strain that proved to be too much. It was something that only happened behind closed doors though, everyone still thought you had an amicable relationship with her when everything was actually already falling apart. Yelling and screaming and arguing, truly an ugly sight. You would often talk about how you couldn’t stand how condescending she was towards you every time you made a mistake and she in turn would talk about how much she hates your ego. But it also involved even the smallest of things including how you thought her boyfriend was a dick because she would rarely see him (she claimed he was busy all the time but you knew better).

And with two extremely combustible elements in constant interaction with one another, an explosion was bound to occur. After months and months of arguing, it finally happened. It was midterms week and you two were extremely stressed (it didn’t help that you were only getting on average two to three hours of sleep and consuming an unhealthy amount of energy drinks). Oh, and that dick of a boyfriend she had broke up with her. She was inconsolable to say the least— but when you brought up how much you didn’t like him and blamed her for dating him in the first place like the asshole you were, that's when things took a turn. You know you fucked up, that it was a line crossed and that such words should have never been uttered. But instead of receiving a resounding slap on the face, you found yourself kissing her. 

Or rather, Minji kissing you. And any sane person would react by trying to pull away in shock but you couldn’t find yourself doing it. Perhaps this was something that was bound to happen. All of those arguing and bickering, maybe it was just a ruse. The urgency, the passion, the look of desperation in her eyes; they told the story. Maybe it was the caffeine, maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was something more. Whatever it is, she needed you as much as you needed her. She was coming off a terrible breakup and you, well—you would be lying to yourself if you said that you didn’t find her attractive because who didn’t? There’s a reason why she’s rejected at least half of the male students, and you definitely don’t miss the way some of them would glare at you because of how suspiciously close you were to her. 

In that aspect, a part of you considers this a small victory; especially when she grabs you by the collar and pulls you in deeper, as if the thought of letting you go would be the end of her. It was intense and as much as your senses were firing from all cylinders, your brain was telling you that this wasn’t right. You were supposed to hate her, she was your mortal enemy. What would everyone think? That the two top students were hooking up with—close the fucking door before I change my mind. Right. Every rationale you may have had was gone in an instant. The prospect of a classmate, a member of the maintenance crew, or worse—a staff potentially catching the two of you never crossed your mind. Not when you had her bent over the desk at one point screaming you’re fucking me so good and don’t stop while you rearrange her guts. Or when you had her pinned against the wall and pumped her so full of cum that she finally gave you her number after because she wanted you two to do it all over again.

Did the room reek of sex? Sure. That’s why she’s made it a habit to bring a bottle of air freshener to mask the scent during your subsequent “study sessions.” And were people starting to notice how you two would frequently stay up late despite not always having a busy workload? Definitely. But you could care less. In fact, nothing else matters. You were addicted to her in more ways than one, not romantically however. That was something she made abundantly clear the day after—clearly she was one to establish boundaries which you respected. Yet here you are, frantically putting on some nice clothes and making yourself smell nice with that twenty dollar bottle of perfume that she hates. Fuck it, why even bother? Your clothes will be thrown to God knows where the moment you enter her place anyways. At least put on a face mask, especially since you’ll be sneaking your way to her dorm once again and you don’t want another close encounter with the security guard.

Fortunately there wasn’t any problem, your disguise actually worked this time around but you still have to be cautious. It’s a quick elevator ride yet it takes forever, maybe it’s because you two haven’t had sex in the past two weeks and you’re just dying to get a taste of her again, to feel her irresistible body against yours. Look around before knocking on the door three times and fortunately you didn’t have to wait any longer. Minji hastily pulls you inside and grabs you by your hoodie for a kiss—immediately you get a taste of her favorite cinnamon lip balm. Her strength (which still surprises you to this day) forces you to move backwards and you find your back pressed against her door. Hands roam each other’s bodies and you groan as you feel her fingers cup your bulge. Fuck, why are you so hard already? 

You’re not one to just let her do what she wants so you avoid her chasing lips to plant yours on her neck, biting and nipping on her smooth skin while your own fingers creep underneath her shirt. “D-Don’t fucking mark me. I—shit—I’ve got a presentation tomorrow.” Minji finally speaks and you would’ve gladly granted her wish but with the way she’s leaning her head back, it didn’t seem like her words were matching her actions. Much more so when you grab on the hem of that same shirt and pull it up and she willfully raises her arms so you can remove it. And before you even get the opportunity to appreciate her body, your sweatpants are already being pulled down. Help her out by kicking that obstructive garment away; in fact you end up removing your hoodie as well which only leaves you with your boxers on and it barely conceals your raging desire for her. 

“This is your fault. Your fault for making me wait so damn long.” You don’t miss the way she bites her lips at the sight of your bulge, even as you make your way further down with your mouth and proceed to mark her collarbones and her cleavage. Her deft fingers continue to distract you however, pulling your boxers down and wrapping her cold digits around your throbbing and pulsating cock. The effect on you is immediate as you can do nothing but lean your head back and groan shamelessly. Minji smirks, especially because this is one of the only few times she has the upper hand on you; when you’re just putty in her arms and rendered breathless by her actions. It gets even worse when she slowly begins to pump you, drawing more precum out of your tip with how badly you just want to ravage her. 

“You poor thing.” You can feel her hot breath against your ear, sending more shivers down your spine as she’s decided that it’s now her turn to leave marks on you. It’s apparent that Kim Minji is just as possessive as you, even though neither one of you wants to reveal your dirty little secret to everyone. “Guess you couldn’t last that long without me, huh? Were those pictures I sent not enough?” Of course they weren’t, no amount of thirst pics of her in her underwear can satiate your endless lust towards her. Nothing can replace her hands, the way she can just work you to submission and make you so impatient. “I can’t blame you.” Her teeth sink into your jugular like a vampire. “I’ve been thinking about how much I want you to rail me into the bed, to make me moan so fucking load, to make me choke on your cock. Will you do all of that for me?”

You’re ashamed by how much that turned you on, as if a switch has been flipped inside you. You don’t miss a beat and lift her up by her waist which makes her squeal; her legs wrap around you while you carry her towards her bed. No more foreplay, you almost throw her onto the bed before yanking her shorts and her panties in the process. They’re discarded along with the rest of your clothing somewhere in the room. Her bra follows suit as well—you can’t believe she’s had it on for this long. “Fuck, you don’t know how much I want to put a load in you. Until you’re filled with so much cum that all you can think about is my cock.” You spread her long legs open and it’s clear that everything she said is true; her clit is puffed and her inner thighs are already drenched with her juices. 

Kneel in front of her and carefully position your length inside her. “Gonna fuck you now.” Through gritted teeth, Minji nods; her fingers gripping your biceps while her legs are already pulling you in. You sink into her further and further, drinking her moans and whispered curses until you bottom out inside her. She still feels so good, so  tight, so warm. You have to silence her mouth with a kiss because her moans are increasing in volume as you gradually increase her pace. “So, so fucking good. You’re gonna drain me dry.” Feel her nails digging into your shoulders and back, you’re definitely going to feel the sting of the scratches she’s leaving tomorrow morning but that’s not your concern for now. A bite of your bottom lip further confirms that she’s in an equal state of euphoria and you respond by continuing to fuck her with the same pace and intensity.

You’re careful not to make the bed creak but that’s fortunately an art that you’ve already mastered given the circumstances. But even with her luscious thighs wrapped around you, it’s not enough to have her drunk on your cock, you want her to beg for it like her life depends on it. You pause for a brief moment much to her verbal disappointment before pressing her legs against her chest to effectively fuck her in mating press. You know it’s her favorite position because an uncharacteristically loud moan escapes her mouth the moment you resume your fucking, your fingers gripping the bedsheet for support. “F-Fuck! Please, keep fucking me. So—damn—big!” You’re going to have to kiss her again because she’s slowly losing her grip on her surroundings, only focused on how much you’re pounding her into the bed.

“This is what you wanted, right? I bet not even your toys can fuck you this deep.” Minji doesn’t answer but her body responds for her; a particularly deep thrust has her clinging on to you for dear life. Her breasts pressing up against you and followed by the rest of her body. Bury your face on the crook of her neck, inhaling her addicting scent as you can feel her tightening ever so slightly around your cock. It’s becoming more of an effort to thrust inside her now, especially when you’re fucking her balls deep with every motion of your hips. Only broken sentences and curses are leaving her mouth at this very moment, along with shameless moans of your name as if she’s not afraid to reveal to everyone just how much the model student is getting dicked down by her fellow model student.

Maybe she isn’t. Maybe that’s part of the thrill after all, the aspect of getting caught. But that’s not your worry at this moment; not when that said model student is beginning to tighten even more and her breathing is becoming more hurried. You pull away to look at her facial expression and it’s painted with nothing but lust. The way her face is misted with sweat, her eyes closed, and her mouth open. It’s clear that her orgasm is just right around the corner. “C-Coming! I’m so fucking close, don’t you dare fucking stop.” You don’t care that your abs are burning, that’s what those 7 AM workouts in the gym are for. It’s for moments like these, when her nails are damn near close to breaking your skin and tears are starting to well on her eyes. It then becomes your goal to break her, like you always do during these sessions.

And it’s during another particularly deep thrust that her orgasm hits her like lightning, her pussy becoming unimaginably tight as if she wants you to join her in her euphoria as well. She’s almost crying, her body twitching uncontrollably as you pin her down to the bed. Tears eventually do fall due to the overwhelming pleasure, that makeup that you’re only noticing now is completely destroyed. Her juices begin to soak your length and the sheets underneath. She’s biting her lips so hard that it’s starting to bleed, get rid of the blood by giving her open-mouthed kisses. But you’re so focused on helping her come down from her high that you don’t realize that you’re about to explode as well, Perhaps you might, because you’re starting to throb madly as you continue to fuck her through her powerful orgasm. 

You spread her legs as far as you can, pistoning into her with no abandon. More of her juices stream out and you’re almost apologetic because of the mess that she’s going to have to clean up. But it’s really hard to focus on anything else when her pussy is still pulsating, continuing to urge you to join her in her orgasm. “Need your cum inside me, don’t you dare pull out.” It’s not like you had any intentions to in the first place, not when her suffocating warmth is begging to drain your balls for everything it has. The tension is building, rising, culminating—one animalistic growl after you bottom out and you’re pumping ropes and ropes of semen deep inside her. It floods her walls, it overflows, and you just can’t stop pushing it as deep inside her as possible. To make sure that her womb is completely filled with your cum and nothing else. It’s downright euphoric, the way her name leaves your lips like it’s a mantra. The way all of it triggers a smaller, second orgasm from her—truly wringing you dry.

It takes minutes for your movement to come to a halt, and by then your orgasm has completely subsided and so has hers. You feel her arms pull you in for a kiss, a much slower and passionate one compared to earlier. As if she’s saying thanks, because her voice is probably already gone. Or perhaps she’s just preserving her energy because if there’s anything you know about Minji, it’s that one round is not enough for her. If that’s the case then you better get a quick rest. Pull out of her and watch your excess semen drip out of her and down to her thighs. It’s truly a sight that you’ll never get tired of time and time again. Even more so when she takes a finger and takes a sample of your combined juices. It doesn’t take too long for your cock to become fully erect once again despite your orgasm just mere minutes ago.

There’s no time to contemplate though as Minji saves you the trouble because the next thing you know her perfectly shaped ass is raised and facing you, her arms bracing herself on the bed as she clearly shows you what she wants. “Need you to cum in me again, can you do that for me?” There’s no more time to waste, take a glance at the bedside clock and it’s already way past midnight—any noise at this hour would further alert people. You quickly kneel behind her, positioning your cock once again inside her pussy but this time in a much swifter manner. But despite all of the lubrication she’s so much tighter in this position. Grab on her ass for support and leverage as you begin to thrust, it’s a sight to behold that is her curves and back covered with sweat and her hair becoming a disheveled mess. 

She’s much more silent this time, thanks to the fact that her moans are being muffled by the pillows. This slow tempo also gives you time to recover, though it’s clear that she wants you to be rough with her once again with the way she’s moving her hips in a back and forth motion. Fine, if that’s what she wants then that’s what she gets. Just thirty seconds is all you need to recover, especially when you’ve got that heavenly view in front of you. You grab her by the arms and pull her upright until her back is pressed against your chest, your hands palming her breasts as you suddenly increase your pace. It’s your favorite position because not only is her body pressed against yours but you can view everything about her up close—her ruined mascara, her swollen lip, the dried tears on her face. 

Your fingers slowly creep up to her neck as you fuck her with all of your remaining strength, quieting her with more kisses—also because you just love kissing the hell out of her due to how irresistible and soft her lips are. She might’ve had another orgasm already but you’re too far gone, too caught up in chasing your own that you don’t notice. Either way, it only takes ten minutes this time for you to unload whatever remaining load you had (which is surprisingly a lot considering that when you pull out, a copious amount of semen is dripping out of her now swollen pussy once again). Now you’re truly spent, crashing on her twin sized bed that can barely fit the two of you so you always end up cuddling post sex. And as crazy as it sounds, this is the part of this whole ordeal that you’re oh-so-afraid of. Will she hear how quickly your heart beats when her head is resting on it? Will she find out that you’re slowly starting to wish that there was more between you two? Despite the fact that it’s an incredibly terrible idea that could have major implications in your future?

“Take me out to dinner first.” Minji is the first one to break the silence and the words that come out of her mouth completely terrifies you—it almost makes you jump out of the bed.

“What?”

“I’m not stupid.” Minji looks up to you, then places a gentle kiss on the hickey she left on your neck. “We’ve been hooking up for five months and you’re telling me there’s no way you haven’t fallen in love with me yet?”

Maybe you have.

Then you remember how angry you felt when her boyfriend broke up with her and you couldn’t do anything about it; you just wanted to barge inside her room and hold her in your arms and apologize for being such a dick and you couldn’t. You wanted to tell her that she deserves better because she truly does, but whether it was you that deserved to take that place in her heart you didn’t know. You were mortified at the thought of your relationship only remaining at such a stage—even though she made it crystal clear that she didn’t want anything to develop between you two. But it’s all in the past now—which begs the question: have you truly fallen in love with her? It only takes one look at those eyes and the way her lips curl upwards and how she fits so perfectly in your arms and how you wish you could be with her forever and how it all completely fucks up your equilibrium.

Yeah.

Of course you have.

#newjeans smut #minji smut #kim minji smut #male reader #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #reader insert #smut

[celeryb1tch]

innocent!reader x experienced!pervert!abby is rotting my brain tonight!!!

18+!! this is lesbian smut!

you sit at a table in the mess hall, abby’s arm wrapped around your shoulders and her friends all enjoying their dinner. casual conversation is thrown around the table, until manny’s new fling is brought up.

“-and i mean, SOAKED the sheets. i couldn’t believe my eyes,” he recounts proudly.

everyone is laughing along or rolling their eyes, but abby notices your hesitance. she leans down toward you with a concerned look. “something wrong?”

you shake your head lightly, looking up at her. “jus’ don’t get it,” you reply.

abby feels her stomach twist. she had known there wasn’t great sex ed on the WLF base, but she and her friends had grown up around doctors like her dad and she realizes she hadn’t know the full extent of just how ignorant you were. and admittedly, it made her excited.

“she squirted when she came,” she tries to explain gently. but you still look utterly confused, even as she goes on.

“…come? and she didn’t pee?” you seem so utterly lost. abby wonders if it makes her a bad person to expose you to these ideas, but you’re both already adults. still, that knot is twisting inside her deriving a sick pleasure from all of this. you had always looked up to abby, and she wondered how wrong it would be to corrupt that relationship with talk of sex- or even a demonstration?

that night, you’re laying in bed thinking about what abby said earlier. with all the training and violence you’d grown up around, you hardly had time to pay attention to the ache between your legs, or how it would usually occur when abby was around. but as you recount that conversation in your mind, it appears once more. you think of her arm wrapping around you, pressing you into her hard front. how she was still warm and sweaty from the gym, and how her flyaways stuck to the sides of her forehead because of that. something inside of you is saying you should be embarrassed, and you don’t know exactly why- but a louder, much louder, part is telling you to confide in your best friend. she would never judge you, right?

you shuffle down a few hallways in your fluffy socks until you reach one of the bigger accommodations: abby’s room. and with a bit of hesitance in your knock, you step back as the door opens immediately.

abby is clearly groggy, and must have also been getting ready for bed. she’s wearing nothing but boxer shorts and the usual black sports bra she has on during patrols and workouts. her hair is tied in her signature braid, with more wispy pieces that have come out throughout the day. “hey, you. everything okay?”

you nod and push past abby inside as was usual. she joins you on her bed, your bare thighs touching as you both sit. her eyes are on you and you can feel it again- that heat. you pull away slightly, squeezing your legs together as it’s the only thing you know eases the feeling.

abby pretends not to notice, just like she does any other time you blatantly stare at her muscles or blush when she touches your waist. she doesn’t want to scare you off, especially when she thinks she can tell what you’re going to ask about.

“you remember earlier at dinner?” you say, biting your lip slightly as unease turns in your tummy. and abby just nods, still looking right at you. “how manny said he made a girl, uh…”

“squirt?” abby offers. she says it so nonchalantly, like it’s nothing. like she’s never in a million years thought about fucking you until you do. like she wasn’t hoping this would happen every second after dinner.

“yeah, well, i realized there’s probably a lot of sex stuff i don’t know, and since you… y’know…”

poor baby, she thinks. how will she ever work up the courage. and abby thinks of all the times she’s teased you about all the women she’s fucked. called you jealous that you had to split quality time with her one night stands. seen you pout about her missing games night because someone asked her on a date in front of you. surely you were going to ask for her expertise- for her to help you out, to show you?

“since your dad was a doctor.”

oh. that was it? you wanted a little anatomy lesson. then what was all the embarrassment for? were you that ashamed of asking for a little bit of guidance?

abby gives you a soft smile and an assurance that she can help. and your body floods with relief. this is normal. you can tell her what you’re feeling and she won’t act weird. she can help you.

you stand up and strip off your pyjama bottoms and big shirt you had likely stolen from abby so long ago you don’t remember whose it was in the first place. and she just watches, small smile still on her face as she looks you over.

“okay, so right here? boobs, obviously.” she points to your chest, and you roll your eyes.

“i know that, stupid. show me the more advanced stuff.”

“you’ll have to take your underwear off then.” so you do.

abby instinctively reaches for it, stroking her fingers between your puffy, wet lips. her eyes are shining with admiration and her cheeks are hot.

you pull away slightly at the bolt of pleasure that spikes through you at her touch. “is it… supposed to look like this? i think there’s something wrong.”

she shakes her head fervently, eyes never leaving your pussy. “you’re just wet, that’s all. did something turn you on?” and at your confusion at the term- “get you excited? when girls see something attractive, they get wet.”

oh no. you can feel dread flooding your senses as you try to scramble for an explanation. that it just happens sometimes. that’s normal, right?

after a pause, and a look at your face, abby knows exactly what happened. “oh. you got wet from me, huh?”

you want to run away and disappear. you swallow a sob, but strangely, you feel that pulsing sensation again. all of this attention from abby isn’t working in your favour.

but she isn’t grimacing in disgust, or even asking you to leave. in fact, abby has a shit-eating grin on her face as she watches you cower in front of her.

“you’re not… mad?” you ask sheepishly.

abby reaches out to you, pulling you onto her lap. “no, baby, of course not. it’s cute.”

relief washes over you, but before you can really relax you feel abby’s hand once again on your folds.

“so wet for me, baby. how long has this been happening?”

a finger skims against a particularly sensitive spot, and you choke on your words, succumbing to the blissful feeling. “s-so long, abs. like forever.”

“poor girl. so pent up, so needy. and too embarrassed to tell me.”

“yeah…” you whine. you’re clinging to abby like a lifeline, overwhelmed by the building tension. it’s unlike anything you’ve experienced before. so intense, so all-consuming.

abby’s fingers are expertly caressing your pussy, steadily adding more pressure so as not to overstimulate you. “this is the clit,” she murmurs, and you feel that electric spark again as she glides over one specific spot at the top.

“it’s too much,” you cry out, wriggling under her grasp.

“that means you’re cumming soon,” she explains with a chuckle. “feels so good, trust me. just ride it out.”

and you trust abby with every ounce of your being, so you try to relax your muscles as much as possible while you feel that climbing feeling come to a boil. and she was so right. you’re huffing tiny sobs into her chest as you come down, her strokes easing as you’re finally able to catch your breath again.

abby cradles you into her, clean hand running through your hair. you can feel the puddle between your thighs dripping down her own and onto the sheets, and you’re so exhausted.

“that was so hot, baby. did such a good job for me.”

“abs, that was… wow.”

she’s smiling down at you, admiring your sweat- wicked face. “bet you wish you’d asked me sooner, huh?”

#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson smut #molly’s abby recs! #molly’s!

[uglyducklingofthe2000s]

Never Going Out In Public Again - LN

I just watched Lando's stream with AngryGinge, Lando needs to tame himself. Or get himself a girlfriend (I am so obviously available). Also hope we're all in agreement that Lando clearly admitted in that stream he has a daddy kink, I want here and now to say...I knew it

Summary: Something that not even Lando expects happens when he tells AngryGinge to "come to daddy" occurs for his whole stream to witness

Themes: suggestions of smut, but no actual smut

Lando hadn't spent any of the stream hiding that he's horny and AngryGinge isn't sorry to call him out on it.

"Where is your girlfriend? Because I think she's fucking needed. Do you want to go off stream and have a moment with her?" AngryGinge questions genuinely thinking that y/n might have Lando on some sort of sex ban.

"She's shopping for Christmas presents so I'm not allowed to go with her." Lando states thinking about what he could plan for when she's back.

"I'm going to message her on Instagram and tell her you are clearly desperate for her attention."

"Do it." Lando shrugs completely unbothered since he knows she won't even see the message.

They continue playing before reaching a point where AngryGinge needs Lando to heal him.

"Lando! Lando!" AngryGinge exclaims making Lando near him.

"Come-Come to daddy."

"Oh my god yes, daddy."

"What baby?" Y/n's voice calls as she walks up the hallways towards his gaming room.

Lando's jaw drops in a moment of hoping that the mic didn't pick up her voice but the response in the chat and AngryGinge yelling gives away that they did hear it.

"Oh baby." Lando laughs as she appears at the doorway, now frowning in confusion before she begins to connect the dots.

"No. No. No. turn it off!"

"I can't." Lando cackles, while hearing AngryGinge in his ear asking if she really just responded to him saying come to daddy.

"I'm never going out in public again. In fact this relationship is over." Y/n declares making Lando practically hysterical before he moves quickly out of frame and drags her very much against her will into the stream.

"Say hi."

"No!"

"Oh. you are such a cruel man. You are so cruel and that's by my standards." AngryGinge laughs loudly as Lando yanked y/n into his lap and held there tightly. "Can she hear me?"

Lando looks at y/n who is still hiding her face behind her hands.

"Did you hear him baby? You gotta speak." Lando states as his laughing that has actually caused stitch slowly dies away though it could easily.

"I hate you so much. I hate you with every ounce of my body."

"Here, y/n. Lando has been a filthy boy on this stream."

"You don't know what she's like-ah, ok I deserved that." Lando laughs while wincing as her elbow digs back into his ribs.

"I think we all know what she's calling you when the two of you are alone." AngryGinge states making y/n groan and recover her face.

"Alright, hold on because I think I have some apologising to do." Lando laughs muting himself and cutting the camera while the boys respond with murmurs of acknowledgement. "I'm so sorry, baby. Don't be mad."

"It wasn't your fault...I'm just stupid." Y/n huffs then pouting. "You have to tell them it's a joke."

"And lie?" Lando gasps as if his morals are above that. "Fine, I'll lie...on one condition."

Lando is fully intending to use this spontaneous and sudden need to be inside of his girlfriend as soon as possible while also being as subtle as possible.

"Which would be?"

"You waiting for me in that set that I like, ready for when I'm done on the stream." Lando instructs while stroking a hand up her thigh while she swallows thickly knowing that Lando when he's horny might be something funny to the rest of the world, but when he touches her, she might as well be a puddle in his lap. "Do you understand?"

"Yes."

That confirmation is all Lando needs to switch everything back on and appear back on the stream with him smiling while she tries to shake off the expression of being completely ready to let Lando destroy her however he'd like.

"Alright, boys. She's ok, no more upset. But y/n's gonna say bye so we can get on with the game." Lando states as his hand slides up between her legs, shameless since he knows it's out of sight of the camera.

"Bye y/n!"

"Bye, guys." She mumbles before she stands up leaving Lando to smirk a little as he watches her leave.

She'll certainly never live the moment of responding to Lando referring to himself as daddy. But he can make her forget it and even embrace it once he's finished the stream.

#f1 #fanfic #formula 1 #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris x y/n #lando x reader #lando #norris #lando norris one shot #lando imagine #lando norris x you #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fic #ln4 one shot #ln4 #ln4 x reader #ln4 imagine #ln4 fic #ln4 fanfic #ln4 x you #ln4 x y/n #formula 1 fic #formula 1 imagine #formula one #formula 1 fanfic #mclaren formula 1 #mclaren #mclaren racing

[undercoverpena]

it means something

joel miller x f!reader | masterlist

summary: compliments don’t fall from his tongue, but they drip from his eyes. They land on your skin, healing scars that don’t show; they make you glow, and feel like something worth choosing.

to @joelsflannel, i took aspects of all your prompts. i tried to make it fluffy, her a little romantic, i tried to give you a quote that i hope you adore, with a man i know you already love. and i sprinkled in a hard day for you, but with some stress-easing fun to unwind with. merry christmas <;3

wordcount: 3.2k warnings: softer!joel, soft sex (p in v), talks of love, jackson era joel, mentions of ellie, joel in a towel (like damn). written for @pedrostories secret santa event.

You’re tired, drained.

Somehow, you find yourself able to drag your feet from the livelier part of Jackson to the quieter, almost more peaceful part. The soles of your boots draw lines behind you, all of which will likely be covered by the newly settling snow within the hour.

It's picturesque, this place. The kind of location you expect would have once been on postcards that people would be sent to loved ones saying 'wish you were here'.

You don't have to wish.

If your eyes weren’t like pinholes, you’d take a second to admire it.

Stamp your boots in one spot, and enjoy the crunch of it under your feet. A thing you’d do on any other day, if not for the fact, that you were so ready to be in the warmth, to be with him—to curl into him and breathe in his scent.

The kind of scent which buries itself into your nose, to your soul. It wraps its fingers around you and digs its clutches into you. Not that you complain. You'd bathe in it if you could, happily letting him smear it over your skin whenever the two of you have the chance.

It’s why you continue to move. It's why you force one leg in front of the other, muscles begging for reprieve.

By the time you’re up the steps, fingers wrapping around the handle of the front door, you realise how badly you wish to shed your layers. Desiring nothing more than to slide out of your coat, unwrap your scarf, remove the hat, gloves and second pair of socks.

Twisting the handle, the door doesn't fight letting you inside. Instead, it welcomes you. Allowing you to move quickly inside, more than anyone would expect from someone so fatigued—removing the layers, hanging each in turn on the rack beside his.

A sight which tugs at something inside you. It loops its fingers around that feeling within, gently pulling—it is all warm, unexplainable; all hard to describe, but the closest word is lovely, nice—welcomed.

That feeling had been born before the end of days, but it had been nothing but an ember then. Now, it was a roaring fire, all lit by him.

You're sure he knows. Not that either of you talk about it. It added to the long list of things you never speak, not for his sake, but for yours.

Even when you first began your… thing with him, you’d found it as difficult as him to know what to call it. Especially, when it had all happened so randomly, with no explanation or sight that it would occur. It just did.

Smiling, you allow yourself a moment to think back to it. How warm it was. How the setting sun smudged an array of shades across the sky, how you'd been bitter about something, mumbling under your breath until a noise cut through your dismay. His laughter. All gruff and born from his throat. It had expelled into the space between the two of you, cut through your bad mood.

Because it had been louder than you’d ever heard it as the two of you walked back, as you did on so many other nights. But that night had felt so different—and it was.

One moment you were staring, and the next his lips found yours, all chapped, but soft. His fingers around your cheek, whispering your name so gently. Stroking your skin, all worn, a bit rough.

Now, the two of you are a habit. A routine.

Nothing has ever been discussed, nothing ever exchanged. Just some nights you ate dinner with him—knee pressed against his. Sometimes your things sat along his in his home, bobby pins and whatever book you were reading.

Some days Ellie let herself into your house, had made a bedroom out of one of your spares, and sometimes she asked if you wanted to come round to theirs.

The only constant thing is that at least once every week, your limbs found themselves tangled with his. His mouth latched itself onto your neck, hand grasping at your breast, fingers pinching the peak of your nipple as he gruffly told you how hard you’d gotten him.

You liked it. Craved it.

Enjoyed the way you took him apart as he focused on making you a mess.

You liked seeing his salt and pepper curls cling to his forehead, liked running your nails through the hair on the back of his neck—back arched into him, feeling fuller than you’d ever imagined you could. Hearing his gruff voice in your ear, saying words he'd never say if he wasn't buried to the hilt inside of you.

But then, you only call him Joel when he's between your thighs too.

"Miller?"

His name rings around the first floor of the house.

Checking the package in your pocket, you sigh as the day drips from your tight muscles. Hand moving to rub the back of your neck, staring at Ellie's half-open comic and the pencils you'd lent her over the table.

You knew she wouldn't reply, not when tonight was movie night. A Christmas one, she'd told you. She had already let it slip she was going, told you as she kept watch on the door so you could continue your surprise for him.

Her request for you to join her faded when you looked up at her, likely seeing the same look which now greets you in the dust-covered mirror.

Kicking off your boots, and removing one layer of socks, you sigh at the way your feet can all of a sudden breathe—even inside his thick socks. Wiggling your toes, you smile as you begin to curl and unfurl them, before your hand finds the bannister, dragging yourself up the stairs until you reach his room.

His empty room.

Heart falling, you consider calling out again. Using his first name this time—letting each of the four letters carry around the house.

But, his bed looks comfortable. It calling to you. Somehow finding yourself lying on it, your face pressed into his sheets, your bones and muscles sighing in relief that you're in a bed.

Eyes wishing to flutter shut, body unwinding against the mattress, the sheets. It’s on the third heavy exhale, do you realise you hear water. It falls in pitters and patters, distantly, likely from the bathroom across the hall.

That’s when a smile curls across your face because you’ve always found comfort in the sound of running water.

Whether it’s rivers or rain, and showers or leaks. It reminds you of calmness, of things fading from reach—washing away, starting anew. Memories of times trying to colour themselves in your mind, fading before they do as sleep tries to coax you away.

The only thing which displaces the grip sleep has on you, is the comforting sight that comes to a stop at the foot of the bed.

Steam swirling around him, all broad shoulders and still damp skin—the hair on his chest, arms, and stomach, clinging in half-swirled curls and straight lines, the towel clutched at his hip.

The first time you saw Joel Miller naked, you’d almost lost the function to speak. All man—all soft and muscle simultaneously. Something constructed from fantasies, made in real life, carved and moulded by hands you think never thought he’d be real. You were close to not being able to speak all over again now.

Eyes tracing, outlining and shading—squirrelling away a sketch of him you’ll think about when the other side of the bed is cold and not filled with him.

“Didn’t hear you come in.”

You hum, lifting up onto your elbows, admiring him, finding him doing the same—even if you suspect you’re not half as good-looking right now as he is.

Least of all when he takes your ankle in hand, moving you sideways with him as steps between your legs now hanging off the bed, the fabric of his towel brushing over your jeans, his palms coming down on the mattress on either side of your neck, staring at you with a look of concern.

“Y’not been sleepin’?”

“Just been busy,” you reply, arms looping around his neck. “Not lots of time to rest.”

You suppose at some point between summer and winter, things became soft—less about need and company, and something along the lines of real.

In another world, one not ridden with fungi and death, you suppose it would have been labelled, added something which tied the two of you together—something meaning more to others than it likely would do to you.

Smiling, you force your eyes to open properly. Watching that look of hunger slowly bleed out over the concern, vanishing entirely when you smirk. If the two of you were different, you suspect you'd tell him you miss him. Tell him you've thought about him.

Instead, you whisper, “Want you, Joel.”

Even more so when you trace the words over his mouth. Aware of his hands on your jeans, and how he's popped open the button, how he's dragging down the zipper. The fabric freely slides from your skin as your hands slide down, dropping to the towel at his waist—thumb digging over it, all ready to pull, unravel it. “Need you.”

His eyes narrow swallowed in darkness. “Yeah?”

Nodding, you roll your lips, dragging your fingers to the tuck, undoing it, not taking your eyes off him. Seeing something in his eyes that is more than just reciprocation of the words spoken, but the ones left unsaid.

“You want me?”

However, you’ll have me.

You’re not sure you speak it, but you're sure he hears it all the same.

For how aloof people think he is, he’s a man who listens—not just to the crunch of branches and the rustle of trees, but to the things people don’t say. He hears their secrets and pulls away their lies. Skills he told you one night he levelled up in when the world tried to keep taking more than it had already.

You suppose it’s how he knows you, your body, what you want and what you crave.

More so as he tangles his tongue with yours, all heady—gripping him firm, tightly as his fingers snake between the two of you. Desperation thrumming through your fingers as you push them into his skin, into his muscles—feeling the coil tighten as he moves his fingers with nothing short of precision. Knowing you, having mapped you out, learnt your cues—it’s why you don’t fight it, the incoming wave ready to drench your taut muscles, let him undo you, unravel you out so you’re nothing but spread out for him.

He likes it like that, you can tell. Likes how you surrender to him, how you lay out for him, letting him move you how he needs you.

It used to be rough, desperate—pure carnal. But, it’s been replaced by something else, something not soft or romantic, but you’re sure it’s a distant relative.

Once you’d gotten a bruise on your hip that pulsed, shifted in shades from being nudged against your kitchen table. Now when he leaves them, he traces them with his thumb, hoping to suck out the sting. Because now you’re treated to comfort—too recently washed bedding and his fingers inside your cunt as your body bends into him, practically curls, sings, hums.

“Always so fuckin’ tight for me.”

Compliments don’t fall from his tongue, but they drip from his eyes. They land on your skin, healing scars that don’t show. Each lick of his gaze makes you glow, and feel like something worth choosing, having been picked, plucked—and placed on some mantle you don’t even mind being perched on.

Wrapping your fingers around his wrist, breathing a struggle, practically gasping, you mumble his name—murmur it, almost a whine. “Fuck me now, Joel. Want you inside of me.”

Then, you’re overwhelmed.

Bathed in both the scent of fresh soap, dewy skin and absolute fullness. Your legs wrapping, crossing at the ankles as he slides into the hilt—pausing, just as he always does, fingers brushing over your jaw until he’s tilting your chin.

That same look—the one you first witnessed after the kiss under the dusk.

It doesn’t vanish until you show him, either in a whisper of the magic words or a movement he can read as a spell. Your hips rolling, rocking—please, please.

Your hands take in the feel of him breathing, the way his chest expands, fills with the knowledge, the realisation, nails digging, almost all in order. One he answers, delivers, fucking stamps.

Joel makes your toes curl, makes white noise appear in your ears, and makes you forget every important thing you’ve ever filed away. All hot, scorching against your skin as you grasp him closer, hoping you’ll be smothered in burns—hoping the same when you swallow his grunts, his hisses off your name. His hips pistoning, aiming to send you over the edge before him, hands—riddled with the evidence of his survival and his new hobby keep you rooted, don’t allow you to wander off into bliss without him.

“Too good f’me, sweetheart.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” he grunts, right against your pulse, before he licks against what beats under your skin.

You snort amidst your whine, clutching all the strings which keep you whole as you close your eyes—banish him from looking into your soul. He’s seen all there is there, let him in before, provided flashes, evidence of your shattered soul and broken mentality. It comes to the surface easier here, when your walls suck him in, and your body calls for him in a chorus of pleading and begging.

Because you’re close—not needing too much from him tonight, the sight of him is enough. The knowledge of his existence, knowing he’s yours without confirmation.

“There, right there,” you moan, heels digging into the base of his back, feeling the jostle of him, the way he rears and fucks.

He smirks, shifting, just enough to make the head of his cock hit the spot which makes your thighs shake, tremble, fucking quake. His mouth still split open, words there on his tongue, all ready to drape over your skin—

But, you just feel it’s incoming arrival. All white-hot, blinding—too much pressure, yet needing just a little bit more. Your body is not yours, mind empty, gone, faded. You want to sink your teeth into him, bite down, cut into him and leave a mark like the ones he leaves inside you each time the two of you do this.

Because it means something. This. The two of you in this little house in fucking Jackson. Doesn’t it? Doesn’t it?

“Yea’,” he grunts, palm on your face, tilting you up roughly, forcing your eyes to open.

And you swear he smiles when they flash open. You swear it.

“Means somethin’, sweetheart. This—fuck—us.”

The words grind into you. As though he's the pestle and your mortar. Your breath is lost, unable to be grasped, your body hanging, pleasure a bigger force—swallowing the room, casting you in shadows and misting over you—until you cry out. Squeezing, fluttering.

Not able to see anything but his face, the look on his face—the twisted expression of his lips and the deepness of his eyes. More black, than brown—but they’re somehow still soft, still full of something you hope is pleasant and full of emotions.

It only vanishes briefly when he spills inside of you.

When he collapses on top of you—his heart hammering against your ribs. And, even if it isn’t the first time, you feel yourself still—pause, no rash movements, because this is nice, this is something you want without asking for it.

“Can’t believe I can hear y’brain already.”

Snorting, you roll your eyes, glancing over—finding his lips have slid into his cheek.

It gnaws at you, the reason for your lack of sleep. The thing which you've traded hours of rest for. That dormant part pushed to the edge by exhaustion, now awake and very much worrying.

“Got you something,” you whisper, biting your lip, watching his brows furrow and lines appear between them.

Standing up, you steal the dressing gown from the back of his door—the one you’d traded for months ago. The one which is far too big, even for him, making it only cosier when you borrow it. Shooting him a smile, you almost disguise it, worried it's far too soft, too normal, before you mumble about being right back.

It's a hurry to the front door, all feet hammering down on wooden steps before your hand digs in your coat pocket, retrieving the wrapped thing you’ve lost shuteye over.

When you enter, he’s under the sheets—hair at odd angles, looking both a mixture of energised and fucked out that you wish you could paint with your fingers, so you'd forever have it.

“Didn’t wanna give this to you on the 25th—just in case you popped a vein trying to figure out what it means.”

Kneeling on the bed, you take a levelling breath, before handing it to him. His eyes travelling from you to it, fingers taking it—all delicate, measured. Before he unpeels the ribbon, undressing it with more care than he often shows you, before it rolls free of the paper you managed to find. It catches the ceiling light, glinting, gleaming, the handle looking even more detailed in this light than under the candles you’d had to use to remain discreet.

In your hand, the knife had appeared large, and menacing. In his, it looked right.

Yet, his face looked as though it was anything but.

Enough for you to prod, needle. To nudge closer on your knees, to smooth out the sheets and then flick your lashes up, finding him already staring, weighing it up—whatever coated his tongue, had been written in his mind.

“Sweetheart… I don’t… I don’t deserve this—”

More words fall in silence, not quite spoken, yet somehow loud.

Enough for you to say his name, to rest your knee on the bed and deeply sigh.

“You…’m not a good man.”

You almost laugh, but you don’t. Crawling up, placing your hand on his chest, you take a shaky breath. “I’m not sure I care.”

And you don't.

Because it's easy to feel something for him, to love him. It's natural, there one day and the day after. It wasn't hard or difficult, but very fucking easy.

Your mouth even opens to say as much, but you close it again before a syllable is muttered.

Wrapping the gift, he moves it from between the two of you, to the bedside table. His fingers linger, hovering over the carved wood—the one which caused splinters and made your eyes almost cross over. “Y’should. M’not an easy man to love.”

“I disagree,” you whisper, fingers having slid up to the base of his neck, your fingers teasing his curls. “Since I’m pretty sure I already feel those things for you.”

His brows lift, and you smile—letting it speak the words you can’t say, and you’re sure he’s not willing to hear.

“Don’t sweat it, alright? You’re mine, I’m yours. Yeah?”

Nodding, he bites his cheek, placing the knife back into the packaging—moving it, replacing what he’d been holding with your wrist as he pulls you close.

“Got you somethin’ too.”

Nose bumping his, you shift closer, thighs finding themselves on either side of him—his hands finding a place on them, sliding up, callouses grazing on your skin, before squeezing.

“But y’gotta wait until the 25th. Like a good girl.”

Smirking, you cup his cheeks. "Okay, Miller. I'll wait."

an: merry christmas, i hope you love this <3

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