#having an impenetrable poker face

[justjanusthings]

#justjanusthings #having an impenetrable poker face #janus sanders #deceit sanders #ts janus #ts deceit #ts sides #sanders sides #deceit

[its3nvy]

"Wear the hat, ride the cowboy" Billy the Kid

Summary: After drawing the wrong kind of attention at the saloon, Billy comes to your rescue. Having to pretend to be his for the night, which leads to a ‘wear the hat, ride the cowboy’ situation ;) 

Tags/warnings: mdni (18+), porn with no plot, angst, size kink, riding cock, overstimulation, fingering, breeding kink, creampie, unprotected sex, rough sex, dirty talk, slight knife kink

Note : This is my first time ever writing smut and I haven't edited it a lot so this should be fun. (Tell me if it's good or not pls)

tags: f!reader, smut

word count: 3.7k

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Curiosity led you to the local saloon one evening, where Billy often engaged in poker games. The air inside was thick with the smoky residue of cigars, and the occasional clinking of glasses underscored the distant melody of a forlorn piano. As you pushed through the creaking doors, your presence hung in the air, drawing the gaze of rough patrons whose eyes bore into you with a kind of familiarity you had never known. Unaccustomed to the bold gazes and suggestive comments that swirled around you like a threatening storm, you sought refuge at the bar. A man behind it was taking someone’s order.

You looked around, your eyes finally found Billy's familiar frame, surrounded by a haze of cigarette smoke, engaged in a high-stakes poker game.

“Hello, darlin’,” a drunken man stumbled toward you.

“Hello, sir,” you gave him a small smile, trying to avoid his intense stare.

He leaned against the bar to keep his balance. “Come on, darling, don’t be such a prude. Talk to me.” His hand reached up, attempting to caress your face.

From afar, you saw Billy, his eyes—usually mischievous and full of life—met yours with a fleeting recognition. Without uttering a word, he rose from his chair, his cowboy boots echoing a heavy cadence on the worn wooden floor.

The drunken man's intrusive advances persisted, his slurred words creating an uncomfortable tension. "Don’t play hard to get, honey. I can show you a good time," he insisted, his hand becoming more insistent. Ignoring the drunkard, you turned back to the bar, hoping for intervention. The man persisted, his persistence turning aggressive. As his hand encroached upon your personal space, a shadow fell over you. 

Billy's presence loomed, his gaze colder than the steel of his revolver. Without a word, he grabbed the man's hand, his grip firm and unyielding. “Leave her alone," Billy's voice cut through the clamor of the saloon, his words echoing with a subtle menace.

The tension escalated, a palpable undercurrent surging through the room. The patrons, sensing the imminent storm, shifted uneasily. Billy's eyes held yours, a silent reassurance amid the brewing chaos. The drunk man, now confronted by the notorious gunslinger, stumbled backward, a mixture of recognition and fear contorting his expression. With a final warning glare from Billy, he slinked away into the crowd.

Billy turned towards you, his eyes softening as if to assure you that the storm had passed. 

"What in the hell are ya doin’ here?", he murmured, his tone both gruff and concerned as he reached you, seizing your hand and guiding you to the quiet side of the room. "I needed to go out, Billy," you replied, your voice carrying a note of defiance and desperation.

He hissed, a trace of irritation etching lines across his rugged features. "You can’t. You gotta go home. These people here are dangerous," he warned.

"And you don’t think me leaving alone would be dangerous?" you shot back, your gaze a defiant challenge to the protective facade he wore like impenetrable armor.

"Shit," he conceded, his irritation mingling with a begrudging acceptance of your undeniable truth. "Alright, I’m finishing up my round, and then we can go," Billy relented, his tone an admission of defeat. "But you play along with me, ok? If they don’t think you're claimed, they'll see you as fair game," he said, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that cut through the smoky haze, demanding an unspoken oath.

“Ok,” you huffed out.

He pulled you towards his table with a rough yet oddly comforting grip, a silent acknowledgment that, for a fleeting moment, you were to be sheltered from the men surrounding you as long as you stayed with him. "Wait," he murmured, his hand lingering on yours. With a swift motion, he removed his hat, worn and weathered from a life on the precipice.

You extended your hand to stop him. "Billy, you can’t," you insisted, your voice barely more than a whisper, laden with the implications of his gesture. “You know what this means.”

"That’s the point," he declared, his crooked grin returning like a bittersweet promise of protection. As he placed his hat on your head, it became a proclamation, an unspoken claim made before the watchful eyes of everyone present, and a promise of a heated night that lingered in the air like an unspoken secret.

"Now, c’mere," he commanded, pulling you towards him as he settled into his chair, drawing you onto his lap. You bit on your lips, a mixture of anticipation and fear, the heat rising to your cheeks as the proximity between you tightened like a coiled spring. This was the first time Billy had been so close, and the magnetic pull of his presence ignited an unfamiliar fire within you.

He looked up at you as you bit your lips, his gaze a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken tension that hung thick in the air.

As he resumed his poker game, you felt his breath against your neck. "Pass me the whiskey, doll," he asked.

You leaned against the table, inadvertently pulling your hips tighter into his pelvis, sensing his hardness between you. His hands reached out against your hips, gripping you and keeping you still. "Careful," he warned against the shell of your ear, his breath raising goosebumps along your neck, a sensation that heightened the electrifying energy between you.

As you handed him the glass, he took a swig, and then, with a deliberate slowness, leaned down against the side of your neck, planting a lingering kiss. "Thank you, doll," his gravelly voice murmured, the aroma of whiskey lingering in the air.

Billy's fingers grazed lightly along your waist, sending a cascade of sensations through your body. His gaze met yours once more, a silent invitation lingering in his eyes. It was then that you became acutely aware of the speculative glances from the patrons, their curiosity fueled by the undeniable connection unfolding before them.

The weight of Billy's hat on your head felt like both a shield and a beacon, marking you as his amidst the prying eyes of the saloon.

The night passed on and as the final hand of poker concluded, Billy rose from his seat, still holding you close. "Wrapping it up for the night, boys. See ya tomorrow," he declared, his voice a mix of weariness and determination.

He grabbed your hand, guiding you out with a certain urgency. The saloon doors swung open, thrusting you back into the harsh glow of moonlight. As you stopped in front of his horse, he turned around and said, "What the hell were you thinking, coming here alone? You know how they treat women here."

His words cut through the night air, a mixture of concern and frustration etched on his rugged features. The distant sounds of revelry from the saloon formed a dissonant backdrop to the charged atmosphere between you.

You met his gaze, a swirl of emotions reflecting in his eyes. "I just wanted to have one free night, Billy. Just one," you replied, your voice carrying a note of desperation. Billy's jaw clenched, a silent acknowledgment of the dangers lurking in the shadows. "This ain't the place for that, especially not for someone like you," he muttered, his grip on your hand tightening as if to emphasize the point.

The weight of his words hung in the air, and for a moment, the world seemed to stand still. The moonlight cast shadows across his face, revealing the hardened resolve etched into his expression. "I can't have you wandering into places like this, doll," he continued, a trace of vulnerability underlying his gruff tone. "It's too damn dangerous."

Billy sighed, a heavy exhale that seemed to release the tension in the air. "Let's get you home," he said, his voice softened. With a final glance back at the saloon, you moved towards his horse. As you approached, he placed his hands on your hips, lifting you onto the horse with a gentle yet firm touch. You instinctively grabbed his forearm for support, your eyes locking in a shared moment of intimacy. 

The ride home was a silent journey through the cool night air, the rhythmic hooves of the horse creating a steady cadence. You sat in front of Billy, the warmth of his body enveloping you, his strong arms encircling your waist as you traversed the dimly lit trails. 

As the horse navigated the uneven terrain, Billy's embrace tightened slightly, offering both stability and reassurance. His chin rested on your shoulder, his warm breath tickling your neck, and in that intimate proximity, the weight of your unspoken desires lingered like an invisible thread weaving through the darkness.

Arriving at your doorstep, Billy helped you dismount, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary. Your eyes met, a complex tapestry of emotions woven between you. He spoke, his words a whisper carried away by the night breeze, "Be more careful, doll. This world ain't kind, especially to those with a heart as tender as yours." He placed his hand against your cheek, caressing it lovingly.

"Billy," you responded, the ache in your voice carrying a mixture of gratitude and longing. He placed a loving kiss on your forehead, his touch a hushed plea for silence. "Go to sleep, doll. I'll come by tomorrow morning," he whispered, giving you a kiss on the forehead, turning away.

"Billy, wait," an urgency surged within you, desperate to find a reason for him to stay. You took off your hat, intending to return it to him, a feeble attempt to anchor him in the moment. “Keep it. I prefer it on you,” he remarked, a bittersweet acknowledgment that stirred emotions too complex to unravel.

Locked in a gaze that spoke volumes, you inched toward him, a silent plea lingering in the air. As your fingers tightened around the hat, a palpable tension filled the space between you. His intense blue eyes held yours, revealing a tumult of unspoken struggles and desires. Your gaze shifted to his lips—slightly chapped yet irresistibly inviting. 

Closing the distance, you reached him, and, without hesitation, pressed your lips against his. The kiss was a desperate plea, an attempt to convey the emotions that words couldn't capture.

Billy's initial surprise melted into a shared passion, and for a moment, the world around you faded. His arms encircled you, pulling you close as if trying to etch the moment into his memory. As the intensity deepened, you let go of the hat, your hands finding their way to his jaw, pulling him even closer. He tasted your soft lips and felt your warm skin. He pulled away slightly, breath mingling with yours, lips lingering, an anguished pause in the silent night.

"Fuck, doll," he groaned, your foreheads leaning against one another, his hands gripping the fabric on your waist. You looked up into his eyes, witnessing the inner battle reflected in his gaze as he grappled with the decision to restrain himself or not.

You approached your lips to his cheek, giving him a slight peck, when you heard him whisper, "Fuck it." His lips crashed to yours, hungry, hot, and demanding, stealing your breath in a heated rush. His hand came up, cupping your jaw, angling your head to deepen the kiss as he slicked his tongue inside your mouth.

“Come, let’s go inside, yeah?” He asked. You nodded at him, as he gave you a quick kiss, ushering you inside, “good girl.” And in an instant, he’s moving toward you, wrapping his arms around your body and pressing you to his chest. You press your lips to his and moan at the taste of Whiskey. His tongue slides over yours in slow strokes that make your cheeks warm, but it’s when his teeth nip at your bottom lip that a whine escapes. 

His rough, calloused hands drop to the cusp of your neck, gripping your hair just tight enough to make you hiss. You arch into his touch as he starts to explore your body, mapping out every dip and curve. 

“Billy- Please… do something.” He moans a response into your neck as his lips slip down to leave love bites along the column of your throat. 

Eager to feel you, Billy tried to pull at the strings of your corset, but to no avail. It was too complicated to remove in the dark, and with the emotions aptly blinding him, Billy had no patience to try.

In the dark, you heard a flick of a knife, and you felt a cold tip of the blade against your skin before Billy’s voice comforted you, “Be a good girl and don’t move, ok?”

A rip ran through the air as Billy sliced your corset in half from the back. You stayed perfectly still, trusting him completely to cut the clothing off of you without harming you at all. The moment Billy had cut your corset, he dropped it to the floor and pulled your top off with it.

He immediately lets his hands drop to your breasts, nipples already pebbling from the cool air. He pinches and pulls at them for only a moment before he’s trailing kisses down your stomach.

Bilily stops just above your hip bones, “May I?” he asks, blue eyes peering up at you. “Yes. Billy, please.” You beg him, voice thick with desperation. He chuckles and then rubs his hand over your throbbing clit. He slides one, then two thick fingers into your dripping pussy. A whimper bubbles from your swollen lips as he pulls back to spit on your heat. His fingers curl, digits stretching and scissoring inside you. Your head feels like it’s spinning, arousal leaking from your cunt and down Billy’s fingers. 

Your hips are unable to escape his assault on your g-spot when he pins you down, and you let out a moan you hardly recognize as your own. “Shit, you’re so wet.” His teeth catch his bottom lip as he smiles down at your fucked-out form. 

Billy’s hand never slows, even as he grinds his palm into your poor clit. You cum not long after, waves of pleasure crashing over and drowning you in euphoria. Your body is trembling as you come back to Earth and Billy is there, watching you from between your thighs. He places a kiss on your sensitive clit before he stands back up, towering over you. 

“Please. Fuck me, Billy.” You say through heavy breaths. He feels his head spin at the sound of your voice. 

“Whatever you want, doll.” 

Billy lays you across the couch and crawls over you, leaning back to release his aching cock from the confines of his pants. Saliva pools in your mouth at the sight of him, pre-cum drips from his flushed, red tip.

He fists his cock at the sight of you below him, lips parted and breasts heaving. Billy leans his body over yours, trapping you between him and the cushions below you. You can feel the muscle covering his torso press against your tummy. He ruts his cock through your pussy, the head catching on your clit deliciously. You both moan at the feeling and link your fingers together. 

“Fuck, you’re so perfect. I’m gonna make you all mine”, Billy coos down at you, searching your face for any hesitance. You nod at him, earning you a keen smile and a quick kiss. “It’s gonna hurt, doll, I’m sorry.” Squeezing his hand, you hold your breath when he lines himself up with your entrance.

You gasp when his tip slips into you, already feeling like he’s split you in two. Salty tears start to well in your lash line at the burn of Billy’s cock stretching you out for the first time. He’s much bigger than you anticipated and you dig your nails into his skin. 

“I know, I know. Just breathe.” He tries his best to comfort you, gritting his teeth at the feeling of your cunt around him. His heart stings at the sight of you crying for reasons other than pleasure, but he can’t help it when his hips buck, pushing himself another inch deeper.

Billy knows he should feel guilty for liking the way you screw your eyes shut, the way your cunt flutters around him even though he’d worked you open already. He’s not even halfway inside you and your legs are trembling around his waist while he holds himself back from pushing in balls-deep. He can’t help but feel a sense of pride swell in his chest at the effect he has on your body. 

Billy’s hand leaves yours and drops to your clit, rubbing tight circles with his thumb. Your mouth opens into an “O” shape and your sloppy cunt grants him another inch.  He can feel the velvet of your walls drawing him deeper, euphoria building in your veins. With every circle drawn, Billy pushes in further and further until he’s finally buried to the hilt. He stills for a moment, letting your cock-drunk mind play catchup with your body. “I’m gonna move, is that ok, doll?”

He pulls out, making you whine at the empty sensation, then, he’s driving his hips forward again. You loop your arms around his neck as he attacks your insides. Any words you have die on your tongue as Billy sets a rough, passionate pace. His tan skin, covered in old and new scars, feels slick against yours as his cock splits your mind in half. You can feel Billy everywhere, you can taste him, touch him, smell him, see him. He’s completely overwhelmed your senses and given you nothing to think about other than him.

The air around you is humid and thick, the scent of sex swimming through it. Billy slips in and out of you with ease, the clear strings of your slick and his pre-cum coat your pussy lips like a gloss. You let your gaze fall on him, watching how his brows furrow with concentration while he molds your insides into the shape of him.

Billy lifts your hips in the air to get an angle that allows him to hit even deeper, pumping his cock into you so hard that the air is forced from your lungs. There’s no one else you could want, no one else who could ever make you feel like this. 

“Shit Billy. I’m so close.” You moan, a familiar warmth starting to coil in your tummy. He nods and slots his lips against yours for one final kiss. His tongue explores your mouth as his dick strikes your g-spot, sending you headfirst into bliss. You cum hard as every nerve in your body is set aflame. His hot, sticky cum floods your walls and leaks from around his cock. 

Silence lies thick in the air aside from your heavy breathing and the soft kisses you share. Billy leans back to peer down at where you’re connected and shakes his head at you. 

He picks you up and places you over his hips, leaning you back. “Can’t waste this, doll.” He tuts at you, gathering the cum leaking from your abused pussy on his tip and pushing it back in. Throwing an arm behind his head, a fucked-out grin crosses his features as you sink down on his cock, letting him rub against your most sensitive spots. A strangled moan sounds in the back of your throat as he slowly pushes back into the deepest parts of your cunt.

His tongue darts out to lick the sweat off of his cupid’s bow, large hands moving to slide down your hips to grab at the fat of your ass. He guides you up and down on him as you babble and cry.

“I’ve got you, doll.” His words send a shiver down your spine and you brace yourself on his broad shoulders. Your cunt flutters around him, “Fuck Billy’-” you cry out.

Billy groans at the sight of a white ring around his shaft, made from a mixture of his and your cum. “So tight… taking me so fuckin’ well.” He bucks his hips, tip grazing your g-spot just right, just enough to make your eyes roll up into your head. “C’mon, doll.”

He leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead, then captures your lips with his. He swallows every moan and hiccup as he pounds into you, only slowing when you clench impossibly tighter around him. Stars are dancing in your vision and pleasure is burning in your veins. You hear him swear again, he lets his head fall back onto the cushions and plants his boots flat on the floor. You nearly scream as he fucks back up into you. He’s growling something in your ear, but his words sound so far away. 

“Cum on my cock, doll. C’mon, do it. Do it for me.” Billy babbles in your ear as he loses his rhythm, now just slamming his hips into yours with all the force he could muster. Your arms are clinging to his neck and he has you trapped against him. White, hot pleasure hits you like a ton of bricks as you squirm on Billy’s lap. His teeth sink into your shoulder as he pumps his hot, sticky cum into your womb. 

He lays back on the couch, letting you rest against his chest.  With a tender touch, he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss on the top of your hair. His lips lingered for a moment. As he pulled back, his fingers began to stroke your hair slowly, each caress a testament to the unspoken passion that simmered between you.

“From now on, that hat stays on you, doll. Let everyone in town see you belong to me."

send me billy thoughts or requests pleaseee :)

#billy the kid #billy the kid x reader #billy the kid smut #william bonney #coriolanus snow #tom blyth #wear the hat ride the cowboy #save a horse ride a cowboy

[catcze]

Wriothesley can hear your loud stomps from a mile away as you furiously speed-walk to his office door like a bloodhound trailing a scent. Even if not for that, the way that you bang your fist on the door is enough to grab his attention.

"WRIOTHESLEY." Comes booming in from the other side of the door. It's thick wood. He wonders how deaf he would have gone if the door hadn't protected him. The door (the thick, supposedly impenetrable door) rattles on its hinges like a screen in a hurricane when you try to kick it again. "DID YOU EAT MY DONUTS."

It's not even an accusation at that point. It's practically a declaration of war.

"WRIOTHESLEY!" You yell so loudly a group of guards turning the corner down the hall scramble back the way they came. "Open up, jackass!"

Wriothesley, knowing he cannot escape the consequences of his actions, merely settles deeper into his chair as he drinks his tea. His last meal. Drink. Similar thing.

The door keeps rattling as you yell profanities at him, until one of his traitorous guards approaches you hesitantly, saying not a single word but offering up the spare key to his office with shaky hands, head low and aggressively avoiding eye contact.

"Oh!" you say, demeanor switching immediately, losing the intimidating glint in your eye as you gingerly take the key. You smile kindly. "Thank you very much!"

Then you turn back to the door, the threat of violence in your eye as you wield the key like a weapon of war, inserting it into the keyhole and twisting it with a dark finality. The guard wonders if they should fear for their superior's wellbeing.

Wriothesley looks up from his newspaper as you close the door ominously behind you, somehow maintaining a blasé facadé even while staring down certain death.

"Well?" you prompt him, eye twitching like a stressed villain from a kid's cartoon show. You round on him in an instant, too quick for him to escape. Somehow, he keeps up his poker face. "Care to explain where my donuts went, Duke of Meropide?"

"I didn't eat them," He deadpans, staring you right in the eye. He pointedly does not acknowledge the white powdered sugar on his face.

"There's white powdered sugar on your face."

"Ah. So there is."

Another cartoony villain eye twitch. "Want to try that again?"

"...I love you?"

"And I love you. Last chance, though."

And he folds like a lawn chair. Wriothesley knows this is a fight he can't win. Even Neuvillette would tell him it's best to just kick the bucket and plead guilty at this point. He sighs breaking eye contact first like a wolf with its tail between its legs.

"Okay, I'll buy you another dozen of them."

You cross your arms, staring at him. He sighs.

"Another two dozen."

You soften just the slightest bit, coming close to perch on his lap and lean into his space. Instinctively, his arms come to wrap around your middle, pulling you against him.

"And?"

Wriothesley leans forward too, enough for your foreheads to touch. You can feel the breath of his sigh against your lips.

"And you have my sincerest apologies for taking your things. In my defense, I thought they were mine at first.”

“Apology accepted,” you say, satisfied, and peck him quickly on the lips. Before it can turn into anything else though, you’re springing up from his lap. Ignoring the disappointed furrow in his brow and the way his arms have still not moved from their position holding you earlier, you take his hand and pull him up from his chair with such startling enthusiasm and surprising strength that it has him stumbling for a second. You pull him towards the door regardless.

“C’mon, you’re making good on that apology right now, Wrio! Hope you finished your work!”

And no, technically he hasn’t finished his work. But he already knows that you’ve got him wrapped around your finger, and that pushing that work to tomorrow wouldn’t hurt. Probably. Whatever— it’d be worth it.

So he just sighs and gives the palm resting in his a squeeze and let’s himself be pulled along. You squeeze back.

“As long as you let me have a few. Those were pretty good.”

#Wriothesley x reader #Genshin Impact x reader #Wriothesley #Genshin Impact #Cw GN reader #「 🐈‍⬛ 」 catcze.desserts #probably terribly ooc BUT ITS CUTE so get offa me #if the pacing is weird it’s bc I wrote it on mobile bc nails make typing so HARD

[mvth3r]

thinking about late night conversations over card games in alexandria…

cw: 18+ MDNI, p-in-v sex, alcohol consumption

a/n: quick drabble that took over my brain while i was procrastinating on my paper for class, oops!

finding alexandria and joining the community was a real blessing, even with how tumultuous the group’s early days had been.

not because it was an impenetrable fortress, or because their worries had completely disappeared, no.

alexandria allowed them to slow down, and work their bodies out of the constant fight or flight they’d grown accustomed to on the road. now, well settled and strengthening the community every day, they were able to partake in some old world joys.

every now and then, after all the kids, including a begrudging carl, had gone to bed and all the day’s duties were finished, the grown folks would pull out a couple old bottles of wine to share and a deck of cards that someone had discovered in the kitchen’s junk drawer.

it was a stress reliever, you thought, to be sitting around the table with your people, sipping on something red and smooth and telling jokes and stories over an easy game of spades. mostly, it reminded you of your college days, cracking open cheap beers with your homegirls after a hard week of coursework, especially when the alcohol started to kick in and mouths started running.

like tonight.

you and rosita were hitting the wine a little hard, both of you having been gone the last few days on a run that hadn't panned out to be worth the trouble. you were two glasses deep to rosita's three while everyone else was still nursing their first.

the cards had been dealt over and over by this point, with the losing team leaving the table for the next pair to have a turn. you and michonne were currently duking it out with rick and carol, who were unfortunately wiping the floor with you.

you tossed a card to the center, watching rick swipe up the pile shortly after, and met his smirk with a teasing glare, "you been countin' cards or something?"

rick laughed, chocolate curls bouncing as he shook his head, "this ain’t blackjack."

"or poker," carol added, sharp eyes shining with mirth as she looked over her hand, "don't pout."

before you could snark back at the older woman, rosita was strolling over to the table to lean down beside you, her cup making a dull thunk as she placed it on the wooden table.

you looked at her curiously, a fond smile curling your lips, "yeah? what's up, rose?"

"welllll..." she began, dragging out the word for dramatics, "i wanted to ask you something, and you have to be honest!"

tara was making her way over to the table behind her, a blush apparent on her cheeks as she hissed, "i didn't actually mean-"

rosita barreled on, ignoring her, "tara and i have been wondering... you and daryl have been together for a while right?"

the mention of his name caught daryl's attention from where he'd been leaning against the kitchen island, talking to morgan. he looked over at you and rosita with an eyebrow raised.

you mirrored his look of confusion, raising your glass to take a sip of wine as you nodded slowly.

rick, michonne, and carol were also tuned into the conversation at this point, their cards discarded face down onto the table in front of them.

rosita smiled at you wickedly, lowering her voice in a fake attempt at whispering, "we were wondering if the sex was good."

everyone started talking at once, tara being the loudest, nearly shouting, "she! she was wondering, not we!"

your head fell forward into your hands, groaning. you could hear maggie and glenn laughing from the other side of the room while rick chuckled into his glass.

a blush heated your skin as the teasing started. michonne was goading you for an answer, leaning into the antics along with carol, who had put on a fake disgusted look despite the barely restrained laughter making her lips twitch.

“go on,” rosita urged, giggling right next to you, “we wanna know!”

you looked over at daryl, shocked to find him not only looking back at you, but also fighting a smile of his own. his hand rubbed over his goatee to hide it, but you saw right through him.

he was enjoying this. what a bastard.

you were sure you couldn’t get any warmer in the cheeks, and you shook your head in disbelief.

“this is so ridiculous,” you muttered, reaching for the cards you had set down earlier, but rick’s hand came down before you could grab them.

“rick, seriously?” you questioned, shooting him a dirty look.

all he did was smile indulgently, hand still pressing your cards firmly to the table. it was a testament to the good mood of the evening that rick was also willing to participate in this madness.

“out with it!” maggie crowed, “she isn’t the only one wondering!”

at that, carol finally lost her cool, trying and failing to muffle her chuckles with her palm.

michonne shot you a wink across the table, “don’t be embarrassed, we’re all adults here.”

“oh my god,” you muttered, raising your hands to cover your eyes and cheeks in exasperation, “it’s fine! the sex is just fine.”

rosita nodded with a strangely serious expression, “thank you for that information.”

you swatted at her with a groan as she headed away, back to the living room with tara.

rick finally released your cards and you gathered them back up swiftly, eyes trained on them as you tried to get back into the game, “you’re all the worst.”

a few more laughs floated across the table as you all settled back into the game.

glancing over at daryl, you felt your face grow warm all over again. you had expected to see neutrality, or maybe even a little discomfort. it’s not like you and daryl having sex was a secret, you just didn’t know how he felt about it being broadcasted.

but instead, all you could see was humor. whether at the situation or you, you couldn’t tell, but you were sure you’d find out soon enough.

—

“jus’ fine, huh?” daryl voice was sex rough in your ear, and so close that you could feel the puffs of his breath, “the sex is jus’ fine?”

he thrusted into you lazily, your hips slotting against each others over and over. you hands slid over his clothed chest, trying to urge him to move faster. the pace was maddening, you needed more.

once the card games had wrapped up and everyone turned in, daryl had led you right down to his room and stripped our clothes off at the threshold. you knew it was about your earlier comments, but you also knew he wasn't upset, not really. he was just poking fun in his own way.

now though, you were convinced he was punishing you.

daryl wasn’t even naked like you were, having only unzipped his jeans and slid them down an inch or two to free himself.

you were tucked underneath his larger form, arms and legs both coming up to wrap around him. you didn't have an answer for him, you didn't know what to say.

his lips dragged over your jaw, and you could feel the curve of his smile, "didn't think you was a liar. why you ain't tell 'em the truth?"

his next thrust was rougher, nailing against your g-spot perfectly, sending your head back as you moaned.

your brain was fuzzy, only thinking about how good you felt, and how you needed more.

"answer me, girl," daryl grunted teasingly, "you ain't wanna tell 'em how good i fuck you?"

you shook your head, words coming out breathy as you spoke, "no, i just didn't know what to say, daryl, please!"

he hummed appreciatively, "you ain't wanna tell 'em how you beg for my cock?"

you whimpered helplessly, eyes closing.

daryl chuckled quietly, "that's alright. next time you will, won't ya?"

before you could answer, he was speeding up again, his thrusts knocking the breath out of your lungs. your hands came up to his hair, tugging on it in your delirium. you could feel your orgasm building in your gut already, but you weren't surprised given the edging you'd already endured.

daryl could feel your walls clenching around his cock like a vice, a ragged moan falling from his throat.

he leaned down closer to you, mouth beside your ear again as he whispered, "yeah, you will."

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #twd imagine

[slushycoookie]

Roleplay Date ~ Miguel O'Hara x AFAB! Reader

Content: You and Miguel do some roleplay, mostly fluff, starts to get suggestive occasionally and near the end, MINORS DNI!!

A/N: Wanted to do a quick idea of you doing a role-play date with Miguel! Enjoy!

He should be here any minute now.

The time on your phone was your favorite thing to look at when you stepped into the bar. You tried to relax with a sip of your margarita, the slightly sour taste of apple dancing across your palate, but your mind kept wandering. How was this going to go? Would it be awkward? Or would it fail if someone tried to steal your man? You had a few other people try to talk to you while you sat but to your relief, disappeared when they saw you weren't that interested.

You had no reason to be nervous. Couples go on role-play dates all the time. You read their ideas and their experiences. It should be fun.

Thirty minutes passed and you saw your husband.

You caught your breath at his change of appearance. A green cardigan, with the top button undone. His white pants contrasted in color but somehow worked well with his black suede loafers. Miguel looked good. You always knew he could be, but this was a little different. You tried not to gawk as you sipped your drink again, pretending the menu was more interesting than anyone else. He wasn't too far from your seat but you caught a whiff of his cologne, earthy with sharp hints of mint. It's one you've never smelled before.

Miguel ordered a rum and coke as you tried to decide what to eat. Maybe some sliders? Or there was a sampling platter you could try. But you also saw sushi on the menu.

“Hi.”

You perked up, heart banging in your chest as you turned to him. He was even better up close. And…did he change his hair? It was parted to the side, not slicked back like his usual style. Miguel usually changes his hair on special occasions. You tried to hold back admiring his brown curls shining in the dim light as you remembered he spoke to you.

“Hi.” A light smile appeared on your face.

“Do you come here often?”

You bit your lip, wondering if you two should have developed a script. But you wanted the interaction to be natural since it's the first time roleplaying like this. “No, I don’t. This is my first time.”

“Alone?” Miguel raised an eyebrow as you nodded, “Someone like you shouldn’t be alone on a night like this.”

Curious, you played with your straw by swirling it in your drink, “What's someone like me?”

“Gorgeous.”

He was eyeing your outfit. A simple black dress that gave much attention to your cleavage. Paired with small matching black heels. You weren't the type to wear this sort of thing but you wanted to try something new. And give your husband something to stare at.

Your poker face was impenetrable, despite wanting to forget everything and immediately go into the hotel room. “You're gonna have to do better than that.”

Miguel smirked before signaling to the bartender that he would pay for anything you wanted for the rest of the night. She gave you a look to make sure you agreed and you nodded. He motioned to the seat beside you and you invited him to stay.

“I’m Miguel.” You gave him yours and he said it as if he’s never said it before. A tingle shot through your spine. “May I ask why you decided to go to the bar tonight?”

“I wanted a drink.” You shrugged, “And I heard this hotel was nice.”

“It is.” He took a sip of his drink, eyes never far from yours.

“Oh? You’ve been here before?”

“Many times. I’ve always been satisfied with the service when I go here on business.”

You hum in delight, “So you’re a businessman?”

“Not quite.” He gives a soft chuckle, “I’m a scientist, that unfortunately has to go on business trips.”

You knew that part about him. He always hated going on trips because that meant he’d be away from you. “What do you specialize in?”

“Genetics.” You had to hold back in smiling hard, seeing his eyes light up at any mention of his work. The conversation was interrupted momentarily when the bartender asked what you wanted to eat. You and Miguel decided to share a sushi platter with an assortment of flavors each of you could try.

And your margarita was also gone, so you decided to get a daiquiri, wanting something a little bit sweeter to combat the sourness you had.

“So you’re a geneticist?” You asked, picking the conversation back up, “That’s fascinating. I’ve never met any geneticists. Especially ones as good-looking as you. Must be in your genes.”

A flash of your husband came out as Miguel’s eyes lowered at your terrible joke. Even you snorted at your words. “Funny. So I’m guessing your profession is a comedian.”

“No way.” You shook your head, “Not by a long shot.”

“Thank god.”

You gasped, pretending to be insulted while watching him hold back a laugh behind his straw. “Rude.”

“I’m just saying. I wouldn’t have high hopes in your career after that joke.”

The air was light and comfortable. Any semblance of nervousness you had previously faded away. That could've just been the alcohol though.

“So since you specialize in genetics, you know all the good stuff. Punnett squares, why people with blue eyes are rare, that sort of thing.”

Miguel nodded, “Usually we're able to find all of your genetic markings through your blood.”

“I'm not scared of getting my blood drawn.” You confidently say, “You think you'd find anything good in my genes?”

He hums in thought, moving closer to slide his hand up your bare forearm, placing his thumb between your arm and bicep. His touch was warm, almost burning your skin up. “Maybe. As long as you hold still.”

“Only if you're gentle.” You let out a low sigh. Your husband staring directly into your eyes, rubbing his thumb against your skin. You're so close to fast-forwarding this date and getting in his pants.

It was to your luck that the food came, causing you and him to part so you could dine in. Husband mode came back as he handed you the wasabi. Your lips curled, knowing he wasn't the biggest fan of it when he accidentally put a huge smear on his roll, eating it whole. You pictured his eyes tearing up and his face scrunching up was hilarious.

“You don't like wasabi?”

Miguel’s head shook with disdain, “Not a fan. It's too hot for my tastes.”

“That's because you put too much on there when you shouldn’t have-” You immediately shut your lips, trying to fix your words. “I mean, plenty of people put a lot on there. It’s a common mistake.”

He ignored your slip up, “Then can you show me how much is adequate for me?”

“Of course.” You took a little piece using your chopsticks, placing it on his sushi roll as if it were delicate. You watched as he ate the piece, shoulders lowered in satisfaction. “See, not that hot right?”

“Not at all.” He then asked about your job which you proceeded to describe as boring. Not as exciting as his geneticist one. While you did so, Miguel kept showing his husband side, making sure you had your fill. As he listened intently. The stranger façade started to fade as you two were starting to act like a married couple again. You’re sure anyone from a mile away could see it.

But you didn’t care. You were full, mind a little clouded from the alcohol and the night was winding down. The time on your phone was almost eleven at night.

Miguel slipped his black card to the bartender, paying for the meal and drinks. You gazed at his form, not believing that you were married to this man.

“Do you have a ride home?” He asked. You knew he made arrangements to book a room at the hotel, but knowing him he’d wanted to make sure the date ended on a satisfying note.

“I’m looking at it.”

His eyes went wide at the flirtatious line for a moment. “Bold, are we?”

“Maybe.” Your playful smirk drew him closer as he leaned into your ear.

“You can ride me in our room.”

You two sped walk towards the elevator. Miguel’s finger repeatedly pressed the down button to make it go faster. Your body was hot, breathing speeding up as you couldn’t hold on much longer. You never knew how slow elevators were when its doors creaked open. The two of you rushed inside and once it was closed, were immediately on each other.

Hot breaths, messy kisses, and hands groping every single part of your bodies filled the space. The cold steel wall was felt on your back as Miguel trapped you, his hard body pressed against your own. He hiked up your leg to wrap around his waist while sucking on your neck. Creating a few marks on your skin.

The dings from the elevator going up were the only thing keeping you together. Otherwise, you were sure he was going to fuck you inside.

“Wait.” Miguel parted, his face stained from your lipstick, hair messy from the exchange. “Do you have your ring?”

You nodded, getting it from your purse. Before you could put it on, he did it for you, slipping it through your ring finger where it belonged. He grabbed his own from his pocket, before slipping it on.

“That’s better.”

Just in time, the elevator stopped on your floor. Miguel picked you up with ease and dashed to the room to continue where you left off.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #slushycoookie writes

[lovesickeros]

can.. can I ask for an affectionate reader with characters who aren’t normally like… used to the love? like, not just through words but physical affection like hand-holding, kisses, hugs, all that shebang. probably with a few people like yelan, ei, basically any character that is either cut-off from society or seems socially distant or isolated. 😞

☆ affectionate reader with yelan, ei, & furina

[ 4.2 Archon Quest spoilers ]

× yelan

Varies between how you display your affection, to be honest. Just like being affectionate with people? She's cool with it as long as you don't pop by while she's working (mostly because she'll end up dragging you into it for a bit of fun). I don't think she's all that touchy feely herself, but she'll absolutely get you gifts instead– like pretty knick nacks? She'll make sure to snag any she thinks you might like. Like a good meal? Sure, she'll take you out to one of the restaurants in the city, doesn't matter how expensive. Her treat. If you do prefer physical gifts rather then being taken out, you'll eventually get used to the random unmarked letters and packages showing up where your staying pretty often. It's obvious to know who it came from even if she never signs anything.

Flirty reader, though? Whole nother can of worms and now it's a challenge. The more confident you are the more interested she is. The other acolytes would absolutely seethe at the idea but she has no hesitation at just straight up flirting back– she's as charismatic as they come and she's got a poker face that's basically impenetrable. She'll probably also make a bet to see who cracks first (she always wins, unsurprisingly). Probably won't get dragged into any of her schemes this way but if you ask politely maybe she'll consider it, anyway.

The smell of freshly brewed tea and the clatter of dice across wood was a common sight at the Yanshang Teahouse– less common was the woman secluded in the far corner, her lips pulled into a grin that flashed fangs and a look that would scare off the most confident of men.

She'd normally try to scope out any new blood that'd made the mistake of stepping into her teahouse and was equally stupid enough to accept a gamble against her just for the thrill of it, but she was far too absorbed in the warm body at her side, one of her die clasped tightly in their hand as she guided them through the motions– they had a knack for it, she had to admit. The thought made her preen, the clatter of the die as it rolled across the table giving her that subtle, familiar rush.

Even if she knew exactly where it'd land.

"Six. Hm, maybe you're just lucky," She muses, plucking the die from the table and holding it up to her eye like a prized jewel, "Or maybe you're not as innocent as you'd have us believe." There's a sharp glint in her eyes at the prospect, but everyone else has the sense to keep their heads down and their words to themselves as she tosses the die herself.

"So why don't we find out and make a bet, just between you and me?"

× ei

Varies between Ei and the Shogun, because you'll probably be seeing either as much as the other. Sometimes you gotta really squint to tell who it is sometimes, but you get used to it. Both are fairly similar, though, in that their first instinct (especially in public) is to tense up like you're about to attack them or something. Difference is Ei eventually relaxes after a solid minute of trying to process your sudden affection and, if no one else is around, she might even reciprocate. Just don't tease her for being a little stiff and awkward about it, she's trying. That's what happens when your only company is a robot and uh. Nothing. For like 500 years. She's trying. Raiden, on the other hand, is just about as awkward as you can imagine. She's polite (blunt) about it because Ei is fond of you and also you are. The Creator. But she's not really built to deal with personal relationships and so she doesn't know how to deal with affection.

..Depending on what you do you may or may not blue screen Ei hard enough that she retreats back to PoE

Ei usually isn't fond of sitting still, unless it's to meditate. At least then she goes in with a purpose, something to achieve– but now, she's just focused on trying not to make a fool of herself. Her muscles are starting to ache from how hard she's tensing, though, in an effort to sit as straight and still as possible as their hands glide through her hair, weaving it into a single braid.

She can just barely hear the subtle lilt of their voice as they hum– and though it is soothing, it is also..very distracting. She can't focus long enough to try and meditate, too lost in the gentle rise and fall of their voice and the care they take to braid her hair. If she'd had a heart, she'd sure it'd be beating so wildly against her ribcage they could hear it.

But then it stops– their hands fall back to their sides and their humming falters. She freezes, too, racking her brain for any slights she must have committed. Instead, she is met with a calm, tender touch on the back of her neck, making her inhale sharply.

"Am I making you uncomfortable, Ei? You're so tense.." She has to grit her teeth to stop herself from bowing so low her head presses against the ground, her hands folded in her lap, clenching instinctively. "..No, Divine One." She answers simply, trying to contain the adoration swelling in her chest.

Yet as much as she tries to relax, to ease their worries, she finds that she cannot.

"Hm." That small murmur, a simple sound that nearly made her jump, was the only warning she got before they scooted closer, wrapping their arms around her stomach and resting their chin on her shoulder with a grin she would liken to Miko's, if she dared to make such a comparison. "Really?"

She swears she must've been feverish at the affection, lightheaded and dazed until she thought she might simply perish at the brush of their hands against her own.

Much to her embarrassment, however, she doesn't realize she's instinctively pulled back into Plane of Euthymia until she sees the familiar dull purples engulf her vision once again.

Though only a small solace, it seemed a little..brighter, this time.

× furina

Varies between pre 4.2 and post 4.2 archon quests to be honest.

Pre 4.2 she comes off as very vain– of course the most Divine would see fit to spoil her with affection! She deserves it, and is obviously their favorite! Just don't look too hard because she's terrible at hiding how flustered she actually is. Absolutely goes home right after and screams into her pillow for at least thirty minutes minimum.

Post 4.2 she's a lot more openly bashful and flustered. She's really not used to affection and even the smallest show of it has her folding immediately. Now that she doesn't need to worry about being found out she's a lot more receptive to affection. Cup her cheeks and compliment her and her knees are buckling. Like. Especially weak for compliments and praise (she deserves it. please spoil her).

She swears she must be hallucinating– she had been having trouble sleeping recently. But..no. The visage of the Creator was as real as the sweat beading on her brow as she stared at them for a long, awkward moment. Should..she let them in? But then they'd see the pathetic state she was in, and the last thing she wanted to do was make a fool of herself in front of them-!

Her choice was quickly made for her, anyway, as she let out an undignified squeak of surprise when they suddenly tugged her forward into their chest, enclosing her in a hug.

Her first reaction was to freeze– her second was becoming absolutely flustered, her cheeks flushing a soft pink and her mouth closing and opening as she tried to find her words.

"I– ah..um." She stumbled over her words instead, floundering like a fish out of water. Yet she felt a distinct sense of emptiness wash over her when they finally pulled back, looking a touch sheepish. "Sorry, sorry– you just looked like you needed a hug."

The silence spoke for itself, her shoulders tensing slightly. But the way the concern and affection bled through their voice made her waver, her hands trembling as she let out a shaky breath that almost sounded like a sigh.

"It's..It's fine! Fine, I'm fine." She repeated, trying desperately to ignored the way her voice cracked and how hot her face felt– though it was more an attempt to affirm herself that she was not thinking about how warm they felt, how much she..actually enjoyed the hug. She wasn't thinking about it all! Absolutely not!

..Maybe a little.

"Just warn me next time, please?"

#asks #sagau #genshin sagau #self aware genshin #genshin impact sagau #self aware genshin impact #fic tag #genshin cult au #genshin impact cult au #yelan #furina #ei #THIS DIDNT SHOW UP IN MY INBOX UNTIL LIKE #NOVEMBERBIM SORRY IM ANSERRING IT SO LATE?????? #tumblr working right is a miracle that will never happen #anyway can u tell i have. biases. there r so many characters I wanted to write for this (shenhe.........) but I forced myself to limit it #to 4 for my own sanity and everyones elses #also didnt know if u wanted just yan or sagau so I went for my specialty 🧍‍♂️ #was gonna include my beloved cryo archon but decided against it #ei the pathetic lesbian that u r....mwah #I'm sorry this took so long it took me 50 yrs to figure out yelan.. 😭 #i am still not confident abt my characterization of her but shes so good at her job even im confused abt her #reading her lore crying and sobbing in the corner. shaking her like a can of soda #checks note idk uhh cocky doesnt let herself form personal relationships charismatic uhhhhhhhh #idk dont ask me i just started praying and hoping for the best here #i think she'd get a kick out of getting reader into like. fudging rolls and shit. create an absolute menace out of reader #set them loose and see what chaos happens #just kicks back and watches it all unfold internally laughing her ass off #i didnt know whether to just do headcanons in uh. bulleted list or like #full on drabbles

[melpomene-writes]

scream (just for me, sugar)

im nayeon x fem!reader // smut (minors dni)

the whistle of the kettle is almost loud enough to drown out the sound of your erratic pulse.

almost.

it’s a deafening thump, thump, thump, that seems to irregulate itself every few beats, tormentingly prominent. your blood runs like ice, your skin prickled by a sweat so cold that you envy the boiling water inside the appliance.

your once sleepy town is now riddled with anxious insomnia, kept standing by a ceaseless stream of adrenaline, intensifying with every homicide report. so many murders. multiple culprits. nobody is safe.

at least you’re fortunate enough to be safe from one of the killers. ‘ghostface’ is what they call her: the masked monster who guts and cuts her victims, stamping their corpses with a polaroid capturing their dying breaths. psychotic. cruel. unpredictable.

you, on the other hand, call her nayeon. the love of your life.

it’s not that you’re oblivious to her nightly atrocities. rather, you’ve elected to not give a shit. ever since you first met the woman, when she bought you a drink at a dive bar and taught you how to play poker in a dingy booth with a strong arm around you, you’ve been infatuated. she oozes suavity, sex, and a protectiveness over you that makes you feel all warm inside. you’re safe with her, and she knows how to take care of her woman. so, you look past the barbaric crimes. it’s easier that way.

mostly, sure, your decision to turn a blind eye to her ways is horrendous. sometimes it upsets you. but nayeon kisses away the tears, holds you close and tells you that you’re perfect. her angel, incapable of doing any wrong. and it only feels right to believe her.

presently, however, she isn’t here to keep you safe. impenetrable darkness blankets the sky, leaving you vulnerable to the bloody fruits of the night.

with a shaky breath, you reach for the kettle, fighting off a tremble as you lift the spout to your mug. your unoccupied hand buries itself in the sleeve of your jumper—hers, to be specific, but it brings you the illusion of comfort. desperately trying not to hone your senses in on your pounding heart, your eyes focus on the water streaming from the kettle.

two loud raps sound against the back door of your house. a silent scream leaves you, the kettle falling from your grip. frantically, your hand flies to your mouth. it stifles your shriek as your phone begins to ring from the counter.

tears prick your eyes as you stumble towards the ringing. your quivering hand moves to check the caller id.

nay ♡

without thinking, you accept the call, bringing the device to your lips to whisper into the microphone.

“i’m outside. open up, baby,” resounds her voice through the speaker, deep and inviting as always.

instantaneous relief floods your system. it’s just her.

the frozen blood in your veins thaws as you hang up, shakily making your way to the back door. breathing deeply, calming yourself, you sequentially unfasten the numerous locks bolted to the door. even though they only lock from the inside, you still replace them every year, just in case.

the door swings open, unveiling the caller.

nayeon leans against the back porch with a perfected nonchalance. her height and broadness obscures most of the porch light, faintly silhouetting her formidable frame. she isn’t wearing the cloak she kills in, only an old pair of jeans and a wifebeater, and the shadow she casts would have to work overtime to conceal the rippling contours of her muscle. her arms, delightfully bulky with strength, are littered with small visible scars, her left arm especially while decorated shoulder-to-wrist with clockwork tattoos. dark crimson stains her forearms—her torso, too, forcing her tank to cling to the sculpted flesh beneath. the bedevilled mask after which her title was earned, a black hood with a now-bloodied white, ghoulish face contorted into a scream, still shrouds her beautiful face.

even though she’s currently working two extremely sodden leather gloves off her hands, and you can’t see the smirk inevitably residing beneath her guise, she’s a work of art. a forbidden sculpture, as captivating as she is fear-inspiring.

one look at her, and all the past hours of anxiety melt from your veins.

“did i scare you?” nayeon lilts bemusedly, faintly muffled by the mask, pushing up from her languid stance. she invites herself into your home, stuffing her filthy gloves into her jean pocket. the delightfully strong hands underneath are pristinely clean, to keep forensics guessing, of course, but she likes to keep her hands tidy just for you.

a rattled breath escapes you as she closes the door behind. “everyone’s scared right now, nay,” you shake your head. “halloween is only a few days away, and the bodies will pile up like they always do. plus, you never told me you were coming. you have to expect the worst these days,” you frown, gesturing to the kitchen knife you keep out for emergencies. she sharpened it herself, coupled with a promise that you’ll never have to use it with her to protect you.

beneath the mask, she snorts. “takes a new kind of stupid to go around killing on halloween,” nayeon chuckles. “cops are on high-alert, you got parents and kids walking about knocking on doors—”

“does that ever stop anyone in this town?” you sigh. a chill overcomes you as you dwell on the thought. shuddering, you rub your arms through your sweater.

“it stops me.” a sympathetic smile is audible in her voice, even if you can’t see it. “so i’ll be right by your side if anyone tries something, and you know they’d take one look at me and run for the hills, sweetheart,” she reassures you. the tone is a medicinal honey for your ears, soothing all your fears in a matter of seconds.

gently, your lips quirk into a small smile. “will you tell me when you’re gonna get here, instead of just showing up unexpectedly like today?” you ask, taking a step forward.

nayeon matches your stride, closing the gap between you. she towers over you, a viper poised to intimidate its dinner, a pitiful little mouse.

both of you find it exhilarating.

a psychological gravity wills you backwards until the edge of the counter meets the small of your back. the display of submission doesn’t go amiss. she elicits a pleased hum, closing in on you, musing, “i thought you expected me tonight, honey.”

confused, you quirk your brow. “oh?”

“don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about the pictures you sent me a few hours ago,” she light-heartedly tuts.

oh, those pictures.

the thick, perturbed night air had wiped the slate of your mind clean. you had forgotten all about the fact that underneath nayeon’s old jumper, you’re donning a pink, lacy matching set that you bought earlier this afternoon, knowing full well she adores you in anything dichotomous to her rough nature. With the intention of riling your girlfriend up, just enough to make the night unforgettable, you snapped a couple of pictures without the jumper…

images that she saw, she opened, before leaving you on read.

recalling this frustrating detail, you pout.

nayeon observes this, reaching to toy with the hem of your jumper. “what’s the matter?” she purrs, ghosting her fingers over the tops of your thighs. “are you mad at me, or something?”

she’s teasing you, knowing full well you couldn’t resent her if you tried. besides, there’s no hope in trying when her fingers are so warm, despite the autumnal chill she walked god-knows how long in to reach your house.

pout faltering in part, you hook your fingers through the belt-loops of her jeans, beckoning her dangerously close. “you didn’t text me back when i sent you those pictures,” you mumble, looking up into the abyssal black sockets of her mask’s eyes.

she sucks in a breath; with her expression obscured, you can’t determine whether it’s one of titillation or mocking pity. with her, they typically coincide. “oh, baby,” she drawls, her other hand reaching to caress your cheek. “you know i would have. i was a little preoccupied, that’s all.”

your eyes flicker to her left wrist, mesmerised briefly by the whisps of black ink painting a machine of cogs and gears all the way to her shoulder. the carefully administered art is jarringly tainted by splashes and sprays of dried blood.

“i haven’t stopped thinking about them,” she continues, trailing her fingers down your neck, drinking in the way you shiver at the gentle touch. “you were so distracting, i got a little messier than intended. that poor sucker had no idea what a treat i had waiting for me,” she mutters, her implications somehow disturbing yet positively nectareous. “let me make it up to you, yeah?”

“hm… boots off first,” you smile, kissing her clavicle where it’s exposed.

unlacing your fingers from her belt loops, you spin on your heel and embark on a path upstairs, leaving nayeon to remove her filthy footwear. she kneels down and begins to work at them, but the freakish face of her mask is tilted towards you. “you’re gonna make me chase you, huh, sweetness?”

giggling lightly, you look over your shoulder. “i thought you were into that?”

rather than awaiting her response, you elect to disappear behind a door frame, excitedly making your way up the stairs. when you reach the bedroom, you discard your jumper, roughly inspecting it for any smears of blood under the glow of the lamplight before deciding that it can wait until tomorrow morning. you toss it carelessly somewhere behind you, far more focused on giving yourself a final once-over in the mirror.

nayeon could care less about what you wore in her presence, but whenever you make a special effort for her, she thanks you in full. an artistic streak lives in her, and she can’t help but want to see you dolled-up in every delicate fabric, every color, in every light. her passion for photography knows two flavours: malevolence by her knife and knuckles, and sensuality by you, her seraphic muse, her aphrodite.

absent in the morsel of vanity you allow yourself, you fail to register nayeon’s shadow lingering by the door frame. “isn’t that a sight,” she marvels.

your attention shifts to the door, where nayeon shamelessly lets her eyes roam over the curves of your body; you don’t need her to remove the mask to feel the weight of her lustful, wandering gaze.

she stalks over to you. despite having met her almost a year ago, butterflies still emerge when she closes in on you like this: unhurried, yet with ravenous intent; a lion cornering a gazelle.

“so beautiful,” she murmurs as you gravitate towards her, muffled under the mask. a cloudy warmth floods your skin at the sincerity in her tone.

in an unnecessary—but swoon-worthy—display of unwavering strength, nayeon bends down and lifts you into her arms by your thighs. your legs wrap around her waist as your hands cup her neck, thumb grazing over the flexing tendons underneath her skin, while she carries you over to the bed. you’re eye-to-eye with a blood-soaked mr. hyde, yet safe in the embrace of dr. jekyll.

brutal as she may be, nayeon lowers you onto your bed with nothing but care, aligning your head with the plumpest pillow she can see. she hovers over you, parting your legs gently with her knee, working it snugly against your clothed heat, admiring the way your mouth parts breathlessly at her touch.

your hands explore her, eagerly ushering her closer until your chests are flush against one another. she’s wonderfully warm; the intimacy of the proximity is enough to offset the strange feeling of her wifebeater, damp with blood, pressed against you. you deeply inhale her scent, looking past the remnants of gore, focusing on the spiced jasmine of the soap she likes. caged between her body and the mattress, you’re home.

the need to feel her lips against yours is an incandescent flame, her knee between your legs only serving as fuel for the fire. ordinarily, you would savour the firmness of her arms and back, ghosting your nails over the muscle in the way that deliciously tests her patience, but at the present you want nothing more than to rid her of that damn mask. you reach for the black fabric of the hood, tilting your head to pre-emptively align your lips.

alas before you can pull it off, a hand clasps around your wrist. a whimper escapes you, a pang of desperation striking your heart. “kiss,” you mumble half-intelligibly, pouting at the denial.

nayeon chuckles darkly, revelling in the despairing look in your eyes. god knows she could never refuse you completely. but there’s something inexplicably delightful about making you ache for her, having you succumb to the depths of depravity, especially with the remnants of a kill fresh on her mind and body. a slither of ghostface has to surface on occasion—she can’t have you getting too spoilt.

“patience.”

as delicately as it’s spoken, the word is a command. a whimpered plea might alter her decision, maybe with a few frustrated tears; you know that rendering yourself to such a pathetic state historically garnered the sweetest outcomes. the quietest “nayeon” would have her ripping the mask off without question, banishing any thought she had of continuing this little trial of obedience.

obedience, however, always comes with rewards. the promise of over-indulgence is left unspoken. thus you suppress your visceral urge to give into the craving, relaxing back into the pillow.

“that’s my good girl,” nayeon coos, running her thumb over your bottom lip. it quivers at the pet name as your heart swells with emotion. no euphoria compares to being her good girl. there isn’t a higher praise she could offer you. being hers, nayeon appreciating your submission and discipline… the world could collapse and it wouldn’t dampen your adoring pride.

“let me make you feel good,” she murmurs, nudging your legs further apart with her knee.

bracing herself with a thick, veiny forearm by your head, she lets her hand inch its way down your body. nayeon takes her time, grazing her thumb over your nipple through the lace of your bra. you shiver under her warm touch, a welcomed contrast to the crisp night air.

her touch lightens as she drifts her fingers over your abdomen—not light enough to tickle, but enough to evoke a reflexive twitch. your stomach flutters with anticipation, heat emanating from between your thighs as her fingers inch towards where you need her most.

“don’t tease me, nay,” you blurt out, thoughts a wanton, foggy mess.

as her calloused fingertips slip beneath your underwear, torturously close to the crest of your desire, she pledges, “i wouldn’t dream of it, sugar.”

in tandem, as the heat radiating from nayeon’s fingers coalesces with your aching arousal, you both suck in a short, shallow breath. not even your bout of bone-chilling fear from earlier was enough to offset the product of hours of yearning leading up to this moment. and, while a clearer-thinking version of yourself would protest, the sight of her all roughed-up and covered in the aftermath of bloodlust only intensifies those feelings. it’s only natural; anyone blessed enough to have had a taste of what she can do to a woman, just with a couple of fingers and a few buttery-sweet words, would find themselves craving seconds and thirds.

beneath the pantomimic veil, you can picture the arrogant smirk on her face clear as crystal. she reserves every right to be cocky when she has you conditioned to practically drip at her whim.

calculating, she presses against your heat, rubbing slow circles over your quim until it’s thoroughly coated in your slick. it’s a dizzying sensation: the pleasure is faint enough to leave you wanting, and she seldom allows her fingertips to brush against your clit, but when she does, it’s electric.

“do you want me inside?” she asks with prurience. with a shallow breath, you nod, gently rocking your hips into her touch. “words,” she demands softly.

“please,” you whimper, praying to some indulgent deity that it would suffice. you pull her as close as you can manage, a hand slipping under her tank to roam the powerful muscles of her back. nothing compares to feeling her raw strength.

hasteless, she sinks a thick finger into your heat. you bite your lip, feeling yourself clench around each knuckle as she buries herself to the hilt. humming contentedly, she gives a couple of slow, experimental thrusts, musing to herself, “i’ve been thinking about this all afternoon.”

a breathy sigh escapes you as her finger ghosts over something devilishly sweet inside of you. it awakens something. opting to poke the bear, judgement overridden by need, you ask, “even while you were—” she works a second finger into you, delivering a delightful fullness. “—‘out’?”

amusement rumbles through her chest; your hand flattens against her sturdy back, bracing yourself for her response. “i didn’t take you for a deviant, sweetness,” nayeon laughs, beautifully sinister. you whine as she curls her fingers, her thumb sweeping over your clit. she thrusts again, deeper, sights aimed down at the spot that will have you writhing underneath her. her anatomical knowledge extends well beyond arteries and veins—you’ve learned that much over the months.

“is that a—oh—no?” you choke on a moan as she caresses that spot within. she doesn’t stop, undulating her fingers deliberately while you lose your ability to think, melting into the bedding.

“you wanna know the truth?” she husks, taking her time with her heavenly affliction.

lost in sensation, you nod, the gesture cut short when concurrently with her blissful ministrations, she begins to rub circles against your clit with her thumb. your head lolls back with a ragged mewl.

nayeon feeds her ego with your ruination. “the truth is, i woke up wanting to fuck you into the mattress,” she groans, her wave-like rhythm inside of you bleeding into something slightly rougher, something you didn’t know you needed until it sends shockwaves through your core. “i had a whole plan going. i was gonna go home and shower after dealing with my little ‘problem’, strap up just for you, bring a bottle of that wine i know you like. but then,” she growls, accentuated by a rather mean thrust, “you just had to send me those pretty little pictures. and that bastard couldn’t bleed out fast enough.”

the hiss she relinquishes as your nails sink into the thick muscle of her back was almost enough to send you into orbit. “i must have stabbed him forty times before he finally stopped breathing. i even asked him to speed it up. explained i had a meal waiting for me back home, and i intended to eat good tonight,” she chuckles with cruelty.

“fuck, nay,” you moan, indescribably turned on by her tale. it’s wrong, it’s so fucking wrong, but knowing you have that effect on her feels right. you’re meant to be together.

“you’re squeezing me, baby,” she drawls, effortlessly maintaining her pace through the added force. “you don’t care what i am, do you? not when i make you feel this good.”

relentlessly, she rips mewl after mewl from your throat. you’re drowning in the lewd sound of your wetness muddied with the upper palm of her hand slapping against your heat with every deep thrust. clawing at her back, you pant, incapable of thought beyond nayeon.

overwhelmed, you bury your face in her shoulder, whining against her salt-licked skin, “just like that. just like that. ‘m gonna come, nay—”

“come for me, sugar,” she grunts.

the world grinds to a halt as you fall over the precipice with a sweet, hoarse cry. relief rocks through you with intensity, all the tension leaving your body in a violent shudder. nayeon slows down, rolling her hips alongside more tender thrusts to prolong your ecstasy, murmuring, “that’s it. always so good for me.”

as the stars disappear from your vision, a hazy bliss washes over you. nayeon is still nestled inside of you, and you feel her fingers twitch with an eagerness to pummel you to peak all over again, but she stills as she watches you succumb to that foggy afterglow.

in a brief moment of clarity, you glance up at her. right now, all you want is to see her face. her face, not the visage of a blood-spattered ghoul.

shakily, you reach up and tug off the mask by the fabric of its hood.

nayeon, while her lips are quirked with unadulterated arrogance, stares down at you with a softness in her gaze you don’t think you’ve ever seen before. her dark hair is tousled and struggling to stay in its style, and a splash of crimson stains her neck, yet she remains the most beautiful woman you have ever laid eyes on.

maybe the tentativeness in her steel eyes is extra prominent because this is the first time you have given yourself to every part of her. for possibly the first time, she realizes you love her for who she is, even if it isn’t right, even if it’s depraved, immoral, criminal.

you think, as a smile finds its way onto your lips, that you’re overdue for a kiss.

tossing the mask to the side, you crane your neck off the pillow and seal the gap between your lips. they’re smooth, warm and taste faintly of the plain, unbranded chapstick she swears by, and after what feels like an eternity, they’re on yours at last. sighing, nayeon leans down further so you don’t have to exert yourself, resting her weight on you to deepen the kiss. every languid, intimate glide of her lips against you makes your heart flutter.

all too soon she breaks away, panting softly. “mind if i take my shirt off?” she rasps. “it’s starting to dry.”

laughing softly, you roll your eyes. “yes, severely,” you tease. “keep wearing your crunchy tank top.”

nayeon sits upright, carefully withdrawing her fingers from your warmth, groaning, “let’s keep ‘crunchy’ out of the bedroom, shall we?” she smiles at the giggle you let out.

the giggle is swiftly cut short as she pulls the tank off her body, leaving her bare from the waist up—wearing a bra gives her one more thing to clean blood off of, so she rarely wears them. muscle ripples through her rich brown skin, a testament to her formidable strength. years of hard work is chiselled into her flesh. if that isn’t enough to make a woman drool, your eyes shamelessly drift to her chest, zeroing in on her dark areolas. you follow her body down, past the enticing swell of her chest, following the faint happy-trail down to the line of her belt.

you almost regret sending nayeon those pictures, otherwise, according to her, she would be packing.

she doesn’t need to ask if you like what you see, although her ego does persuade her to do so on occasion. she knows she’s a sculptor’s dream.

equally as greedily, nayeon indulges in the sight of you sprawled out beneath her, a monolithic demon of lust towering above you. absentmindedly she licks her fingers clean of your spend, smirking as you tremble at the sight.

just like that, an ache begins to well in your core all over again.

hungry for another slice of euphoria, you hook your thumbs underneath the band of your panties, pushing them down from your hips. nayeon helps you, and if you’re hungry, she’s positively voracious; you hear the distant snap of elastic as she rids your legs of them.

frowning, you give her a vaguely disappointed look. “i bought those today,” you pout.

nayeon attempts to soften the blow with a kiss to your ankle. “please, they were already ruined. your bra has blood on it anyway. i’ll replace them,” she grumbles, rolling her eyes, discarding the underwear.

the former comment brings warmth to your cheeks. rudimentary as it is, she always takes pride in how your body responds to her leading up to the deed, and the state of you afterwards.

with your legs either side of her, nayeon lowers herself back on top of you, bracing herself on the headboard as she leans down for another kiss. the buckle of her belt is cold as ice against your navel, evoking a shiver from you as you arch up to meet her halfway. this time, there are no illusions of romance as her lips move against yours, only burning passion and an insatiable appetite. softly, you moan against her, silently willing for her to take the reins.

hushed against your lips, she murmurs an offer you doubt you could ever bring yourself to refuse: “more?”

your body begs for it. “i’m yours.”

fervently, nayeon trails wolfish kisses down your neck, the imprints of her lips warm in her wake. she laves her tongue across your nipple over the lace of your bra, the warmth and sensitivity rendering you breathless. but she is as desperate for a taste of you as you are to satiate her, so she continues her path south until her face settles between your spread thighs.

nayeon wastes no time in easing them over her broad shoulders. her breath is tantalising, fanning over your nerves in an evil fashion as she admires how you glisten for her, craving a reckoning only her mouth could ever bring.

with an iron grip on your thighs and a ravenous growl, she closes her lips around your heat, devouring the remnants of your orgasm with a swipe of her tongue.

the sound that escapes you is unintelligible, bleeding into an even sharper mewl as nayeon moves to lazily suck on your clit. pleasure spikes your veins, a rapturous injection of white light that makes you forget your own name.

she takes her time, staring at your panting chest and twitching stomach, watching as you surrender yourself to a delightful madness under her control. you’re perfect in this moment to her: oblivious to anything other than the pleasure she eagerly delivers you, incapable of anything but garbled moans of her name and senseless, impulsive pleas. delirious. utterly delirious.

so she stops.

despairing, you whimper while she grins, hips bucking into the air with the hope of finding relief. your clit throbs, begging for the return of her lips and tongue.

“nayeon, please,” you sob. you hold your breath as she appears to descend once again, met only with the betrayal of a chaste kiss to your inner thigh. frustrated tears prick your eyes.

“you look like an angel right now,” she hums sadistically. “so used to getting what you want that you shut down when you’re denied it.”

the gnawing in your core spirals with each passing second her lips are detached from your slick heat. a scientist testing a hypothesis, nayeon analyses your face as it contorts into a display of pitiful desperation. she purrs as your hole clenches around nothing, essence dripping.

“this is torture, isn’t it, sweet thing?” she laughs fiendishly. “that needy little pussy is crying for me.”

the weight of her gaze borders on humiliating. the denial is agony. those crystalline tears threaten to spill.

“don’t worry, baby. i won’t make a habit of this,” she coos, a mocking undertone laced in her whisky-smooth voice. “you’re always so good for me. it wouldn’t be fair, now, would it?” god, you’re aching with such ferocity it makes you want to claw off your skin. delicate pleas tumble from your lips. “even though you look a damn treat,” she adds lowly, confirmed she’s playing out a long-lived fantasy from the depths of her mind.

as your hips rock against nothing but the warmth of her breath, nayeon removes a hand from your thigh—she only needs one to keep you pinned to the mattress—and withdraws her phone from her jean pocket. “you know, we haven’t added to our little portfolio in a while, honey. what do you say?” she husks.

that portfolio. your dirty little secret. nayeon can work a camera lens as masterfully as she can work her fingers and tongue, if the gory polaroids of her victims in the newspaper was proof of anything. she had a penchant for immortalising your rapture-ridden body in the forms of picture and film. a not-so-guilty pleasure of hers, for her eyes only.

nayeon made it clear on your first ‘set’ together that your face would never appear in frame, not once. if you told her to stop recording, she’d stop. she’d snap her phone in two if you asked, or displayed the first sign of regret. and if anyone managed to pry their way into her phone and find your hidden tapes, she promised to gouge out their eyes with her bare hands, saw off their tongue, break every bone in their damn body—

oh, god, her lips are on your thigh, her unoccupied hand applying a pressure to your pelvis that shouldn’t feel as fucking good as it does. you breathe out a pitchy whine, feeling yourself drip onto the bedding.

nayeon smirks knowingly. “you’re so pretty like this… one little video, and i’ve got this image forever. you can go back to being my spoilt little princess, just like you want.” the marionette strings are within her grasp. she knows just what to say to make an offer irresistible.

breathlessly, you nod, praying for the bittersweet torture to end. “whatever you want, nay. i need you, please,” you whimper, weakly reaching for the hand just above your mons.

“you can say no, sweetheart,” she reassures softly. nefarious as she is, she wouldn’t want anything but your enthusiastic consent.

a question eats away at your heart. morally dubious, but plaguing in its intrigue. an answer would cement your agreeance to her proposal. “do you watch them back after you film me?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

she chuckles briefly, sinisterly, as if replaying a delightful scene in her mind. “stakeouts can get real lonely. sometimes i need a reminder of what’s waiting for me,” she confesses without a modicum of shame.

the notion of your lover camping out of sight, only half paying attention to her prey in favor of watching you shake and unravel in one of your homemade videos, just to tide her over until she can get her next dose of you... your mind blanks, briefly forgetting about the ache between your thighs in dire need of soothing. that’s a new level of transgression you couldn’t prepare yourself for.

“i want to,” you blurt out without further pondering.

“that’s my girl,” she grins. nayeon pushes up, unlocking her phone, reaching for a pillow to support it by your side. a clothed knee finds purchase between your legs; to destroy your mind further or to gently appease the ache, you’ll never know. using the front-facing camera, she positions her phone so that your body from the chest down is in shot.

satisfied with the angle, she gently taps the red record button, biting her lip at the anticipative rising and falling of your chest, nipples pebbled with arousal through your bra. “beautiful,” she mutters under her breath, pressing a hot kiss to your sternum on her descent towards your core.

“don’t you worry about the sound not picking up, sugar,” she grins, folding your thighs in on yourself for easier access to your cunt. her thumbs spread you apart for her, out of shot, but her eyes are the most important recipient to the way you shudder at the rough handling. without warning, she spits on your pussy, ripping a gasp from your lips, one that swiftly bleeds into a mewl as she runs her tongue along your folds.

her eyes meet yours, glinting wickedly.

“i’m gonna make you fucking scream.”

for the anon that requested this to be reposted. i remember writing this while watching ncis.

#kpop x reader #kpop imagines #twice x reader #twice imagines #twice nayeon x reader #twice nayeon imagines #im nayeon x reader #im nayeon imagines #nayeon x reader #nayeon imagines #girl group imagines #gxg imagines #kpop #twice #twice nayeon #im nayeon #nayeon #girl group #gxg

[weeb-polls-with-pip]

Autistic Anime Boys Round 3 Match 13

Propaganda:

Jotaro -

"Jotaro Kujo is so incredibly autistic he causes a man to have a full-on mental breakdown over a game of cards because his poker face is fucking IMPENETRABLE. He’s incredibly perceptive and his Stand, Star Platinum, is so exact they can sketch an exact recreation of a fly in the background of a dark photo. His special interest is the ocean. Honestly all you have to do is read his official character bio to see that he “doesn’t think it’s necessary to deliberate show emotions. He assumes that anyone can tell what he’s feeling just by looking at him.” His autism swag is OFF THE CHARTS but unfortunately so is his DEPRESSION. He’s rude to his mom but IMMEDIATELY notices when she doesn’t give him a kissy goodbye in the morning and then travels across the world to save her life. He gains incredible power and subsequently incredible trauma at 17 years old and never really recovers from it for the rest of his life. He insists on wearing the same clothes the entire trip to the point of getting an exact copy of his coat made after his first one burns to a crisp. He’ll beat your ass and look cool as hell doing it and then say the stupidest one-liner you’ve ever heard. He’s so angry all the time. He’s a professor of marine biology. He’s a divorcee. He’s a deadbeat dad. He wears the ugliest snakeskin pants and yes they are connected to his shoes. He wears these pants at the age of 39. He will and has torn the world apart to save the people he loves."

Tails -

"Science autistic kid!! Remember my 9 year old self seeing him for the first time and going !!!! Me !!!!"

#tumblr polls #autistic anime boys poll #original poll #jotaro kujo #kujo jotaro #jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #sonic x #sonic the hedgehog #miles prower #tails #sonic

[oraclekleo]

Jung Yoon Oh (NCT) Ideal Partner Tarot Reading

Disclaimer:

All readings have purely entertainment nature

I don’t know any of the celebrities personally

Don’t base life decisions purely on tarot readings

I can never guarantee any of what’s said in the reading

Before requesting, read the pinned post and appropriate linked post

Tarot readings are my hobby - I’m not obligated to accept any of the requests nor to complete them, it’s my choice, not duty

Waiting time is long, even several months

If you can’t wait, please, seek other tarot reader

Reading Info:

Rating: 18+

Reading Type: Single - Couple

Requested: Yes - No

Requester: 

Deck: E. A. Poe Tarot

Spread: Ideal Partner

Questions:

Body 

Heart 

Spirit 

Soul 

Time 

Place

Celebrity Info:

Full Name: Jung Yoon Oh

Stage Name: Jaehyun

Group: NCT

DOB: 14.02.1997

Blood Type: A

MBTI: ESTP

Sun Sign: Aquarius

Chinese Sign: Fire Ox

Life Path Number: 6

Masterpost: NCT

Ko-fi - Voluntary Tip for Readings

Jung Yoon Oh

Jaehyun (NCT) - Ideal Partner

DOB: 14.02.1997 Blood Type: A MBTI: ESTP Sun Sign: Aquarius Chinese Sign: Fire Ox Life Path Number: 6

Spread / Question: Ideal Partner

Deck(s): E. A. Poe Tarot

Body - XII The Hanged Man

Jaehyun’s ideal partner is likely someone who likes to do the opposite of what others think is appropriate for them. They are likely to dress their own way, having their own style and carrying it with confidence but not showing off. They prefer to listen rather than speaking all the time. They are the observers and notice things and events from very different points of view than other people. Their eyes might seem veiled sometimes as if they were daydreaming all the time but they actually just try to see everything from multiple angles.

Heart - Ace of Cups

Jaehyun’s perfect match is a loving person at heart. They are overflowing with affection and care towards people who are closest to them but they also radiate kindness when dealing with complete strangers. They might not be the ones talking about their feelings openly but their actions speak louder than words. They are that person who will cook chicken soup after work only to bring it to their sick neighbour. Their heart is open and ready to cradle anyone, they have a strong desire to love and care for someone.

Spirit - 10 of Swords

Jaehyun’s special person is likely someone who has been through a lot of hardship in their life and they have learned how to guard themselves. Sometimes they seem rather mysterious to others, like if there was a wall around them, thick and impenetrable. They seldomly share their aches and fears with others, they are used to dealing with them on their own and internally. It’s not likely for others to see them cry or break down as they will keep the poker face in public and only let the tears flow when they are safely alone or with someone they trust completely.

Soul - King of Swords

Jaehyun’s ideal person has the soul of a scientist or psychologist. They prefer to analyse other people more than getting emotionally engaged with them. They might seem distant at times, people have a hard time reading them. They are the ones who can read others extremely well, they spot red flags and signals instantly and they might even seem like they are reading other people’s minds. Sometimes it’s scary but the important thing here is that deep down they are good and just and whatever they learn about others, they always use it to benefit or help them.

Time - 8 of Cups

Jaehyun and his special person might meet at a time of transition. One of them or both might just have broken up with someone and are in need of a little detachment time. The relationship is likely to start as something non-committal, none of them wanting to actually take it seriously or even reveal it to the public. As they walk this path together, it’s possible their feelings for each other deepen and the bond thickens.

Place - 4 of Wands

If Jaehyun and his lover decide to live together, they will make a beautiful and peaceful home for themselves. It’s more likely for them to keep it private, not letting many friends hang out there with them as the space feels nearly sacred to them. They are likely to build a comfortable and in a way minimalistic home, no clutter around to distract or disturb them. It’s also likely for them to share the burden of house chores equally.

Thank you for reading!

Hit the Like 💖

Comment! 💬

Reblog! 🔁

Follow for more! 💌

Any Feedback is Welcomed ✅

Anonymous Feedback - Google Form

#jung yoonoh #nct 127 #nct #jaehyun #jaehyun smut #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun imagines #jaehyun nct #nct jaehyun #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct smut #nct tarot #nct kpop #kpop nct #kpop #kpop smut #kpop tarot #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #oracle kleo #kpop imagine #kpop fluff #tarot #tarotblr #tarot community #tarot readings

[dreamlessinparis]

Built on a Lie

Pairing: Dark!Andy Barber x Naive!F!Reader

Word Count: 5460

Summary: When you get kidnapped by a group of men, you assume that your life is over, but then like a knight in shining armor, Andy shows up to save the day…or so it seems. 

Warning: explicit sexual content, implied trafficking, implied kidnapping, dubcon, gaslighting, loss of virginity, innocent sheltered reader, explicit language, explicit sexual content, fluff, praise, oral sex, 

A/N: Welcome to the first part of Andy’s story in my Serial Killer AU, if you’d like to read the other stories, please click here. Things seem good between them now but I will warn you that things will only get worse for our poor reader, so hold on tight. Thank you to  for reading it over for me. All mistakes are my own. 

if you’re a minor, please DNI!

Please do not repost, publish or translate my work. Reblogs and comments are appreciated! Thank you for reading :)

Thank you to the lovely @firefly-graphics for the beautiful dividers

Andy rolled his eyes at Rumlow’s question about the girls in the kitchen. Obviously, these girls weren’t part of their prisoners. He could tell by the tone of Bucky’s voice that he was already over Rumlow’s shit. So was Andy. He was only there to find a wife. Someone to be there when he came home, a perfect little housewife. 

He had known Steve for years and when Steve first offered this deal to him, Andy was conflicted. However, over the last few months, he found himself unable to think of much else. So he finally caved in. 

Bucky led the two men down the stairs, shutting the armored door behind them. Steve stood at the bottom of the stairs, shaking Andy’s hand quickly.

“Hey man, you finally came,” Steve said, pulling Andy into a brief hug.

“You wore me down, what can I say?” Andy chuckled. Steve joined him, and the two of them began to walk down a hallway separate from Bucky & Rumlow.

“I’m glad because I have the perfect girl for you. She’s pretty, sweet, begs real nice, cries even nicer,” Steve explained, “ Kinda reminds me of Moonbeam. Bucky says she was the caretaker for her grandma. So she’s home trained.”

This piqued Andy’s intrigue, if you were a good caretaker, then a good housewife wouldn’t be a hard transition.

“Wait, grandma? Steve, I don’t want a girl who has any ties. It could end up becoming a hassle,” Andy backtracked. Steve clicked his tongue.

“No man, don’t worry. Bucky took care of that. The grandma did have a will in place for her, to have her taken care of. We took care of that too.” Steve assured, stopping in front of one of the many identical doors, “Another plus, Bucky is 90% sure that she’s fully innocent.”

Steve gave Andy a playful wink. The thought of a virginal wife ignited his primal side and he returned Steve’s wink with a devious smirk.

Steve chuckled, unlocking the door and swinging it open to reveal a small concrete room. It was empty aside from a bare mattress, a tray with empty metal bowls and there, right in the middle of the room, was you, curled over, hiding your face.

Your head lifted at the sound, your eyes were wide and innocent, god oh so innocent. Andy felt his trousers tightening from your expression alone. The hope in your eyes had him slipping into his public good-guy persona, knowing exactly how to win you over. 

“Hi pretty girl, I’m Andy,” he said hesitantly entering the room like he was approaching a feral animal. You flinched at the sound of Andy’s voice. He slowed his steps until he was close enough to crouch in front of you, “Don’t worry, angel. I’m here to take you to safety.”

You watched with cautious eyes, fingers worrying a hole in the sleeve of your shirt.

“Why?” You whispered.

“Your grandmother asked me to take care of you if anything happened to her. Said you’d be safe married to me,” Andy lied. You scanned his face trying to find the lie on his face. But Andy, being a skilled lawyer, had an almost impenetrable poker face. 

“Grandma Rose? She asked you? Why you?”

“She trusted me. I’m a lawyer and she thought I was a respectable man to take care of her granddaughter,” Andy said, weaving the lie further. He was almost afraid you wouldn’t buy it, but that all evaporated when he saw the hopeful look in your eye. Nodding you placed your hand in his outstretched one, allowing him to help you off the ground. 

You were unstable on your feet, the malnutrition of the past week doing nothing to help your body. Andy caught you before you fell, holding you against his body. His rich cologne filled your nostrils and you found yourself breathing him in, nuzzling into his chest. He guided you slowly out of your cell. 

“Thank you, Steve,” Andy said in a professional voice. 

“It was my pleasure,” Steve replied, his tone was strange but you couldn’t place why. With your head nuzzled into Andy’s chest, you couldn’t see his face either. Andy stopped to pick you up bridal style and you hid your face further into his suit jacket until you felt the cold air of the outdoors nip at your skin. 

Lifting your head you took in the tall trees and the blue sky and took a deep breath of the crisp fresh air. A giggle bubbled out of you and you threw your head letting it echo through the forest. Andy chuckled with you and you looked up to see him watching you with a strange look. You couldn’t figure out what it was, but at that moment you didn’t care, you were safe. Andy tucked you carefully into the passenger seat of his Audi and you rested your head against the expensive leather, feeling completely at peace. 

Andy insisted that for your safety that the two of you wed as soon as possible, telling you that’s what Grandma Rose thought would be best. He explained to you that if you had his last name, no one could hurt you. It made sense but you were sad that no one you loved would get to see you in a white dress or walk you down the aisle. Not that you had anyone left, your grandma had been your last living relative. You weren't sure exactly how she died, Andy's explanation was vague but she had been sick and you knew Andy was just trying to save you the gory details. He was a good man. 

Sensing your sadness, Andy made sure to make the day as special as possible. He woke you up with breakfast in bed and told you that he had some people coming by to do your hair and makeup, and your dress was in the closet. He kissed the top of your head, telling you he’d be back in a couple of hours to pick you up. 

You ate quickly, not wanting to be in your pajamas when the people showed up and put on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. The day after Andy brought you home, to this beautiful extravagant house that was clearly for someone with a big family, he had taken you out shopping, making sure every essential and nonessential thing he thought you needed was bought. 

He had you staying in the guest room, claiming that you two should only sleep in the same bed once you were married. That way the first night together would be special. You knew what he was implying and you couldn’t lie that it made you nervous. You had never been with anyone before, having never found the time nor a real reason. The basics were something you were aware of but nothing more. Your grandmother was not one to delve into those topics and your mother was never around to help either. You were going in blindly, but some part of you was hopeful that Andy would take care of you. 

With your hair and makeup perfectly done, you entered your closet, the master bedroom closet. Despite sleeping in separate rooms, all your belongings were in Andy’s room, already claiming you as his. The dress hung from the door in a black garment bag, and you had been itching to take a peek at it all day. Unfortunately, due to time restraints, you had no chance to but now it was finally time and you were strangely excited.

For once in your life, you were going to belong to someone, someone who would take care of you. The thought filled you with pure delight and you were excited to be getting married. Andy was a good man for your grandmother to have trusted him and that made you feel at ease.

Slowly you walked down the stairs and took a seat at the kitchen island, waiting for Andy to arrive, watching as the professionals left. A bouquet of jasmines, ranunculus, peonies, and dahlias, all a pure white, sat on the kitchen counter. The fragrance of them wafted in the air and you smiled, loving it. You had always had such an appreciation for flowers, despite not having the greenest of thumbs. Always made sure you put bouquets of them through the house and at your grandmother’s bedside. 

You dragged the zipper down the bag, revealing the beautiful white dress. It was simple yet elegant. An intricate lace overlay ran the length of the dress, pooling a bit longer than where the lining ended and the white slip underneath was strapless, leaving the arms bare under the lace. The v line of the decolletage was delicate and not too deep. You ran your fingers over the dress, reveling in its beauty. Grabbing it off the hanger, you slipped it on over the lingerie and garter set that Andy had also left for you. Everything fit like a glove, and one of the hairdressers helped zip up the dress, providing support as you slid on your satin white pumps.

You gasped as you stepped in front of the mirror. You looked like a woodland princess, with your delicately applied makeup, accentuating your features perfectly and highlighting the happy glint in your eye. Your hairstyle was perfectly chosen for the day and you knew Andy was going to be so happy with how you looked. 

The key in the lock brought you out of your fascination with your wedding bouquet and the door swung open to reveal Andy, dressed handsomely in a navy suit. A smile graced his face as soon as he saw you and you stood up nervously, fingers toying with your lace sleeves. 

“Wow,” he breathed, “You look like a dream. More perfect than I could have ever imagined.”

You ducked your head, hiding your smile, “Thank you, Andy. You look very handsome yourself.”

He walked over to you, wrapping you up in his arms softly, and hooked his knuckle under your chin, drawing up your gaze. “I can’t wait for you to be mine,” he whispered, his nose grazing your jawline, breathing you in. “You smell so sweet, baby. Wonder if you taste just as sweet.”

His lips hovered over yours and you found yourself leaning in before you remembered your makeup. His eyes were sharp when you recoiled from him and that look made you nervous. An uneasy feeling settling in your stomach, feeling the need to explain yourself.

“My lipstick, Andy. We don’t want to smear it yet.” You said, tripping over your words and you felt like you could breathe again when his face softened into a smile. He gave a jerky nod and pulled back, lacing your fingers together. 

The two of you drove to the courthouse, hands interlocked over the console and your flowers safely in your lap. The butterflies in your stomach only grew more restless the closer you got and you began to get fidgety. Your fingers drummed against your knee, your bouncing knee.

Andy squeezed your hand reassuringly, bringing your hand up to lightly kiss each knuckle. Every kiss alleviated the weight on your chest until you were completely at ease. 

"Are you okay?" Andy asked and you hummed in response, smiling at him. He pulled up in front of the courthouse and stopped, "alright baby, you get out here, I'm going to park and I'll come to meet you okay?"

"Wait Andy," you said, slightly panicked, "why can't I stay and we can walk together?"

"I didn't think you'd want to walk in those heels for long."

"It's fine, I'll be fine. Please don't leave me alone." Your last words were so soft that you weren't sure Andy had heard you.

He sighed, cupping your cheek and leaning in close, "Are you scared to be alone, baby?"

You nodded, eyes wide as you pleaded with him silently. Andy kissed the tip of your nose and pulled back, driving the car towards the parking area. 

He told you to wait in the car as he came around to let you out. Made sure you didn't step on your dress as you got out. He folded you into his arms, smiling down at you, "You're safe with me. Always. Nothing's going to hurt you as long as I'm around." Andy promised and you melted into his warm embrace.

The ceremony wasn't anything special and was over quicker than you expected and yet you felt like you were in a fairytale. Andy looked at you through the whole ceremony like a blind man seeing for the first time.

And when he kissed, it was like the world stopped, his lips soft and gentle, his beard slightly scratchy. Your fingers played with the ends of his hair as his hands splayed over your lower back molding you against his hard body. 

He pulled back when both of you were near breathless, following up with a couple of light pecks. "You're perfect," he said in a hushed tone, kissing you one last time before guiding you out of the courthouse.

The house seemed less daunting upon your return, feeling more like home. The large gem on your left hand was a comfortable weight as you laced your fingers with Andy's. 

In the doorway, Andy bent down and swept you off your feet. You chirped in surprise, clinging to him as he walked you over the threshold. 

"Welcome home, Mrs. Barber."

"Thank you, Mr. Barber." You smiled, kissing his scruffy cheek.

"I'm sorry that I can't take you on a proper honeymoon right now baby. But I promise I am all yours for the rest of the weekend." 

"It's okay, Andy. I don't need much, your attention is enough for me," you nuzzled into his neck as he carried you to the kitchen.

"My attention is all yours, y/n. From now until eternity." Andy vowed, placing you on a stool and walking over to the fridge.

You watched as he prepared a meal for the two of you. Nothing fancy, some pasta and garlic bread, yet something about watching him in the kitchen made your body heat up. Made you excited for what was to come later. The thought of those agile hands gliding over your skin, made you bite your lip. 

Andy glanced up and gave you a charming smile before returning to his work.

"I thought I was supposed to take care of you," you said, leaning forward and resting your head in your hands.

"Don't worry, after today the household is all yours to take care of. But today is your day, wife. I'm going to take real good care of you," He smirked, growling at that last sentence. That sound made you shiver, your thighs clenching together. No one had ever elicited a response like this out of you and you continued to watch him like he hung the moon, already ready for him to take care of you. 

"Yes sir," you whispered, "I promise I will do a great job."

Hopping over the stool you padded over on bare feet, wrapping yourself around his back. 

He patted your hand, holding it as he spun around. Grabbing a remote, he clicked a button, and the room filled with Frank Sinatra's ‘The Way You Look Tonight’. 

Leading you over to the space between the kitchen and the living room, Andy placed one hand on your lower back, the other still holding your hand, and pulled you in close, his lips by your ear.

"Time for our first dance, Mrs. Barber." He kissed the spot below your ear before singing the words softly as he swayed you in his arms. 

It was a sweet moment, swaying in his strong arms. The music flowed through the room and you felt at peace, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. You felt his lips press to the top of your head. 

The song ended all too soon and reluctantly you pulled back, but Andy stopped you from getting too far. He cupped your face gently, smoothing his thumb over your bottom lip before he kissed you. You were so caught up in the moment, in the love that you thought he was giving you, that you missed the slight glint of malice laced in his adoring gaze.

Dinner was delicious and you had thanked Andy several times for all the things he had done for you that day. It was the best day you had had in a long, long time and you were grateful. Andy had smiled warmly at you, hinting that before long you would be the one who took the reins of the ongoings of the household. 

“We’ll talk about the house rules in the morning, okay darling?” Andy said with a kind smile and you nodded, knowing that a little structure was never a bad thing. Your grandmother always had a set of things you’d had to do, things she didn’t want you to do. 

"Good girl," Andy praised, cupping your face slowly and the way his words excited you were new to you.

You squeezed your thighs together, trying to alleviate some of the aches at your core. There was a slightly desperate need to grind down on the chair you were sitting on. Andy's eyes dropped down to your lap, catching the small movement. His hand dropped from your face, fingertips ghosting over your torso until he reached your legs. He used one hand to pull them apart and despite your nerves, you let him.

"Andy," you whispered and his bright blue eyes snapped up to your face. He watched your face as his hand slid up the inside of your thigh, pushing your dress up with it. Andy licked his lips, eyes darting down to take in the lace panties you'd worn under your dress. 

A soft gasp fell from your lips as his thumb grazed over the gusset, the lace stimulating the sensitive skin. You rolled your hips forward, needing more of his touch. Andy chuckled under his breath, his other hand rubbing his beard. 

"Please," you panted out.

"Please what?" Andy asked, his voice rough and husky, "use your words. Tell me what you want."

"Touch me. I need you to touch me."

A growl tore through Andy's chest as he stood up, suddenly. Your head fell back to look up at him. He was so tall, looming over you. His button-down hugging his broad frame and you couldn't wait to see what he looked like underneath. 

He grabbed your hand, pulling you up from your chair before he picked you up bridal style. Taking you upstairs. 

Andy kicked open the bedroom door and he placed you gently onto the bed, leaning forward until he had you caged between his hard chest and the mattress. 

"You're so beautiful," Andy whispered, leaning down to kiss you. Your arms locked around his neck, returning his kiss with a deep hunger. You tried to arch up to press your body to his. 

Andy began to kiss down your throat, nipping at your collar bone before he began to climb down your body. His hand found the zipper beneath you and pulled it down. The dress loosened and you sat up, allowing him to pull it down your arms. 

He kept going until the dress sat pooled at the foot of the bed and you laid there in your dainty wedding lingerie. The way he was looking at you made your whole body heat up like you were on display for him. The nerves made you want to hide. No one had ever looked at you that way before and you didn't know how to act but you were also frozen in place by those icy blues.

His hand cupped your foot, lifting it. He placed a soft kiss on your ankle, lightly running his teeth over the bone and you felt it straight in your core. The need was growing and you almost couldn't handle it. You wanted to beg but you knew he'd only make you wait longer.

He smirked as he watched you squirm. It felt like an eternity as he took his sweet time kissing up to your calf, your inner thigh until he was nestled between your legs. His breath was warm against your panties and your hands grabbed the sheets, in an effort to not grab his head and push your cunt into his face. 

You let out a loud whimper as the tip of his tongue barely traced over your cloth covered pussy. The words were stuck on your lips as he continued to tease you, swirling over the lace in intricate designs. His mouth closed over your pussy through the lace, sucking loudly and your hips bucked up, needing the skin-to-skin contact. 

He pushed the lace aside and blew lightly on your heated core. Goosebumps erupted all over your body and you lifted your hips again. 

“Yes. Yes, Andy. There hasn’t been anyone before.”

“Andy, please,” you whispered, biting your bottom lip to distract from the need, “I need you.”

“Am I your first, darling?” Andy asked, ignoring your plea. His lips pressed to your inner thigh before he bite down when you didn’t answer fast enough. You let out a screech, trying to flinch away from him, but his grip on you was too solid, “Answer me. Otherwise, you won’t get what you want.”

Your vision was hazy as he wrapped his mouth around your clit. Your body arched, hips trying to lift but the weight of his arm on your lower abdomen made it hard. You could feel him smiling against you, his tongue swirling over the bundle of nerves. The way he ate you out, built you up in a way you had never been able to on your own. His hand trailed up your thigh and you weren't paying too much attention to where it was going. Too busy with how Andy's tongue was swirling over your clit. Your hole clenched around emptiness and for the first time you felt an intense urge to be filled. 

Almost as if Andy heard your inner thoughts over your continuous moans, he circled the tip of his middle finger around your tight hole, teasing you. Your hips tried to lift again, as he pushed in. There was a slight burning but the more he moved, the wetter you got. He curled his fingers and suddenly he brushed over a spot that made you jump and squeak.

“There it is. That feel good baby?" You nodded rapidly as he did it again He had to keep going, you needed it and if he stopped, you felt like you might die "Andy, more. Please.”

He chuckled and pushed in a second finger. Pumping them in and out with such precision. One hard suck on your clit sent you straight over the edge. Your hands grasped handfuls of the sheets, eyes rolling back as you had what you considered an out of body experience. Pleasure flooding every inch of your body and your mind grew hazy.

You started coming to when you felt Andy trailing kisses up your abdomen. His eyes watched you and the intensity made your stomach flutter. He lifted himself up, resting his forearms on either side of your head. Feeling brave, you leaned up and captured his lips. He made a nearly feral sound as he devoured your mouth. It made your head swim and you arched up pressing yourself to him.

You ran your hands down the front of his shirt, undoing each button your way down. Everything about that moment made you want to melt into him. Your legs wrapped around his waist and Andy dropped his weight down, pinning you to the bed.

It wasn't something you had thought about much, your first time, but you always hoped it would be magical. Nothing else seemed to matter as it came closer to happening and time seemed to stand still, You could physically feel Andy's body beneath your hands; his lips on your skin. Mentally you were on a different plane of ecstasy. You pouted when Andy pulled out of your grip to slip his shirt off his broad shoulders and make even quicker haste of his pants. 

He was beautiful, long lean muscles of his arms, dark hair dusting his chest, denser in a trail down his boxers. The defined shape of his cock was prominent through the thin fabric of his boxers, “Fuck," you muttered.

“What's wrong, angel?" Andy's calloused hands rubbed up your thighs. 

“It's too big, Andy. It won't fit," you bit your lip, worrying a hole in your bottom lip.

“Oh baby," Andy reached up to cup your face, using his other hand to push down his boxers, “Don’t worry. You were made for me, I'Il make it fit." 

He sounded so confident that you found yourself believing him. A wave of arousal pooled between your thighs. You couldn't deny that you liked the possessive claim he had on you.

"You want it?”

You held his gaze, nodding. A surge of bravery had you sitting up enough to undo your bra and toss it aside. Andy's eyes dropped to your breasts, watching them as you laid back down. 

“Tell me what you want. Do use your words." Andy leaned down, his hot mouth encasing a nipple. He worshipped it before switching to the other one. You lost yourself in the feeling and began running your fingers through his fluffy hair. Messily he switched back and forth, his tongue making everything glossy. "What d'you want, baby? Don't make me ask again.”

He rested his chin on your sternum, his dark eyes watching you. You gave him a soft smile, gently caressing his cheek and running your thumb over his bottom lip. There was an almost dangerous glint in his eye. Yet you felt complete and utterly content. 

“I feel safe with you,” you whispered. His features softened and he lifted his head to give you a sweet kiss, "Make me yours, Andy I want to be yours.”

For a moment a weird look crossed his features and he almost seemed like he wanted to say something instead he kissed you breathless. Lips locked yours, he braced himself and reached down to grab his cock. He pumped himself a couple of times before running the tip through your folds and notching your hole. You gasped into his mouth. There was no way the whole thing was going to fit if his tip made you feel this stretched out.

Your nails sank into his biceps, trying to focus on the kiss, instead of the thick cock splitting you in half. A soft whimper came out before you could stop it. Andy broke the kiss, resting his head against your forehead.

"You're doing so good. Taking me like a good girl.”

“Andy-," you whined, “I cant."

"You can, baby. Just a little more,” he reassured, “You can do it.”

You tensed up as he pushed in that final inch. His girth filled you up so well that he felt like he was permanently a part of you. He was right, you were made for him.

Andy's body shook as he fought the urge to move. Like a gentleman, he was allowing you to adjust. He kissed all over your face, licking up the few tears that slipped from the pain. Kissing down your neck, leaving marks all over your collarbones, whispering sweet things. All to distract you from the pain.

The pain gave way to a deep need for more. Your hips bucked up, and you clenched around him. Andy hissed, burying his head in your neck. “Move, Andy. You can move.”

Needing no more incentive, Andy pulled out and snapped his hips forward. The first few thrusts were slow and steady. And then his tether seemed to snap, and he sat back on his knees, a hard hold on your hips. He began to pistol you. His thrusts were sloppily and hard. His need to claim you prominent.

He bit down on your pulse point, lapping at it to soothe it before he continued up to your jaw and finally your lips.

“I'm gonna fill you up. Watch you grow with my baby. Show the world you’re mine. You’re never going to leave me," Andy whispered against your gasping mouth. You keened, rolling your hips in an attempt to meet his rhythm. "Mine."

"Yours." It was the only word you could even attempt to muster. Andy growled and reached between your bodies, thumb swiping over your clit. He began to work it in time with his passionate ruts to aid in building you up that cliff. Your thighs began to tremble and with a final glide over your sweet spot, the coil snapped and you came for the second time. This time was even more intense. Andy kept going and you could feel by his tense body that he wasn't going last long.

“Fuck, so tight. Milking me so well I'm not gonna last,” he grunted and with a loud groan, he came. Spurts of hot cum coated your sensitive walls. He kept fucking you, shooting deeper into you with each thrust. "Now you're truly mine."

With that he pulled out, using his fingers to push in anything that escaped. You winced a

bit from exhaustion and sensitivity but kept quiet. Once he was satisfied, he rolled off, pulling you into his side. Your worn-out body happily welcomed the warmth. You snuggled closer and dozed off.

The next morning you woke up alone. Your body ached as you stretched out, and there was dull pain between your legs. You felt sticky and warm, feeling the need to shower. Or at least to distract yourself from the pang of pain that hit your heart from waking up alone.

You got up, whining with each movement. There were bruises littering your lower body and there were probably more on your neck and torso. The sheets bared evidence of your deflowering, a mixture of blood and semen staining. Somehow you felt dirty and used. Andy got what he wanted and left you alone.

With that thought in your mind, you grabbed the sheets and began frantically stripping the bed. Only then did you come across a note from Andy on the ground. The sudden rush of relief made you tear up, the emotions running wild. You read the note three times before your body fully felt calm again. He had been called into the office with new evidence about a case and he was sorry but he'd be home soon.

You wished you could have gone with him, but instead you decided to take your new role as a wife seriously. With the sheets in the wash, you quickly showered and replaced the bedding. Smoothing out your new dress, you headed to the kitchen. You had to have dinner ready before Andy would get home.

~

After that night, a routine was formed. Every day you proved yourself to Andy. Learning to be good to him, the way that he had been to you. Anything to ensure that he didn't send you back to those men. Honestly, it was blissful, this new life you led.

Andy had given you a clear set of rules to follow on how he liked things done, his favorite meals and other useful information. You were appreciative of these; it made the transition into being a housewife so much easier. Otherwise, you surely would have messed up, you knew you would.

Andy came home at seven every day, and you had figured out the best routine for getting everything done by them. He'd come home to dinner on the table and you in your prettiest dress waiting for him. You were always his dessert despite anything you may have made. “That was for you,” he stated, making you sure gained some weight on your bones, just how he liked it.

Sex became one of your favorite things. Andy always made you feel so good that you craved it constantly. The feel of his beard left a permanent burn between your legs. A constant reminder of who you belonged to. There was no way to stop yourself from wanting him, and vice versa. He'd bend you over the counter anytime he saw you in an apron and any time you were up early enough to join him in the shower. 

Those were the days that he claimed were his best ones, especially if he went to court. Quickly earning you the nickname Clover, being that you were his lucky charm.

Your life was perfect and nothing could ruin it. You were finally happy.

Taglist:

@sweeterthanthis

@jobean12-blog

@maladaptivexxdaydreaming

@justile

@beelicious-barnes

@caffiend-queen

@thefallenbibliophilequote

@christywantspizza

@broadwaybabe18

#andy barber x you #andy barber x reader #andy barber fanfiction #andy barber x y/n #andy barber #chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #serial!killer!andy #serial killer au

[snavian]

Rating my dwarves Gloker (space dwarf poker) faces:

Tuff (Driller) - Absolutely awful. She's a driller, her specialities lie in shouting, drinking Glyphid blood and digging hundred metre long tunnels. The moment she gets bad cards she starts frowning and if you point it out she might grab you across the table.

Larimar (Scout) - Having a robot head with a very limited range of expressions certainly helps him, because if he had flesh facial muscles he'd be just as bad as Tuff. It took him a while to finally stop bouncing his legs under the table but his kitty ears antennae still give him away- they twitch when he gets excited.

Jasper (Engineer) - Brilliant poker face and brilliant liar but it's his poker voice that gives him away. He rambles on and on and on until he suddenly stops silent, just for a few seconds, but to any dwarf who knows him it's glaringly obvious.

Gossan (Gunner) - Impenetrable. Gossan is already deadpan by default and barely needs to change anything in Gloker. Sometimes she'll sit in the exact same place for the entire, hours long game. Watching. Staring.

Jasper has won against her before though, once. Tuff and Larimar begged for him to tell them how he did it, how he knew, what the Gunner's tell was, but Jasper swore, hand on heart, that it was just chance, a moment of dumb luck.

Never will they know that Gossan nodded off during their game.

#magstext #deep rock galactic

[bridgetotheskyyy]

Yearning | two. |

previous - masterlist

Chapter Summary: Itachi and Kisame have a little chat over poker.

Chapter Warnings: none. Word count: 1.2k A/N: I'll be crossposting this entire series over to tumblr over the next few days so please be patient with me!

Read on AO3 here.

At last, an off day.

Their leader had little for them to do this day; no leads, which meant no dispatches. Any paths leading to the jinjuriki had gone cold.

“You’ve got nothing for us?” this was Deidara, who’s hologram leaned forward in disbelief, an unconvinced chuckle followed. “Am I dreaming?”

“It is irregular,” said Pein, the impenetrable rings of his eyes pronounced in the darkness, “but it is true.”

Itachi was glad of it; finally, a day to be alone with his thoughts, to consider some things at his lonesome —

“What’s been up with you lately?” 

…

He should have known better.

With Kisame, there would never be any relaxation. Not long after their leader’s announcement, his swordsman partner had challenged him to a game of cards, and now Itachi knew why. 

To grill him. 

Regardless, Itachi responded little; he didn’t even look up from his set of cards.

“You can be quiet all you like,” Kisame said, shuffling his deck. “I know you’re hiding something. You’ve been acting weird ever since we got back from that mission a week ago.” 

Itachi knew what mission he was referring to but, once again, moved little; they had been dispatched to the leaf, something that hadn’t occurred since their failure to secure the nine-tails. Reconnaissance. Proximity to you had made him … agitated.

For more reasons than one. 

But Kisame had his arms crossed now, deck of cards between two enormous fingers. “So …what’s up?” 

Itachi slid a card to the side to admire another. “It’s none of your concern. After all, I thought you wanted to play cards, Kisame. Where’s your conviction?”

“I know I can beat you in my own time,” Kisame grumbled.

“Not if previous games have anything to say about it.”

Another grumble, indignant; Itachi allowed the sides of his mouth to upturn. 

Always so easy to get under your skin, Kisame.

Then —

Kisame laughed.

This caused an increase in Itachi��s attention and, at last, he looked up — in the caverns, the swordsman’s cackles carried on for what seemed like eons, echo after echo, and Kisame leaned forward on the table, smirk enriched by some unsaid victory. 

“Aha, okay, I get it,” he said, smirk permitting teeth now, “who is she?”

Itachi’s fingers twitched, but nothing more. He knew Kisame hadn’t seen. 

His focus returned to his deck.

“Haha, hehe.”

Ugh.

“Haha, yeah, I get it,” Kisame went on. “So when are you going to introduce me to her?” 

Itachi shuffled his deck, determined to silence. 

“It all makes sense now. C’mon, I can read you better than that by now, Itachi.” Kisame went on. “After all, what guy’d introduce his girl to me?”

Itachi flicked his deck so they fanned out before his face and spotted the card of his desire. 

Ace of spades.

“What girl would choose a guy who had one when she can have,” and Kisame brought up two fingers, “two?”

Itachi clasped his deck with a threatening POP. His eyes snapped to Kisame’s, gaze softly reddened by the activation of his Sharingan.

“Kisame,” Itachi’s voice was like stone, “I’d consider my next words if I were you.”

As expected, Kisame froze. Time itself seemed to halt as Itachi kept his gaze locked on his partner, and for a great while no one moved. 

….

….

…

Itachi lowered his gaze, saw, in his peripheral, Kisame relax, released from his gaze.

I don’t think you know that I can read you, too, Kisame …

“But anyway,” Kisame began, caution evident in his voice, hidden with a veneer of ease, “you should be proud; we’ve all lost something here . . .”

Itachi looked up again, but this time it was not to threaten Kisame into silence; he saw something in his partner’s eyes, something had shifted there.

“It must be nice,” Kisame said, softer than anything he’d said so far, “to have something besides this.”

This — the dark, cavernous space in which they were situated, in which they frequented, lived. Itachi became acutely aware of the Akatsuki’s emptiness; they all felt it, how it swallowed them if they were not vigilant. He thought of you, of Sasuke, of your faces, all in vivid detail, and some of the darkness lifted if only to provide a second’s worth of relief. He was different from the others. But . . .

He detected the resentment in Kisame’s words, bitter if they had a taste. A “hmph” was Itachi’s only answer to Kisame, however, in that moment. 

“She’s a friend,” he admitted. 

Kisame, for once, said absolutely nothing, only seeming to register Itachi’s answer. Itachi knew, somehow, that the inquisition had at last ended. He sat as Kisame inspected his cards.

“It doesn’t necessarily make things easier if that’s what you’re suspecting.”

There was a return from Kisame’s smirk, his attitude returning — Itachi found himself feeling almost relieved.

And I was beginning to worry.

“Heh,” Kisame said. “A girlfriend doesn’t make things easier? Can’t imagine that.”

Itachi wasn’t surprised by this attempt to save face. He sighed. “Let’s finish the game.”

“Fine by me.”

Itachi splayed his cards against the table.

A flush.

“I win. Again.”

…

…

…

“Fuck you.”

#Naruto #naruto x reader #itachi x reader #itachi uchiha x reader #itachi x you #itachi uchiha x you #itachi x y/n #itachi uchiha x y/n

[charliemwrites]

So she's not fully fleshed out yet, but I'd like to introduce you to Seargent First Class Anastasia 'Birdie' Petrov, a second generation Russian immigrant to America who (technically) was kicked out of med school and joined the army.

Officially her callsign is 'Doc' since she is a field medic, however during a particularly hectic deployment during her stint in the US Army that ended up requiring an entire field hospital to be set up, she ended up with the nickname 'Birdie' due to how quickly she flew from one patient to the next while constantly calling out different instructions to other helpers.

She was eventually discharged from the US army (for similar reasons to getting kicked out of school) but due to her exemplary performance, she was discharged honorably. Eventually, she was scouted by Laswell as a kind of 'filler' medic since a lot of spec ops teams don't have a designated medic on the payroll.

She has a very dry sense of humor, and often people don't know if she's being sarcastic or not cause her poker face is impenetrable, but if you know her well enough she actually makes the effort to relax enough for people to tell.

She doesn't talk to her parents much (her father practically disowned her when she joined the military) but she sends occasional letters to her brother and sister and sends money to her mom to help out. She's also secretly building a college fund for her siblings cause she doesn't want them to be forced into a major they don't want like she was.

I love her backstory! And her care for her siblings and mother, I love it. Her and Duke being Laswell’s little helpers. Duke would be coming to her all the time with injuries, babbling about her latest projects. It’s okay if Birdie has a poker face the whole time, she’ll just keep going

[everyones-least-favorite-bard]

more western au!! this piece takes place before kdj fakes his death the first time but after he and hsy have met. enjoy!!

They’ve been talking for somewhere upwards of an hour (about inanities, nothing of substance, really) when the wind howls for the first time.

The rickety wicker chairs he and Han Sooyoung are sitting in creak with every move—a trait she says they had from the moment she bought them, but as Kim Dokja watches her tip the chair so far back she’s nearly parallel to the ground, he’s not inclined to believe her. Sheriff Han Sooyoung, he’s finding, seems to be intimately familiar with the concept of hyperbole.

“Wind’s roarin’. Probably should get yourself indoors,” she says, lips still curled around the blunt end of a cigar. 

He’s not stupid. He’s lived in this town longer than she has; he knows the signs of a dust storm brewing just as well as any other desert-dweller. There’s been an impenetrable wall of ruddy brown slowly encroaching on the horizon for a while now, accompanied by great hanging fist-like clouds. The air smells faintly of ozone, the fine hairs on the back of his neck standing up as the wind sweeps up plumes of dust. The issue is not that he doesn’t know better: the problem is that he doesn’t have an indoors to get himself inside.

But that’s none of her concern.

“I’m aware.” He’s quite proud of how neutral he sounds. He still hasn't quite figured out where exactly he'll hide out at, but he'll think of something. It's sort of his thing.

She must read some of his thoughts off his face as her fine brow develops a narrow crease, the corner of her mouth pulling into the beginnings of a scowl. "You haven't got anywhere to go, huh?"

He waves her off, pushing out of his seat. "I'll find a barn to lay low in. Shouldn't be too hard t'find a soft-hearted farmer." 

It clearly isn't the assuaging remark he intends it to be because the crease furrows further and her discontent is written outright in the sharp line of her narrowed eyes. 

But she doesn't say anything further, so he takes it as permission to leave. He's about to step off the porch when he hears the rasp of Sooyoung putting out her cigar.

"Get your ass back here. I'm not done with you."

There's always been a sharpness to her, even from the moment they first met. He'd caught her counting cards at the poker tables back at the saloon, and almost called her out on it but she'd removed her pearl-handled pistol from its holster and set it very calmly on the table, watching him with dark, narrowed eyes. He can’t shake the feeling that she hasn't stopped watching him since, the vague feeling of those near-black eyes tracking him as he slunk out into the alleyway behind the saloon, the sensation prickling his nerves, raising the hair on the back of his neck—the rumble before a storm.

He turns back around, cracking a crooked grin. "Miss me already? You should've said so."

Now normally, she'd scowl further at him or something, canines flashing like a disgruntled cat. He'd ruffle her hair and she'd kick him in the shins probably harder than necessary and they'd bicker in good faith for maybe another half hour or so before she'd let him go. 

She's frowning though. She's standing now, one hand resting on the table by the little clay ashtray he’d given her that Biyoo had given him before he stppped smoking. 

"You don’t have to leave, you know," she says. There's something weird in her voice, neither the blunt cruelty inherent to her resting speech nor the cold sharpness of her rage. It's foreign, it's not cold at all but Dokja's still hesitant to call it warm, and whether that's a result of his opinion on her capability for it or on his viability as a receptacle for it is between him and the nearest bottle of gin he can supplicate himself to.

"What, gonna put me up in a cell, sheriff? How generous." He feels vaguely itchy. It's a little windier now, the wind rustling his hair some, whipping in front of his eyes. He's probably overdue for a trim.

Now she scowls. "Just get inside." She turns away from him and picks up the stub of her cigar and the little ashtray with surprising gentleness, then kicks open the door to the station with barely contained violence. It's a rather fitting tableau of her general demeanor.

She doesn't hold it open for him though, and he's halfway tempted to leave anyway, but she throws a, "and I best not turn around and see you gone," over her shoulder so he follows behind her.

Her boots click on the wooden floors, the keys at her hip rattling against her gun and holster, echoing strangely in the empty station. There's a reasonably nice sitting area, a vase of flowers on the cusp of wilting in the middle of a low table atop a cream and black woven runner done in some geometric pattern he doesn't particularly care enough to remember the name of. Her desk is littered with papers, mugs and cups and what may have once been a brandy snifter before its inevitable surrender to a thick layer of dust speckled in between the deluge. It's not the first time he's been in the station—as a tenant or a visitor—but there’s an eerie emptiness to it, an undefineable aura of solitude, of liminality, compounded by the still howling wind just outside, the faint rattle of the window hatch.

She throws open a door in the back, leading to a narrow stairwell only faintly lit by the watery brownish light coming from the windows and receding fully into black nothingness by the fifth or sixth step. 

"You gonna keep gawkin'?"

"Not much to gawk at," he fires back on instinct, and he's rewarded with a familiar scowl and some irritated-sounding muttering.

"Just get up here."

He grins and follows behind her, up two flights of stairs (one step creaked particularly violently and Sooyoung cackled ahead of him), coming up to a cozy apartment space. Cozy being a generous descriptor, as it seems half of it has been overtaken by more filing cabinets and a truely hideous rug hanging on the wall to his left. But otherwise its almost pleasant; there's a kitchenette with a stout little wood fire stove towards the back, a lounge chair with only maybe two or three cigarette burns with another nice textile blanket in the same geometric pattern as the runner downstairs across the back of it, a little bookshelf with six or seven dog-eared books beside it. He’s almost put off by how nice it is, how lived in it feels. The itchy feeling persists, and he has to actively push down the urge to spin on his heel and run.

She stoops down in front of a cabinet in the kitchen space and retrieves a bottle of amber liquid and two glasses.

"Sit," she says, pointing sharply at the couch, "and don't think I didn't notice you ditherin' by the door."

He sits. She walks over and drops beside him, setting the bottle and the glasses on the table in front of them with a noticeable plonk. She flicks the top of the bottle open and deposits a heavy pour into both glasses before handing one to him.

He takes a tentative sip and nearly gags. "Lord, that's awful. You could strip the color off a horse with that, good God, woman."

She laughs, sharp and feral. "Good. Now drink."

He wrinkles his nose and takes a delicate sip, watching out of the corner of his eye as she drains the glass in one go, slamming the glass back down with a sigh.

"So," she says.

"So."

She wipes the corner of her mouth with her sleeve. "You don’t have a place to crash."

A part of him has a very specific direction he'd like this to go, possibly including some of the highlights from a few late night reveries he’s awoken from red-faced and trembling, but he shoves that part very far down and schools his face into something approaching neutrality. "I don't," he says tentatively.

"I happen to have a perfectly serviceable couch and a slight excess of funding that I'm inclined to spend."

He picks up his glass again, takes another sip of the sharply acrid liquid. "I'm strugglin' to see where this involves me."

Again, normally she'd snap at him, maybe throw some insults, make a few disparaging comments on the integrity of his mother, and he'd laugh them off. Call her short or something. She doesn't do any of that.

Sooyoung shifts so she's facing him directly, the weight of her stare pinning him in place. The wind whispers, wraith-like, rattling the windows, a sign of impending destruction. There's a cruel irony in it, and if he were a braver man he might even comment on it. But he isn't so he looks away and swirls the gold-ish liquid in his glass.

"You're staying here." She's blunt again, and he can feel her eyes on him. The weight of her undivided attention is near unbearable and he has to fight not to squirm. "No," she says, and she puts her hand on his thigh, "I want you to stay here, but I won't hear any arguments."

He swallows. Her nails are long, pressing slightly into his leg. He can’t seem to get his thoughts in order enough to protest.

It's never escaped his notice that Han Sooyoung is, objectively speaking, a very attractive woman. Her eyes are dark and framed by softly curling lashes, a mole on one side atop sharp cheekbones. Her mouth, while thin, is a reddish-pinkish color, like blood in water, and her teeth are white and straight. She's pretty short even with the not-insubstantial heel on her boots—a source of ire for her, but he’s always thought it was kind of nice how he could easily put his arm around her shoulder if he wanted. He never has, of course. The point is that she's beautiful enough to have no reason to be putting her hand on the leg of someone like him, and especially none inviting him to stay in her home.

But he’s selfish. It's perhaps his only consistency, the only real thing about him. Much of Kim Dokja is a construct developed in the moment, for the moment, but self-absorption is something thats stuck on all fronts. He wants her to keep her hand there, he wants her to put her head on his shoulder, thread her hand through his hair, rake her nails down his spine—he wants her beside him, he wants her around him, he wants to hear her say his name, low in her throat, shaped by red lips—

He wants her badly enough to know he shouldn't, so in what is perhaps among the only good things he's ever done he drains the rest of his drink and gets up, letting her hand slip off his leg.

"Nice to see you've developed a charitable streak, sheriff. But I really ought t'be getting back." He dusts imaginary dirt off his pants, ignoring the spot of warmth where her hand was. "Han Myungoh'll have my hide if I skip out again."

She should be furious with him. He wants her to be furious, he wants her to yank him back onto her couch and pin him down, she wants her to hold him back so he can never leave again. But she doesn't, so he opens the door and goes back down the rickety stairs and ignores the wind, the itching desire crawling up his spine, and steps back out into the storm.

#ow ough agh #this one actually hurt me a little more than the last one tbh #idk doksoo just hits diff #im not super happy with the hsy characterization but #cest la vie ill do better next time #orv #orv western au #omniscient reader's viewpoint #omniscient reader #kim dokja #kdj #han sooyoung #hsy #doksoo

[thrxughthenxght]

✨ Snippet!!! ✨

"How many eyes you got up there?"

Jesper could feel the glare through the mandolorian's helmet. He grinned vaguely, shuffling his cards. He set one of his knees up against the table, slouching down in his seat.

"Knees off my table." The mandolorian's voice came out gritty through his microphone. Jesper raised his eyebrows but did as he asked.

Moments later, he crossed his feet over on the table, long legs shifting his very small pile of chips.

"Legs too, unless you want to lose them."

Jesper rolled his eyes and let his feet fall to the floor with a thud. "You must be fun at parties, huh?"

The mandolorian didn't say anything. Jesper gave him a grin, a small hum at the back of his throat. He glanced down at his cards.

He really wasn't walking out a richer man than he'd walked in.

"So...." He glanced down at his chips. Strewn out over the table, it actually looked like he had less winnings than before. "Mando like you, you must have a nice ship."

The mandolorian didn't reply. He tilted his head, looking down at his cards. At least, Jesper assumed he was looking down at the cards. Visor was impenetrable.

"How much'd you stake on it?" Jesper asked conversationally. Having a mask like that would be good for a poker face. You could do almost anything you wanted and the opponent would be none the wiser.

"I've got a ship too," Jesper continued. "What if we forget the chips and stake ships instead?"

"Afraid of losing more than you've already lost?" The gravelly voice came out with a mocking tinge. Jesper forced down a grimace. Keep it cool, Jes, keep the poker face. "Besides, my ship against yours? When yours is broken? Landing sticks full of sand, from what I heard."

Jesper didn't catch himself in time and frowned. He heard the mandolorian laugh triumphantly.

"If I lose, it'll be your ship," Jesper grumbled. "Then it'll be /your/ landing legs full of sand, all your problem. Don't see what's so funny about that."

The mandolorian didn't move again. Jesper crossed his feet over. It was eerie, how easily he could sit still. Jesper wasn't sure how he could manage it.

"It's up to you, of course." Jesper looked at his cards and grinned quietly. It was all a bluff, of course, he couldn't win this hand unless the mandolorian had a dead chest. Jesper highly doubted he did. "We can keep playing for chips, if you wanna play it safe."

That did it. Jesper saw the twitch of the mandolorian's head. The mandolorian shifted in his seat and his mic picked up a tinny sigh.

"How about this," he said. "You win, I'll let you leave here with the keys if you walk away if you /walk away/. If I win," he paused, resting his hand on the cane propped beside him, "I'll throw in a free engineer job on your ship."

Jesper scoffed. "If you win, it'll be your ship."

"Exactly."

Jesper sighed, running his hand over the top of his head. Honestly, what did he have to lose?

"Sure, why not?" He said. "All in?"

"The deal is the deal." The mandolorian glanced at the droid dealing cards. "Hit me."

A card shot out of the slot where the droid joined the table. The mandolorian caught it in a gloved hand and picked it up off the table. He added it to his hand and threw down a card on the table.

Damn, that one was good. If he'd thrown away that kind of card...

Under the table, Jesper curled his hand slightly. He tried to feel what the mandolorian was doing, whether he was bluffing or not.

He couldn't get anything.

Sweat started to bead on his forehead. He stopped before it got too obvious.

"Hit me?" He asked the droid.

A card shot out and skidded along the table. Jesper picked it up and added it to his hand.

If he hadn't been playing against a mandolorian, he would've let out a small sigh. These cards were rigged or something.

"You own the club, right?"

"Play the card or kill the hand," the mandolorian snarled. Jesper sighed, running his hand over his head again.

He threw the cards down on the table. "Kill," he said, without the usual triumph that would accompany the word.

He could've sworn he could imagine the mandolorian smirk.

"Kill." He threw the cards down as well. Jesper slumped down in his seat, running his hands over his eyes, and groaned. "Keys?"

"Give us the mechanic's job first," Jesper said. He stood up from the table, grabbed his wrists and stretched his hands above his head. Saints, how long had he been sat there?

"Aren't you going to shake my hand and say 'good game'?" The mandolorian asked sarcastically.

"Aren't you going to tell me who you are?" Jesper quipped in return. "I'd like to know the name of the person who quite thoroughly thrashed me at Binspo."

"You say that like it took any level of skill." The mandolorian grabbed his cane and pushed himself up to standing. "Kaz Brekker."

Jesper forced a smile. "Jesper Fahey. The honour is mine, I assume."

YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY-

Fell asleep waiting for this snippet to arrive and here it is ✨✨✨✨

Damnnnnnnn their dialogue is SPOT ON. Kaz is so Kaz here I love it.

Bestie- bestie the ships don't have keys 😝 Unless Jesper has a ship that requires a set of keys.

I love the world building here it's so easy to read and understand. I think even if someone hadn't seen SW it would be understandable. You're just that good 😌

Blaize where's Wylan hm? 👀👀👀👀 Don't be shy 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

#blaize <3 #six of crows

[shrekgogurt]

My brain has not been very kind to me recently so I have not had the chance to write much aside from half-heartedly dragging myself through my writing heavy coursework. I have been so exhausted and anxious and honestly quite sad that even imagining little stories in my head takes too much energy. In short, things are not great over in my swamp.

Nevertheless, here are precisely six new sentences from chapter three of Escape to Space (Simon’s POV):

His face steels into nothingness again. Why does he keep doing that? What is going on inside his head? He’s locked down like a jewelry safe, designed not to easily open. I try the Niamh trick—investigating his eyes—but they’re impenetrable. I would hate to play him at poker.

Self-Indulgent Rant & Tags under the cut:

For real though…my self-talk has been atrocious. I’ve convinced myself everyone in my life secretly hates me and that I’m bad at all my crafts. I may in fact be in my Wayward Son era which is pitiful because I mean…I didn’t kill my dad or lose my magic. But…do I ever want to get out of bed????? No, that shit is cozy!!!!! And I know it’s me self-sabotaging. And I know deep down I’m capable of all the things and I’m not totally unloveable. However, I can’t bring myself to believe it enough to kickstart the inertia which drives me CRAZY. Like girl, why aren’t you doing your work when you could just…do your work??????????? Why don’t you believe people want to actually spend time with you when they’re spending time with you????????????? What’s! Not! Clicking!? I guess…you know what they say… I Shouldn’t Ghost My Therapist

Thank for the tags today and this past week @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @martsonmars @fatalfangirl @captain-aralias @technetiumai @larkral @palimpsessed @ileadacharmedlife @thewholelemon @basiltonbutliketheherb @artsyunderstudy @aroace-genderfluid-sheep @onepintobean @ivelovedhimthroughworse @chen-chen-chen-again-chen @aristocratic-otter @confused-bi-queer + a bonus @raenestee simply because I adore you. I’m sorry if I don’t know some of y’all well and forced you to wade through my whining.

#rewarding your reading with a song rec #uh oh there I go having a capitalistic view of love again #six sentence sunday #escape to space #really wish I could make my ideas a reality #too many WIP too little reserves #my lack of an ability to produce anything makes me want to kick the sun #Youtube