#i might make this an actual thing acutally

[effervescentdragon]

Carra whump is so underrated like I so desperately need a beat up Carra being tended to by Gnev. Bonus points if he was brawling defending Gnev’s honour.

i had a certain au in mind but that one isn't really ripe for picking in my mind, however i saw this art of yours this morning in between my slumbers and, well. i really hope you like this <3

"Gaz, lay off - lay off, shit - ow, ow, c'mon -"

"Carra, I swear to fuckin' God, shut the fuck up you baby, you brought this on ya self -"

"Youse could be a bit gentler -"

"Then move your head, I can't get to the cut and it's still fuckin' bleedin', 's not stoppin -"

"Ah, it's nothin'. Might leave a scar, though, how cool would that be, just -"

"Shut the fuck up, James!"

Jamie shuts up, because Gary actually yells at him, loud and proper. The breath he sucks in after is shaky, his lips pinched and his eyebrows furled, but when Jamie looks into his eyes, they're... they're huge, and Jamie doesn't know what that means.

"Gary?" Jamie says quietly, his burst lip opening up again. He feels it start to bleed again and he licks the iron, not wanting Gary to get even more upset. "Gary, lad, I'm -"

"Don't call me lad, I'm older than you." Gary scowls. The paper towel in his hand makes a reappearance, and Gary's touch is surprisingly gentle when he dabs against Jamie's lip.

"Not taller, though," Jamie says on reflex. He's had a growth spurt from one summer to the other in his teens, and now, at nineteen, he towers over Gary for the third year in a row.

Well, usually he towers over Gary. Not right this moment, though.

Now, he's sat on the edge of the tub in Gary's upstairs bathroom as Gary tries to deal with the mess that's Jamie's face after the fight. Gary himself hasn't been hurt; Gary hadn't even been there. He'd got to the alley just as that piece of shit John threw the final kick, and seeing Gary, him and his two friends gunned it out of there like there was no tomorrow. Gary'd screamed at them, fiery as always and fully prepared to beat up high school kids, if the furious way he was swearing was any indication, but Jamie'd tried to move and groaned in pain. That distracted Gary thoroughly and completely.

"They aren't aren't in," he explained as he half-dragged, half-carried Jamie to his Aunt's house. "They're with the kids, some camp this whole week and I came in earlier than I was supposed to. Aunt Linda left the key for me, thought I could use some alone time away from my folks on my break," he'd said. "I already hate this town and it hates me, how the fuck am I supposed to rest when the first thing I see is your arse being kicked by some kids?"

"There was three of them," Jamie had tried to protest, but Gary scowled at him and told him to shut up and sit hii ass down so he could see how badly he was hurt.

That brought them to this; Jamie sitting on the edge of the bathtub and Gary looking down at him after cleaning his face with some alcohol and gauze. Jamie's head hurts, and he's pretty sure there's something wrong with his ribs, but Gary is fretting and he is mad - maybe at Jamie, probably, he's always mad at Jamie these days - and he is so, so cute when he's all commanding and taking charge. Jamie understands why he's the captain of the Under 21s.

"Where else are you hurt?" Gary asks, his hand tracing Jamie's busted brow, as if unthinking of the action, and Jamie suddenly also understands that his adolescent crush might not have been as far away in the past as it used to be. "Tell me."

Jamie's left hand is on Gary's waist. He's acutely aware of that fact, because he grabbed onto Gary for support when Gary started cleaning his face. He wants to hold on, but he makes himself let go.

"I'm fine, leave it. You fixed me up as well as possible, and I'll be -"

"Jamie." Jamie stops, again, because Gary doesn't call him Jamie anymore, not like before, when Jamie was fourteen and Gary was seventeen and the best football player Jamie knew and a friend and larger than life. These days it's all wrong, or it feels like it's all wrong. It's Carra when he's in a good mood and James when he's mad, and Jamie doesn't know what to do with this, or with the soft little, "Please."

He looks up at Gary. He's still larger than life, somehow. His eyes are still huge and a beautiful brown colour.

"My ribs," he says, equally quietly. "That cunt got a kick in at the end, and I don't think they're broken -"

"Take off your shirt."

Jamie tries not to react, but the tone Gary uses and the words, put together... Jamie's acutely aware he's not looking at Gary and that his face feels hot as he obeys. He's slow in taking of his dirty shirt. It's red, so at least the blood doesn't show. He drops it on the floor and closes his eyes as Gary bends over, then goes on his knees in front of Jamie to better look at his ribs.

Jamie takes one look down and shuts his eyes tightly enough he sees spots playing in the darkness behind his lids.

Cold fingers press against his skin. "Does this hurt?" Jamie shakes his head, and Gary continues pressing until he finds the place that makes Jamie wince. "That's what I thought. I don't think they're broken, but ya gotta take it easy for a while."

Jamie nods. Gary's fingers are warming up on Jamie's skin. "Aye, captain," he tries to put some scorn in his tone, but he knows it all comes out wrong. He still hasn't opened his eyes.

He hears Gary shuffling and huffing. His breathing is erratic and he leans on Jamie's thigh in support as he gets up. Jamie forces himself to open his eyes.

Mistake. Gary is staring at him like he wants to see inside Jamie's mind. "Why were you fighting?" he asks. His shirt is white. There's dirt on one side, in the shape of Jamie's fingertips. Jamie knows how soft the material is, and how soft Gary's waist is under it.

"They were talkin' shit," Jamie says. It's cold in the bathroom, but he's running hot. "I couldn't let them get away with it."

Gary rolls his eyes. "You talk shit, Carra, you should know how it goes. The fuck did they say to you to make ya think it's a good idea to fight three of them?"

"There were only two when I threw the first punch," Jamie corrects, and Gary lets out a giggle.

"You're an idiot," he says, and there is a little smile in the corner of his mouth that he can't hide. "You could've got seriously hurt, and then what? You'd lose the place in the squad, you just wrote me they're letting you debut for the first team, you idiot! Nothing they said is worth missing that shot, James, I told you to keep your temper, I told you it'll get ya into trouble, and I was right, look at your face now, all busted up -"

"What, am I not handsome anymore?" Jamie grins, his lip hurting like hell but worth it to see Gary scowl again. "I'm still the handsomest bastard youse've seen -"

"Bastard is right, ya' idiot, to miss a chance because of fightin' -"

"But hadsome? Rugged, wouldn't ye say -"

"I'd said it a million times and I'mma say it again, only an idiot would risk the first team for fightin' -"

"Well I was fighting for ye honour, so catch me doing that again when all it gets me is bein' called an idiot!"

Jamie doesn't think when he says it. Him and Gary had always bantered, quick as whips both of them, and Jamie had always enjoyed it a bit too much to truly think about all the shit he's saying when he's winding Gary up.

"My - what?" Gary looks like someone's struck him. "My honour? What the fuck're you talkin' 'bout?"

Jamie says nothing. He's got nothing to say, or at least nothing that won't break something between him and Gary. It's all wrong these days, with Gary staring for United and Jamie on his way to be starting for Liverpool. There's a difference, a distance there ever since he switched from blue to red. It's not something they've ever talked about but... Jamie remembers. He remembers kids in red jerseys surrounding Gary, big kids, bigger than Gary was back then and much bigger than Jamie. He remembers the taunts and the words that his Ma told him never to repeat if he doesn't want her to wash his mouth out with soap. He remembers Gary's look when Jamie kicked the ball back to him on the playground, and how his frown disappeared when he saw his blue jersey when Jamie was eleven. He remembers the frown deepening when Jamie came to their playground in a red jersey for the first time.

"James," Gary says, and both his voice and his eyes are serious. "What did they say?"

Jamie clenches his fists. "Nothing, Gaz. Leave it alone, I didn't mean to say it, just ignore me."

Gary is still looking at him, and Jamie hates how fucking beautiful Gary's eyes are. Hates how much he likes when Gary smiles, lines appearing around them when he laughs at Jamie's stupid jokes. Hates how fragile Gary looks in the bad bathroom lights, like Jamie could break him with one word. Hates how much he wants to feel how that stupid barely-there moustache would feel against his skin. Hates how he knows they don't have that much time anymore, to fuck around with the ball every summer like they've been doing so far. Hates that he knows a darby is inevitable. Hates how he can recognize Gary's smell, even over the alcohol and the blood. Hates how much he just - wants.

Gary furrows his brows, then seems to decide on something. He lets the dirty towel fall on the floor as he steps closer between Jamie's legs, and the movement startles Jamie so much he grabs for Gary's waist with both hands this time. He swallows, grasping onto the white shirt, his breathing a lot heavier.

Gary's hand is shaking when he brings it down to trace the bruise on Jamie's cheek he can feel forming. "Jamie," Gary says, and it isn't fair, how much that one word affects him. "Jamie, were you defending me? Is that why you got hurt?"

Jamie swallows around his dry throat again. His whole body is hurting. His whole body feels like he's on fire. He can feel Gary's heat over the material of the shirt, where his fingers press down.

"I'm no prince charming," he says, stupidly, nonsensically. Gary smiles, and Jamie's startled to realise he hasn't seen that kind of smile on Gary in a while.

"No, you aren't," Gary says. His other hand rests on Jamie's shoulder. "But you're pretty charming, all ruggedly handsome, you."

Jamie tears his eyes away from Gary's lips to look into his eyes. It feels too hot in the little bathroom. Gary's fingers splay across Jamie's neck. It feels like the whole world is pausing. Jamie feels like he can't breathe. He tightens his hold on Gary's waist, maybe pulls him closer. He doesn't really know. None of this makes sense.

Turns out, he can breathe.

He takes the next breath right from Gary's lips, soft and hesitant and hotter than anything he's ever felt before. The angle is awkward but he realises he can hug Gary close and -

"- for fuck's sake Jamie, I can taste blood, I busted your lip, sorry -"

"Nah," Jamie grins, opening his eyes. "Fuck it. Bust it again," he says, and pulls Gary in.

#sooooooo #no idea what this is. i hope you enjoy it #carraville #football rpf #my writing #effervescentdragonwrites #i just think theyre both dumbasses #and should kiss abt it. so they do #this is all i did today #tell me what you think pls? 🥺

[confused-and-dickless]

I am spinning my homemade blorbos in my head rn but I can't draw good and I don't even have a solid idea of what they look like. They don't even have names. But I know them like my own soul. And they're in love. And they're me. And they're everything. And they love each other. One of them loves soup. Tumblr I'm telling you you'd love these fuckers if only I know how to express anything about them. Maybe I'll write out their backstory and a few of their adventures.

#husband and wife in a fantasy setting. hes huge. shes sleepy. and also some kind of eldritch horror. #they're a power couple you see #my ocs #i should at least make a tag for them even if i dont know their names yet bc i want to post about them to motivate myself to develop them #the horror and her bounty hunter #that works #basically she's cursed with Horrorific Powers that are slowly killing her. she spends most of her time sleeping #when she wakes up its either to kill people to protect her husband or to make and eat soup using ingredients her husband collects #hes a bounty hunter who is always searching for a way to cure her and also find her little treats and special ingredients for her soups #oh yeah and they're nomadic bc of the whole bounty hunter thing. that might seem difficult due to her constant eepiness #do they have a pet donkey? a little wagon? even better. he carries her around in a sling #he is both huge and strong but it also helps that she is very wee #also both of them speak very little #he's just the strong silent type who doesn't have much to say to most people (but he does sing to her and tell her stories) #and she is almost fully nonverbal and makes a lot of chittery and gutteral noises that are off putting to most people #but he understands her (not in a weird magic language way just in a he knows her so well way) #also she's incredibly intelligent! just very foggy most if the time because of her curse/illness #she knows how to write and before the curse starts affecting her acute motor function she actually was a great writer #anyway. i am eepy. #also i think its very obvious that i have a habit of making characters that reflect my disabilities. this is probably the most blatant one #but you see i love myself very much and if you create something from love then what do you have to lose

[smileysuh]

forget him

🌙 staring. Haechan x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. “What if… what if I helped you out a little?” His words hang in the air, and your room feels thick with tension. You’re acutely aware of the toy still pressed between your thighs. “Look,” Hyuck says, voice softer, “I hate seeing you cry- but seeing you cry about something good might make us both feel better.”

tw/cw. recent breakup, fingering, Hyuck walks in while y/n is masturbating, masturbation, assisted masturbation, toy/dildo use, overstimulation, dacryphilia, reader has multiple orgasms, squirting, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, big dick Hyuck, pussy stretching, dirty talk, praise, talking about y/n's ex while they fuck, marking/claim kink, full/breeding kink, etc… I pet names: (hers) gorgeous, babe, good girl.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 7.1k

🍭 aus. friends to lovers, roommates au, recent breakup, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. When I tell you I need to be demolished by this Hyuck-

Hyuck absolutely hates seeing you like this. 

He’d thought it had been hard seeing you in love with his best friend Mark Lee, but seeing you in the throws of depression after your recent breakup takes the cake for Hyuck when it comes to him having a straight up horrible time.

Obviously, you have it worse, and he’s not trying to contest that fact- he just hadn’t realized that when the thing he’d been hoping for actually came to pass- it would feel this bad. 

In the dark reaches of his mind, he wonders if he’d had something to do with the separation, although, in truth, he knows that’s ridiculous. He’d been as supportive as a friend and roommate could be about you and Mark. He’d forced smiles and words of encouragement when you’d gushed through the talking phase. He’d found ways to ditch the apartment when you and Mark started to get physical, doing his best to give you privacy while getting high as a kite at Lee Jeno’s place to distract himself from the fact that you were getting railed by someone other than him. And now, he supposes, he’s doing his due diligence in making you feel better when you’re at your worst.

Hyuck’s doing the best he can to make things easy for you. He’s set up movie days, and he’s made you ramen. He’s allowed you to shuffle closer to him on the couch, even resting your head on his shoulder any time you start to tear up. He’s paused films to listen to you explain things like “When Mark and I watched this, he would always get so excited when Totoro would show up” or “Mark hated No Face.” 

He wonders if doing a Ghibli marathon is the best idea, given how much you associate it with Mark, but when he’d asked you about it and you insisted you would feel better watching the films, he’d left it at that.

You’re your own person, and Hyuck’s always trusted you to make the best decisions for yourself… even when he doesn’t agree with them.

Cuddled next to you on your living room couch, Hyuck does his best just to be there for you. He ignores the boys’ group chat messages, where other friends are taking care of Mark. As far as Hyuck’s concerned, he’s team you, all the way, and he always has been.

He notices the way you start to shift next to him, pulling away from his shoulder to stretch your arms over your head.

“You good?” Hyuck asks, looking away from the movie to give you his complete and undivided attention.

“Yeah,” you sigh, frowning slightly. “Just tired.”

“Do you want to go to bed?” He studies your face, noticing all the signs of exhaustion- although, to be fair, you’ve been a sleepy wreck of a thing since your breakup two weeks ago.

“I probably should,” you concede, taking another deep breath. “Thanks for making me dinner and watching movies with me.”

“Don’t mention it,” Hyuck says, flashing you a small smile as he straightens in his seat, reaching for the remote to stop the movie.

“You’ve been so nice since… since the whole Mark thing.” He can see you swallowing back tears, and you reach up to wipe your eye with the sleeve of your hoodie. 

“That’s what friends are for,” Hyuck assures you, although, his attention toward you has always far surpassed that of a friend. It’s a shame you’ve never realized that fact.

“Just… thanks,” you say again, holding open your arms for a hug that Hyuck is more than happy to give you. 

He adjusts on the couch, leaning forward to scoop you into his arms. Your cheek presses to his shoulder and he breathes in the smell of your fruity body wash. He tries his best not to hug you too hard- because if he did, you might actually realize that every time you hug him, he has no true intention of ever letting you go. 

“Sleep well, okay, gorgeous?” he prompts, stroking your hair and using the petname he’d given you far before you’d ever met Mark. “You really need your rest.”

“I’ll do my best,” you assure him, giving one last gentle squeeze before you pull away.

Hyuck watches you stand up, your hoodie skimming your mid thigh. He knows you’re wearing sleeping shorts under the oversized fabric, but he can’t help but swallow thickly, imagining what it would be like if you were just in panties.

He really has to get his mind out of the gutter, and Hyuck knows that- he’s been trying to, in all honesty he has- but it’s been four years of knowing you, one of living together, and he still can’t manage to keep his thoughts PG. 

With one last small smile, you turn and begin to shuffle to your room.

He misses your lively movements. The first night you’d moved in together, you’d had a small dance party together, and Hyuck’s always been adamant that no one’s hips move like yours do. 

He misses your joy. The way you sparkle when you’re happy. You used to smile like a kid in a candy shop anytime you watched your favourite movies or ate the ramen he’d made for you, but these days, the most you can muster is a small upquirk of the sides of your lips.

Hyuck wants to make you smile again. He’s just not sure how to do it. 

He knows you need time. Time heals all wounds, or so they say. He just wishes he could fast track your recovery.

Your bedroom door shuts and the spell of watching you is broken. Hyuck takes a deep breath, looking around the messy living room. There are blankets and pillows strewn all over, take out boxes from your day inside, tissues from when you’d cried. 

He’s not generally known to be the cleanest man around town, but Hyuck feels that in times like these, the least he can do is keep things tidy. He’s sure you’ll feel better to come out of your room every morning to a nice apartment, so he begins his work of collecting water cups and take away boxes. 

You’ve definitely lost your spark, and Hyuck thinks maybe he has too. He’s used to playing music loudly, using it as energy at all hours of the day, but tonight, while he cleans, he keeps things quiet. His head is full, and his ears are on edge, paying attention to the sounds coming from your room.

In those first days after the breakup, he’d heard you crying a lot, and he’s sure that barging into your room to give you a hug had cheered you up. He’s hoping it won’t be necessary today. 

As much as he loves hugging you, seeing you cry always makes him feel like someone is trying to tear open his chest and clench his heart. It’s an ache he doesn’t enjoy.

When you’d moved in together, he’d decided that as a girl - with monthly girl issues - you should have the bigger room with the connected bathroom, and he listens to the sound of you brushing your teeth and getting ready for bed. 

You begin to hum something, and Hyuck realizes it’s the first time he’s heard you sing since your breakup. 

Maybe tonight will be a good night.

Hyuck has moved all the clutter to the kitchen, and he begins to put stuff in the garbage and dishwasher while he listens to you hum. He thinks about the day you met, at uni orientation. He’d never become friends with someone so fast in his life, and when you’d discovered you had three of five classes together- well, he’s never looked back, not for one second.

He wonders how things would be different if he’d ever manned up and told you how he felt- how he feels- how his affection for you has only been growing and growing- 

Hyuck finds himself heading to the fridge and taking out a beer. He hasn’t been drinking much since you and Mark broke up, hasn’t needed the mind-numbing effects of alcohol, so when he takes a large swig, he finds that it immediately takes the edge off. 

He can’t be thinking about wifing you up right now- no matter how much he might wish to.

Although… as he leans against the sink and downs the can, grabbing another, he begins to wonder if offering himself up to you as a distraction really would be the worst thing in the world. 

Sure, it wouldn’t be the way he’d want to start things with you- but maybe he could make you fall in love with him and forget all about Mark Lee. However, in all honesty, he’d probably be risking your friendship. 

He’s played this mind game with himself too many times before, and Hyuck always finds himself at a stalemate. Frustration bubbles up inside and he looks out at the living room, determined to set himself back on the task of cleaning.

Hyuck throws the pillows onto the couch, and he even begins to fold up a blanket, and that’s when he hears a familiar sound.

You’ve never been the type to seek much affection, especially when you’re in your room, so whenever he’s caught you crying, it’s always started with a whimper.

What Hyuck’s just heard was definitely a whimper, and his whole body surges with white-hot, electric energy, his eyes darting to your door. His breath catches, and he tosses the blanket down to the ground, frozen as he waits for another sound of distress. 

A small gasp can be heard under the crack of your door, and Hyuck’s body bolts into action. He’s moving so fast he stumbles a little over his own feet just as he reaches your room, and he wonders if drinking two beers was a good idea. His hand lands on your door, and he knocks aggressively.

“You okay in there, gorgeous?” he calls.

“I’m fine!” you respond, but there’s definitely an edge to your voice. 

He can tell something is wrong- can tell you’re lying to him, and in a split second, Hyuck is making a decision. 

“I’m coming in.”

You let out a small squeak of surprise, tearing your hand away from the toy still lodged inside of you so you can pull the blankets up around your shoulders, jaw dropping as your roommate barges into your room.

“Hyuck!”

He stands in the doorway, studying you, and you can see a look of confusion cross his face. “I thought I heard you crying.”

“I’m not crying!” you insist, core clenching around the dildo. “Get out!” 

Hyuck doesn’t move. “I definitely heard a whimper,” he insists.

Your heart is practically racing in your chest, and you’re very much aware of the pleasurable feeling still thrumming from your core. Cock warming was something you enjoyed doing with Mark, and the fact that you’re cock warming a toy while Hyuck stares at you is having a wholly unexpected effect on your entire body.

“People whimper for all sorts of reasons!” you say dumbly. “Leave!”

Hyuck tilts his head to the side, assessing you again. “You never speak to me like this.”

“You usually don’t just barge in here unannounced!” 

“Yes, I do,” Hyuck points out. “Why’s tonight different?”

“What do you mean-”

“Something is different,” he says, more firmly this time. His gaze dips, taking in the blanket still wrapped tightly around your form. “Wait…” you see the exact moment he realizes what you’re up to, and even from a few feet away, you see the way his pupils dilate. “Are you…”

“Hyuck-” you groan, lifting the blankets to hide your face, hoping he can’t see the shame that’s beginning to consume you.

“You are, aren’t you?” 

“Are what?” you ask, deciding to play dumb.

You can hear him scoff, and you peak from under the blanket just in time to see his signature eye roll. His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek, something he does when he’s getting annoyed, and you can feel yourself dripping down your dildo. 

He meets your gaze again. “I didn’t hear a vibrator, so let me guess…” You watch him swallow thickly. “The toy’s still inside of you, isn’t it?”

Curse him for knowing you so well.

Curse him for having a dirty mind.

And maybe most of all, curse yourself for being so stupidly turned on that you can’t even deny what he’s just said. All you can do is groan loudly, hiding again. 

“Do you want me to leave?” he asks after a beat of silence.

“Yes!”

You hear him click his tongue. “Come on, gorgeous. We both know I can tell when you lie to me. We’ve been friends for years, you don’t have to be… ashamed about this.”

But shame is exactly what you’re feeling, and his words don’t help at all. 

“Please, just leave,” you sigh, so embarrassed you think you might actually die.

“What if… what if I helped you out a little?”

His words hang in the air, and your room feels thick with tension. You’re acutely aware of the toy still pressed between your thighs.  

“Look,” Hyuck says, voice softer, “I hate seeing you cry- but seeing you cry about something good might make us both feel better.” 

“You’re being crazy.” You peak out at him. “We’re roommates- Mark is one of your best friends-”

“I’ve known you longer and I’m loyal to you,” Hyuck insists firmly. “And besides, stranger things have happened.”

“Yeah? Like what?” you can’t help but laugh a little, and the contraction of your stomach muscles pushes the toy slightly out of your core, making you groan at the loss.

From the look that crosses Hyuck’s face, he obviously notices your sound, and you watch his tongue dart out to wet his lips. “For one, the fact that you even dated Mark was a little crazy.”

“He’s a nice guy.”

“But nice doesn’t fill you up at night. Nice doesn’t make you cum so hard you feel it through your whole body.” Hyuck holds up a hand. “And before you try to tell me Mark was good in bed, remember that I have a room next to yours. Mark is a nice guy, but that doesn’t mean he can fuck. Not the way you deserve.” 

You shift in your bed, sitting up a little to address your roommate. “Yeah? And how do I deserve to be fucked?” 

“You deserve someone who’s going to worship every inch of you. Someone who’s going to make you cum over and over- make you gush so good you’re begging for it, begging to finally get dicked down so hard you can’t even walk after. Someone who makes you cry for all the right reasons.” 

You stare at Hyuck. 

You’re not even sure what to say. 

He’s never talked like this to you, ever- at least, not in your waking hours.

You’ve had dreams about his sharp tongue, his long fingers, and his big cock- but never gave credence to your lustful fantasies. Hyuck’s always just been a friend- 

“Why now?” you find yourself asking. “After all this time-”

“I’m tired of watching you hurt over something I might be able to help you fix.”

“So cock is the fix to a broken heart?” 

“Gorgeous, I think we both know that what I’m offering you is more than cock.”

“Right, I’m guessing tongue and fingers-”

Hyuck gives you an unimpressed look. “Are you really going to make me say it?”

“Say what?”

“That I’m super into you? That I’ve been into you since we met? That it killed me to watch you be with Mark when I knew you should have been with me?” 

“Hyuck-” you breathe, feeling even more whiplash from these words than his dirty talk.

“Look, you don’t have to say anything about that stupid feels shit, just… just let me take care of you tonight.”

“What if we regret it?” You press your thighs together, keeping the toy just inside of you while you begin to fidget with your blanket. “What if it ruins our friendship?”

“I’ve asked myself that same question for years,” Hyuck admits. “But… after looking at you now- I really don’t think that’s something we have to worry about.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I’m about to make you cum so hard you forget about every other man in your life.”

“Promise?”

He nods. “Promise.” 

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Hyuck lets out a small laugh. “So… you going to lift those covers and let me see what I’m dealing with or…?”

“God,” you groan, hiding your face in your hands. “This is so embarrassing.”

“I call you gorgeous for a reason, don’t I?” Hyuck grins. “Come on, I wanna see.”

You grab at the blankets, taking a deep breath. Then you start to move them off your body.

Your roommate watches your every movement, dipping his head to focus as you lift the fabric covering your feet, then your calves-

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” you tell him.

“Yeah, me neither,” Hyuck admits. “I’ve been waiting so long to see you like this.” 

His words make your stomach erupt in butterflies, and you feel the toy still half wedged in your core. “Should I… should I remove the dildo first?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I wanna see that too.” His eyes meet yours. “Don’t be embarrassed. You’re so fucking hot, I’m already hard.”

He reaches a hand down to cup the front of his sweatpants, and you realize he’s not lying. You can see the impressive print of his cock pressing against the fabric, and it makes your mouth water. It also gives you the confidence to fully reveal yourself to his hungry eyes, and the moment he sees you, Hyuck lets out a deep groan.

“Shit, gorgeous,” Hyuck says, letting out a deep breath. “You’re even more perfect than I’ve imagined.”

His words make you feel shy, and you close your legs, only for Hyuck to press a knee to the bed, both hands reaching out to prompt your thighs back open. 

“Don’t hide from me,” he warns, and there’s an edge to his tone. He’s still being soft with you, his touch gentle, but there’s an obvious hunger rising inside of him. “Tell me about this toy.”

“Well, I uh…” you search for your words. “It’s one of the first ones I ever bought-”

“It’s small,” Hyuck notes, which is kind of funny considering it’s Mark sized. “Can I use it on you?”

“You want to fuck me with the toy?” You blink at your long term friend and roommate.

“Gotta stretch you out to take something bigger.” Hyuck smirks devilishly, and your pussy throbs- he’s definitely bigger than Mark and the toy still half lodged inside of you. You can’t wait to find out how much bigger. 

“You can-” you bite at your lip, “you can fuck me with it.”

“Good girl,” Hyuck praises you, and you can feel yourself practically dripping around the dildo now.

You hold your breath in anticipation while Hyuck gets settled on the foot of the bed. His warm palms smooth over your thighs, forcing you wider, and then his fingers grab the base of the toy. “Do you like it slow?”

“I think… to start off with?” You feel too hazy to be able to answer questions, and he hasn’t even started with you. “But… when you fuck me, can you go fast, please?”

“Of course, gorgeous. I can do anything you want,” he assures you, applying pressure to the toy so it begins to lodge deeper inside of you. You let out a small sigh and Hyuck looks up at you, grinning. “You’re so wet, babe, making this too fucking easy.”

“It’s not my fault-” you defend yourself, voice shaky. 

“It’s mine, isn’t it?” His smile widens. “Talking dirty gets you going, huh, gorgeous?”

You nod, resting your head back against the pillows and closing your eyes to enjoy the feeling of him beginning to work the toy in and out of your pussy. 

“Bet Mark’s dirty talk game was weak,” Hyuck says under his breath.

You don’t have it in you to agree with him, although… he’s correct. Something tells you he knows it too, because he lets out a small chuckle. 

Hyuck’s using his right hand to fuck you with the toy, and his left moves from your thigh. A moment later, his thumb is rubbing gentle circles on your clit and your toes curl from the stimulation. A gentle gasp escapes you and you can practically hear Hyuck smile.

“Feels good?” he prompts.

“So good,” you nod. You need something to hold onto, so you grab at the one piece of clothing on your body, a night shirt, which you lift up your to your abdomen, giving Hyuck more room to work. 

He rubs your clit harder and you let out a whine, feeling the familiar build of tension in the pit of your stomach.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” Hyuck tells you, and you can feel his breath on your pussy which makes you twitch. “God, I could watch you squirm like this all night.”

“Please-”

“Please what?” 

You don’t even know. All you know is listening to the squelching sound of the toy going in and out of you while his thumb rubs your clit is driving you insane.

“I want to kiss you,” you decide, realizing Hyuck’s about to make you cum and you haven’t even really gotten a taste of him. 

Hyuck stops what he’s doing immediately, manuevering up the bed so he’s on top of you, one hand pressed to the pillow while he looks down at you.

“Hi, gorgeous,” he grins.

Your hands explore his shoulders and one snakes into his hair, then you’re tugging his mouth down to your own. Hyuck’s gentle with you at first, but when you go to bite on his lower lip, he groans loudly. His tongue darts out to brush against your own, and the kiss deepens. 

You’re done with your toy. You want to feel him, and you reach between your bodies to remove the dildo, pulling it out and tossing it onto the floor next to the bed.

Hyuck breaks your kiss to look at the wet toy on the ground, and he lets out a small laugh, gaze returning to your own. “Why’d you do that?”

“I want you.”

“Yeah?” His hand slips between your forms, and two digits stroke the length of your pussy, making you moan. “Want me to make you cum all over my fingers?”

You nod, grabbing at the front of his shirt, tugging his mouth back to yours while he buries himself into you knuckle deep.

He strokes your walls, and the feeling is absolutely delightful, especially when he angles his hand, palm pressing to your clit while he seeks out your gspot. 

His lips are hot against your own, and they don’t muffle the sound of pleasure escaping you. 

Hyuck’s a bit of a gamer, but you never really realized his fingers could feel this good- 

“Shit, gorgeous,” he groans, breaking the kiss to move his mouth to your throat, where he lets out deep breaths. “You’re dripping all over my hand.”

“I’m so close-” you confess, gripping his shoulders tighter while he finger fucks you even harder, chasing your release.

“You’ll be a good girl and cum for me, right?” Hyuck prompts, which makes you mewl. “Yeah, you’ve always been such a good girl, gonna be good and cum all over my fingers-”

His words make you throb, and he applies more pressure to your clit with his palm. His lips press kisses to your neck and he finds your sweetspot, making everything feel all the more intense.

You’re on the edge, and you let out a loud gasp, clenching your eyes shut in anticipation.

“Cum for me, gorgeous. Come on, I wanna feel you.”

His words make the cord in your stomach snap, and your body is flooded with the pleasure of your release. You feel it everywhere, and it makes you cry out while holding onto him tighter. His hand continues between your thighs, fingers unrelenting, palm heavy on your clit. 

Hyuck works you through your orgasm until you’re gasping and pushing at his shoulders, and then he straightens a little, motions stopping while he looks down at you. “Did you enjoy that?”

You can’t help but laugh, rolling your eyes a little. “You know I did.”

“Yeah, but you could still stroke my ego a little.”

“Stroke your ego?” You reach for his cock, gripping him through his sweats. “Like this?”

Hyuck lets out a low groan, thrusting forward to meet your hand. “As much as I’d love to watch you jack me off- tonight I’m here to make you feel better, and I’m not anywhere near being done with you yet.”

You’d never realized Hyuck had any self control, and you watch in shock as he gently moves your hand away.

“I’m going to eat you out now,” he tells you, slipping down the bed so he’s on his stomach between your legs. Hyuck spreads you open, gently kissing your inner thigh before looking up at you. “You good with this?”

“Uh huh,” you breathe, swallowing thickly as you prepare yourself for his tongue. “I’m still sensitive though.”

“I’ll go easy on you,” Hyuck promises, pressing a very soft kiss to your clit. “I can be gentle, contrary to popular belief.” 

You can’t help but let out a giggle, but the sound is cut short when Hyuck unexpectedly buries his face between your thighs. His tongue presses into your hole and the feeling has your legs quaking as he adjusts them over his shoulders, trying to dive even deeper.

“Shit, Hyuck-” you whimper, grabbing at his hair.

He’s always been a bit of a liar- maybe you shouldn’t have believed him when he said he’d go easy on you. But… at the same time, the way his nose repeatedly bumps your clit has a fire building in your abdomen again, and you really aren’t even that mad about it.

You can feel Hyuck smile against you, and it’s such a turn on to know he’s enjoying himself while providing you with pleasure. Mark had always been somewhat rigid in your sexual interactions, much more serious than the grinning cheshire cat between your legs now. 

Where Mark had been slow and tentative, Hyuck’s eager and passionate. He switches between lapping at your hole, sucking your clit, and pushing his tongue into you as deep as it can go, licking at your walls and working you up way faster than anyone else ever has in your entire life.

Then he begins to groan, and you realize he’s grinding against the bed-

Is eating you out really that sexy for him? 

You feel another gush of wetness from the thought and your pussy throbs, warning you both that you’re close again. Hyuck responds by adjusting ever so slightly, lips wrapping around your clit while he pushes a hand to your entrance, slipping two fingers inside.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum-” you gasp, back arching off the bed while the cord in your stomach is pulled unbelievably tight. 

Hyuck’s fingers twist in and out of your hole, and he licks at your clit in the most sloppy manner- it’s enough to have you exploding, a cry of pleasure escaping you while your core clamps down on your roommate. 

He groans loudly, sinfully, and the vibration against your clit has your legs shaking around his head, orgasm pulsing deep through your entire being. 

You’re practically crying at this point, and you can feel tears even while you clench your eyes shut, taking everything Hyuck’s giving you while moaning like a whore- you’ve never sounded this way, and there’s something almost addicting about the noises being torn out of you.

You know he feels it too, because Hyuck is completely unrelenting. If anything, he’s even more sloppy with the way he worships your pussy, fingers crooking up expertly-

You’re literally gushing around him, and you can feel it, can feel that your bed is going to be ruined after this. But you can’t bring yourself to care. All you can do is grab at your sheets, crying to the ceiling while your best friend makes you feel pleasure so intense that you can’t even think. 

He’s fulfilled his promise about making you cry for good reasons… and he hasn’t even taken his cock out yet.

You’ve never been this needy in your entire life, and when he pulls away from your core, allowing you to catch your breath, you peak out at him from under wet lashes. 

“You’re literally perfect,” he tells you, voice deep. His pupils are completely blown now and he’s breathing as heavily as you are.

You watch him bring glistening fingers up to his lips, slowly sucking them clean and moaning loudly at the taste of you before he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Fuck, and you’re already crying-” Hyuck sits up, leaning over you and reaching out to brush some of your tears away. “God, you’re fucking beautiful.” 

“Hyuck-” you whimper, shocked that you’re choking up.

Your body is still being flooded with emotion and sensations. Your nipples are hard under your shirt and the fabric is becoming uncomfortable, making you more sensitive-

“Going to let me take care of you now, right, gorgeous?” he asks, pinching at your chin and leaning in to kiss you softly.

“Please-” You grab at your shirt and Hyuck follows through by helping you take it off.

You’re now fully revealed to him, and your best friend sits back to appreciate you, letting out a deep breath. 

“Mark’s so fucking stupid for letting you go,” Hyuck says.

His words are bitter sweet, and in your overstimulated state, you find your lower lip wobbling as you hold back a choked sob. 

“Shh,” Hyuck whispers, reaching out to cup your cheek. “It’s better to be with someone who knows your worth, like I do. I’d never fucking treat you the way he did- I promise.”

The look on his face is so intense, and you know he’s telling you the truth.

Your body relaxes a little- Hyuck really is such a good guy, and what he’s doing for you helps more than he’ll probably ever know. He’s making you feel sexy again, making you feel needed and wanted and maybe even loved. 

“Besides,” Hyuck clears his throat, taking off his own shirt, “I’m going to fuck you so good you’ll forget all about that asshole.”

You can’t help but laugh sadly, wiping at your own face to get rid of the last tears while you watch Hyuck move to work on his sweats. 

When he pushes the waistband down, revealing his cock, you think you might actually faint.

You’ve always thought Hyuck was a pretty guy, sexy of course, but pretty too- and his cock? It’s as stupidly pretty as the rest of him.

He must be a little over seven inches, and he’s girthy too-

You can feel yourself practically drooling as you look at him, and Hyuck smirks at your reaction. “Sure you’re ready for this, gorgeous?”

“If you don’t fuck me I think I might die.”

He laughs at your words. “Then I guess I better fuck you.”

“Should we…” you bite at your lip. “Do we need condoms?”

“Babe,” Hyuck scoffs. “Babe- we’re both clean, right? And I know you’re on birth control… do you want me to wear a condom? I always kind of imagined you’d be the kind of girl who wants to be full.”

How many times has he imagined this, you wonder. 

But he’s right. You want him to fill you up like no one else has.

“Come here,” you say, holding open your arms while he kicks his sweats off.

Hyuck’s hands find the pillows by your head and he slots himself between your legs, lips pressing against your own.

You thread your fingers through his soft brown hair, kissing him eagerly. You want to get lost in him, and it’s easy to do that when he begins to rut his cock against your pussy, bumping your clit and making your thighs shake around his hips.

“Just fuck me,” you groan, already feeling so unbelievably needy.

Hyuck smirks against your lips, pulling away to look down at you with mischief in his eyes. “You’re so fucking hot it’s insane.”

“Then why aren’t you inside me yet?”

He moans a little, dipping his head to look between your bodies while he reaches for the base of his cock, lining himself up with your hole. “If it hurts, I’ll stop.”

You’re about to scoff and tell him he’s not that big when he pushes his head into your entrance and a gasp leaves your lips. The stretch is very real, and you wrap your arms tighter around his shoulders, closing your eyes and focusing on getting your body to relax.

You can practically feel your pussy struggling to make room for him, and even though you’re as wet as a fucking slip and slide, it’s still a little difficult for him to push in inch after inch-

“Fuck,” you whimper, and Hyuck rewards you by burying his face in your throat, peppering your skin in kisses. The soft feeling of his lips is enough to distract you from the intrusion opening up your pussy, and soon his hips are flush against your own, making you both release groans of pleasure.

“You ready for this?” Hyuck asks.

“God, yes-” 

He reaches for your hand, pressing it to the pillow and threading your fingers. Then he kisses you softly-

When he begins to rut into you, it’s anything but soft.

Hyuck’s motions are calculated and rough, the tip of his cock hitting a spot deep inside of you that has you squeezing his hand. You’d be cussing if it weren’t for his hot lips against your own, lips that have gotten increasingly demanding, his tongue stroking yours while you gasp.

It feels amazing- like, truly. You’ve never been fucked like this, and he’s only just started.

He stops kissing you, breathing heavily while he fucks you even harder. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“You’re literally balls deep inside of me,” you nearly laugh. “You can ask me anything.”

“I’m just,” Hyuck groans, squeezing your hand. “Did you ever think about me when you were fucking Mark?”

Your pussy clenches at the question, from shock or hornyness, you’re not sure. 

“I-”

“You did, didn’t you?” Hyuck grins. “Don’t think I didn’t just feel you get super fucking tight around me- God, you are dirty like me, aren’t you, gorgeous? I thought… thought that when you started dating soft boy Mark, maybe you were more vanilla, but that’s not you, is it?”

“No-”

“You like to get fucked, properly, don’t you, babe?” Hyuck continues.

“Fuck, yes-”

“And Mark didn’t know how to do that for you, did he? Mark didn’t know how to make you wet like this, didn’t know how to make you cry or scream or beg-”

You can’t bring yourself to verbally slander Mark while Hyuck’s fucking you like a wild man, so instead you just shake your head. Your confirmation makes Hyuck grin, and he fucks you even harder, the whole bed rocking while the sound of skin on skin fills the room. 

“You know what? Enough about Mark. Forget him. You don’t need him anymore.” Hyuck’s mouth is hot on your neck and his words make you shiver as he moves to suck your earlobe. “You only need me. You only need me, I promise.” 

Hyuck lets go of your hand and you’re about to argue with him about it when he shoves his fingers between your bodies, rubbing at your clit while he fucks you.

“Hyuck!” you whimper, writhing beneath him.

“That’s it gorgeous. I wanna ruin you for anyone else. After this, no one’s going to make you cum like I can.” He’s groaning now, voice all breathy and super sexy- “If I make you cum three times the first time I fuck you, that means you’re mine right?”

You moan loudly at the idea, grabbing his shoulders while he works you closer and closer to yet another orgasm that you have no doubt will be as mind blowing as the first two. 

“Tell me you’re mine,” Hyuck says, voice gruffer now. “Fuck, gorgeous, I want you so badly- just say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you gasp when he applies more pressure to your clit.

“That’s my girl,” Hyuck smiles against your neck. “You’ll let me mark you right? Let me suck some pretty bruises into your skin so every time you look in the mirror you know your roommate fucks you right-”

His tongue darts out, licking a stripe of your throat before his lips press to your sweet spot. He suctions his mouth onto you, teeth grazing your skin and causing you to cry out while you move your hands to tug on his hair.

Hyuck lets out a sinful groan when you pull gently on his soft brown strands, but he doesn’t let up. He’s entirely focused on you and your pleasure, cock continuing to rearrange your insides while his fingers abuse your nearly overstimulated clit-

“I’m so close-” you whimper, eyes closed as your body once again approaches the edge with startling speed. 

“Yeah?” Hyuck moves away from your neck and you get the sense that he’s looking down at you. “Gonna cum on this cock and let me fill you up? Gonna let me breed you like the good girl you are? Make you so stupidly full that you’re fucking dripping?”

“Yes, fuck, Hyuck, please-” You’re on the verge of tears again, whole body thrumming with energy-

“Then cum for me. Let me fucking feel you.” 

You twitch from his words, and then you’re falling over the edge, gasping and clawing at him while you’re overcome with ecstasy. You’re not sure if it’s because this is your third orgasm, or if it’s because his cock is balls deep inside of you, but this orgasm is the most intense of them all.

You’re reduced to a completely primal side of yourself, brain short circuiting while your body takes over. There are no thoughts, only the attempt to process all the pleasure that’s flowing through you like a river that’s broken through a dam. 

The sounds escaping you are unlike anything that has ever come from your vocal cords, and Hyuck is also cumming, groaning loudly as he presses his lips to yours. His tongue is hot as it licks at your bottom lip, and his thrusts are erratic. 

He takes his hand away from your clit in favour of finding yours again, fingers locking while he squeezes you. You can feel the passion radiating off of him, can feel that this won’t be a one time thing and you both know it.

Hyuck takes care of you through your orgasms until you’re both finished, and his motions begin to slow until he’s simply half laying on top of you, his kisses much more gentle as you gasp into each others mouths. 

His hips are flush against your own, keeping his cum inside of you while you make out. His body is warm and it almost feels like a security blanket draped across your own. Hyuck’s fingers are still tangled with yours, and it feels nice just to be holding someone’s hand again.

“Fuck, gorgeous,” Hyuck groans, pulling away from your lips, “if we keep kissing I might have to fuck you again, and I don’t think you could take another orgasm.”

“Not tonight,” you agree, blinking up at your roommate. 

It’s like you’re seeing him in a new light, and you assess the soft details of his features. He really is a beautiful man.

“And we ruined your bed,” Hyuck says with a grin. “You were squirting earlier and your sheets are too wet to sleep in, so I guess that means you’re coming to my room tonight.”

“You want me to sleep with you?” you nearly laugh.

“I’d honestly be offended if you didn’t.” He lets go of your hand, pushing himself off of you. “I didn’t get to touch your tits at all, and I’d like to have something to grab onto when we sleep.”

“God, you’re such a menace,” you giggle, pushing at his chest.

“You love it,” Hyuck insists, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your lips. “Come on, we should shower.”

“So we’re showering together now too? Weren’t you the guy who said Mark was being clingy by wanting to see me every day when we started dating?”

“It’s clingy when Mark does it,” Hyuck notes. “When I do it, it’s endearing and charming and sexy-”

“Sure it is,” you say sarcastically, shaking your head at him.

“What happened to my good girl?” Hyuck teases. “If you keep talking back, I might be tempted to ruin you in the shower.”

Now that you’re thinking about it, that doesn’t actually sound like the worst thing in the world.

“Fine, let’s go,” you concede, letting out a sigh.

There’s so much you could say about what has just taken place, but one thing you can state with confidence is that you do feel better. Hyuck had made you forget about Mark, if only for a short while before he started shit talking his friend- but, his words of slander hadn’t actually made you mad or sad or upset- they’d actually kind of had the opposite effect.

Life will go on after Mark Lee, and Hyuck’s made you realize that.

In fact, maybe your life after Mark will go on with Hyuck. 

Maybe it was always meant to be this way. 

You’re too tired to think about these big ideas in detail tonight, not after everything that’s just happened. Instead, you allow yourself to live in the moment, allow your roommate to take care of you the way he always has.

For now, this is more than enough. 

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! I'm back in my Hyuck feels again

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🔮 preview. “So perfect,” Hyuck tells you, reaching his hands up to cup your breasts.  Before he can dive in, however, you press the ice pack to his face again and he winces below you. A scowl forms, and he glares into your eyes. “Maybe I don’t like it when you take care of me.”

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, thigh riding, multiple reader orgasms, dirty talk, praise, claim kink, boob worship, big dick Hyuck, sex in on the living room couch, physical altercation between new boy and ex, overstim, holding off an orgasm, cumming together, light spanking, etc… I pet names: (hers) gorgeous, babe .

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 3.9k I teaser wc. 220

🌙 staring. Haechan x afab!reader

bonus

“Dude,” Jeno sighs, staring at the man sitting on his couch. “You did not-”

“Except that I did,” Hyuck smirks. “You should be happy for me.”

“Is that what you’re going to say to Mark after you tell him you fucked his ex?” Renjun asks, narrowing his eyes at their naughtiest friend. 

“Actually,” Hyuck sighs, leaning back against the couch, “I think we shouldn’t tell Mark, not yet at least.”

“So now you’re making us all culpable in your bullshit,” Renjun groans loudly, rolling his eyes. 

Hyuck gaze shifts from the angry aries to Jaemin, who’s yet to say anything since Hyuck’s big reveal. “You’re cool with this, aren’t you?”

“I mean…” Jaemin cocks his head to the side, “you have wanted to be with her for years-” 

“See, Jaemin gets it!” Hyuck grins, eyes turning to his part time gym buddy next. “And Jeno? You understand where I’m coming from, don’t you?”

“Mark is not going to be happy about this,” Jeno frowns.

“And I wasn’t happy when he started dating my roommate crush,” Hyuck states, “or when he broke up with her unexpectedly.”

“Don’t lie,” Renjun scoffs, “we all know you probably celebrated when they ended things.”

“Only a little,” Hyuck confesses, grinning again. “Okay but for real,” his expression turns serious, “guys, I think I love her.”

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[mistiell]

I'm Starvin', Darlin'

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Summary: Spencer realizes how touch starved he is when you, the newest member of the BAU, develop a habit of casually touching him throughout the day.

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Fluff, mutual pining, bit of a misunderstanding towards the end, this hasn't been proofread so I might come back to correct some things later

A/N: So, I have been like, completely MIA for the passed few months, and I apologize for that. Life has been hectic and I haven't had any motivation. However, I'm back now! At least for a little while. This is my first fic for Spencer but I hope to write more for him in the future. There'l definitely be a part two to this sometime in the future, so look out for that.

Part 2

Spencer has never been one for physical affection.

Logically he knows that he needs a certain amount of it to survive, and he doesn’t particularly mind it anymore when Morgan claps him on the back or when he has to shake somebody’s hand. But when he’s pulled in for a hug, there’s this weird sort of anxiety that makes him worry about whether or not he’s holding on too tight or how long he can stay there without making it awkward. He’ll endure it if he thinks a hug would be the best way to comfort someone, but typically, he avoids them altogether.

That was, until you came along.

It was sunny out, and for the first time in a while, the blinds in the bullpen were pulled open to let the sun shine in. Spencer was sitting at his desk, flipping through his mound of paperwork when JJ had led you over to your new desk, right across from his. JJ had caught his attention to introduce you, but the moment he laid eyes on you, whatever she was saying went in one ear and out the other

You had to be the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his entire life. 

“Spence.” JJ’s voice snapped him back into reality and he was suddenly acutely aware of how long he’d been staring.

“Hm?” You’d giggled at his dumbstruck expression and he swore he’d do anything to make you laugh like that again.

JJ stared at him expectantly for a few seconds before rolling her eyes and gesturing to you again, “I said, this is Agent L/n. She’s our newest member.”

“Oh, right, um, I’m Sp-Spencer Reid. Er– Doctor Spencer Reid.” He was halfway through mentally berating himself when you smiled oh so kindly at him, extending your hand.

“Y/n L/n. It’s nice to meet you, doctor.”

“Oh, um, you can just call me Reid.” 

“Right.” You very obviously looked him up and down in a way that made his heart race, “Reid.”

And then you sat down at your desk.

And he had to sit there and pretend he wasn’t utterly and entirely flustered by that tiny, microscopic interaction.

He came to realize about a month into your friendship that you were a touchy person by nature. You’d touch his arm when he made you laugh and sometimes you’d squeeze his shoulder before you sat down next to him at the round table. Six months into your career there and you’d gotten comfortable enough that you’d hug most of them when you showed up for drinks outside of work and playfully pinch Morgan’s arm or side when he got a little too brazen with his flirting. Sometimes you’d bump Spencer’s shoulder to tease him. It took a few times to get used to it, but eventually he started bumping you back.

Actually, he found that the more you touched him, the less he seemed to dislike it. In fact, he finds himself waiting for those casual displays of affection. Every time your skin meets his, he feels warm, revitalized. 

Which is why on one particularly late night, when he’s utterly exhausted and the two of you are the only ones in the office, he feels comfortable enough to do what he’s about to do.

He thinks about it for a long while, never one to do anything like this without properly thinking it through. He’s just so tired and this case was so draining that, as pathetic as he thinks it is, he finds himself wanting to ask for a hug.

He won’t. He’s not that confident yet. But he thinks that maybe there’s another way to get away with touching you in some capacity.

So he rolls his chair over to your desk, attempting to casually plop down next to you so his side is practically pressed against yours. To his surprise, it actually works, though his casual “plop” is more like a rather awkward “slip-and-almost-accidentally-knock-you-over”. But you don’t mind. Instead, you laugh and bump his shoulder a lot more gently than he bumped you.

“Watch it, clumsy.”

“Sorry.” He chuckles, awkwardly clearing his throat, “What are you working on?”

“The mountain of paperwork that’s been accumulating since I got here.” You huff a short, embarrassed puff of laughter as you glance down at a notepad he hadn’t noticed, “That, and doodling.”

“Doodling what?” He asks, though he wonders how much he’s actually going to be able to pay attention when he’s so focused on how warm your thigh and shoulder feel against his.

“Oh, um,” Is he crazy or are you blushing? “It’s embarrassing.”

“I won’t judge.” After a split second of deliberation, he gently shifts his weight into his shoulder to nudge you just a little.

“Promise?” You smile shyly and he can’t help but smile back.

“Promise.”

There’s a second where you hesitate before sliding the pad over for him to see. He uses his middle and index finger to drag it over a little more and what he’s met with makes his cheeks warm and his heart flutter about in his chest.

It’s him. 

You’ve drawn him at just about every angle, and in such detail that he wonders if you were trying to downplay your abilities or if this is really your definition of doodling. It’s clear you’ve done most of these by memory only because he’s had his head bent over his desk for the past few hours, and most of these are full views of his face. They’re unbelievably accurate, and he realizes you must look at him enough to have his facial features memorized.

“I-I know they’re not great, and I messed up your lips in a couple, but, uh–.”

“Wow.” He breathes in such genuine wonder that you cut yourself off. He looks up at you, a strange, viscous warmth weaving in between his ribs and settling to swirl in his stomach in such a way that it makes him feel a little sick. But, even more strangely, in a good way. He catches himself staring and quickly looks back at your artwork with a flustered smile, “I-I’m flattered. This is… I mean, you’re amazing.”

The moment the words leave his mouth, heat creeps up his neck and he rushes to correct himself, “I-I mean your work is amazing. Not that you aren’t amazing, because you are, but–.”

“Spence.” This time, it’s his turn to cut himself off. That’s the first time you’ve ever called him that.

And fuck, if he isn’t a goner.

You place your hand over his and his heart leaps into his throat, “Thank you.”

“Y-Yeah.” He’s so lost in your eyes that it comes out a whisper. With a little flush of confidence, he turns his hand palm up in yours to squeeze your fingers before hastily pulling away to avoid you noticing how clammy his hands are.

After that night, he finds himself seeking you out a lot more. Knocking his knee against yours under the table, tapping you to get your attention rather than just calling your name. 

It isn’t until you’re both out with the team that he realizes he hasn’t been as discreet as he thought he’d been. He’s had a few drinks and is a little more than tipsy, which is never a good thing with how much alcohol loosens his lips. Especially when you’re sitting right next to him, definitely more sober than he is. 

“Pretty boy, when did you get so comfortable with people touching you?” Derek asks, earning a rather confused look from the man in question. Before he gets a chance to respond, you’re asking exactly what he’d been thinking.

“What do you mean?” By the way he’s looking between the two of you, Spencer assumes Derek is referring to the way you’re pressed against his side – or rather, how he’s pressed against yours, considering he’s the one who leaned practically his whole body weight into your side the moment you sat down.

“You don’t know?” Emily asks, and you shake your head, “He doesn’t like touching anyone.” A knowing smirk creeps up on her face as she locks eyes with him, “Or at least he normally doesn’t.”

“Oh.” Is all you say in response. He doesn’t like the sadness in your tone, and he especially dislikes the way you shift away from him to give him space. There’s a rather startling urge to wrap his arm around you and pull you back to him, but he shuts that down immediately, not wanting to make you uncomfortable.

“Do you remember that time he dodged a handshake by telling the guy it would be safer for them to kiss?” Penelope giggles, clearly drunk at this point.

“You weren’t even there.” Spencer counters, laughing a little to diffuse the tension. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye and notices that your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

You’re a little too quiet the rest of the night. At one point, you leave for the bathroom and when you return, you slide your purse in between the two of you to keep a safe distance. 

He hates it.

He hates it even more when you stop him outside the bar with an apologetic look on your face as you’re all leaving.

“Hey, Spence?”

He swallows the butterflies in his throat that surface at the nickname, “Yeah?”

“I, uh,” You clear your throat awkwardly, “I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you uncomfortable with all the, um… touching.”

He opens his mouth to tell you he really, really doesn’t mind it, but you accidentally cut him off, “I didn’t even consider that you might not be comfortable with it, and that was really inconsiderate of me. Now that I know, you don’t have to worry about it anymore. I’ll be sure to uh, keep my hands to myself.” You titter, glancing at your shoes sheepishly.

“Oh, it’s okay–.” He’s cut off again, this time by Emily, who’s yours and Garcia’s designated driver for the evening. “L/n! You coming?” She calls with a smile.

“Yeah!” You call back, before turning back to him. He watches you almost lean in for a hug, and a pang of disappointment stabs at his chest when you stop yourself in favour of nodding at him with a smile, “I’ll see you next week, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Is all he has time to say before you’re climbing into the backseat of Emily’s car.

He is seriously dreading going into work on Monday.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n

[bakugoushotwife]

kinktober day four: voyeurism kink

>>> guys can you tell i have a choso fantasy or do i need to write another five thousand word fic to prove it i'm sobbing and actually in love with him fr. it took me days to write this bc i was just too feral.

>>> starring: choso kamo x curvy!fem!reader >>> cw: roommate choso, hung like a horse choso, virgin choso, voyeurism clearly, petnames, masturbation, cowgirl, implied multiple rounds, choso whimpers you're so welcome, choso smokes a blunt grow up >>> wc: 4.8k >>> event masterlist

this whole roommate ordeal seemed easy enough. you had a spare room in your condo, yuji had a spare brother that needed a place to stay after graduation. it worked out perfectly, as you weren’t too keen on having a rando move in. though the half-curse was little more than that, really. you had only come in contact with choso briefly, seeing him move through the halls of jujutsu tech in search of the very brother that recommended him to you. he was intimidating, tall and broad with a look of disinterest across his face every time you ran into him. yuji had told you that he wasn’t necessarily unfriendly, just unsure, so you were weary to approach him once he moved into the spare room. you didn’t want to overdo it, you would hate to make him uncomfortable with all these changes he was getting accustomed to. so for the first three months or so, you two would only exchange pleasantries and nod respectfully, two strangers sharing an address and lingering curious stares. then, one morning you offered to make him breakfast, and you two settled into a comfortable friendship after that. 

Nowadays, nearly a year later, the living area was actually used and shared. you watched recommended shows together, introduced each other to your favorite movies, and oftentimes just sat in each other’s presence on the couch; on your phones, playing nintendo switch games, or passing choso’s best attempt at a blunt between you while shit talking your neighbors with your legs in his lap. you even encouraged him to invest in a real gaming setup, where he plays a host of different games for hours while you sit contently in the bean bag chair stationed nearby in his room, reading or crafting or just watching from time to time. the more comfortable he became, the more fun he was to be around. he was no longer shy to ask you to sit with him while he plays or to inquire about your latest book and his smiles and conversations flowed more freely. 

he enjoys your presence. it’s easy to be around you. he wonders why. even with all the progress he had made with you, he was still terribly awkward around new people and his social battery was limited. he never got tired of hanging out with you though, in fact, he craves it always. yuji says that it’s because you’re pretty, which choso can’t disagree with, though his brother’s statement irritates him for no good reason. 

he finds himself wondering if his brother knows you the way he does, silly things about you like which animal crossing character you would reincarnate as or the fact you hate grape flavored anything—it all tastes like cough syrup!--he can hear you say. no, he gets to see the real you, the one you reserve just for him. so yuji can think you’re pretty all he wants, but he’s the one who gets to see your breathtaking smiles in reaction to something he said.

“bro?! still there–or are you too busy being jealous?” yuji snickers, relishing in the match he made. he knew choso would wake up with a babe like you walking around. 

“you’re a child. and a dick.” he huffs, aggravated by his spacey sibling’s acute sense of his feelings. “goodbye.” he taps to end their weekly gaming marathon facetime two hours short out of annoyance, confronted with the silence of his bedroom and his questioning thoughts about you. jealous? as much as he hated to admit it, maybe he was. he couldn't even picture the thought of you being with someone else, try as he might. did that mean he wanted to be that person? your person? he’s so confused, but he knows even if he’s embarrassed he can talk to you about it. you could help him work through his feelings and come to a solution. even if the feelings were about you, he knows you would always be honest with him. he sighs, deciding to make his way to your room down the hall. 

you two didn’t spend a lot of time apart now that the bond had been created, and you were more than alright with that routine, because on fridays, choso holed up in his room for five straight hours to facetime yuji and play video games giving you some much needed time to yourself. you always started with a long and intricate shower, doing all your different exfoliants and masks. then you’d touch up your nails and give yourself a total spa treatment, finishing up by putting on your cutest little panties and releasing some of the pent up sexual frustration for your roommate that you keep under lock and key for the same reasons you were hesitant to cross into friendship territory all those months ago: you don’t want to scare him away. 

so you settle for your own small hands cupping your chest and pinching at your nipples, trying to picture him. It’s choso’s large and veiny hands that run down your sides and spread your legs instead of your own toying with your underwear. you can smell the versace eros cologne he wears wafting through your nose, almost able to hear his gravelly voice in your ear praising you for doing so good. it’s almost embarrassing how easy it is to conjure the image of him sinking between your thighs, lust pooling in his violet eyes. you’re soaked already, feeling the fabric of your panties sticking to your cunt just at your active imagination. you peel them off, hissing as cold air blows across your middle, but your fingers quickly find the heat of your hole, gathering that natural lube to flick your clit with. your eyes are closed—whining helplessly already at the sensation you bring yourself with him in mind. it’s nowhere near the real deal, but the bliss is good enough to lull pants of his name from your mouth, body light as air.

choso doesn’t think anything of your closed door. you told him you keep it closed to let him have his space, not wanting him to feel like you’re watching or eavesdropping on him while he’s on the phone. especially as he got close enough to reach for your door handle, hearing you call his name. you sounded…strained? in all honesty he was worried. so he doesn’t hesitate to push the door open a bit, peeking to check. his heart drops into his stomach at the sight of you naked on your bed. you’re stunning. he’s seen pictures of other women—and yuji showed him a few websites—but your body was second to none. his hand flew to cover his immediate hard on, shocked you hadn’t noticed him yet. fuck, you are gorgeous, one hand squeezing at your breast, the other playing around in that squelching noise he hears between your legs. he fights the urge to moan aloud or announce his presence, and he’s ashamed of himself. he feels like he’s betraying your trust, but his dick keeps growing in his pants at the chants of his name spilling out of your lips. he watches as your legs jerk and your head falls back against your pillow, making him think you were almost done. he had to get out before you saw him or felt his unique energy so close to you. he’s panting as he shuts the door quietly, turning the knob just so it wouldn’t alert you. 

his dick hurts as he makes it just one room down—the bathroom. perfect. he turns the shower on immediately, stripping his clothes off like they were on fire. he had set out to talk to you, to be completely honest about the thoughts he had been having, but seeing you like that did things to him words could not. he’s been horny before, of course, and dealt with that the way single human men do. but this—the desire coursing through his veins—this was different. so different. everything was clear now, he needed you. he stands with his back under the water, whimpering as his dick throbs to the mental image of your glistening pussy and blissed out face. he can’t help but close his fist around the his wide shaft, stuttering out a sigh in relief. he strokes himself to the same rhythm you moved your fingers, imagining how that pace would feel with your wet and warm cunt hugging him in instead of the rough surface of his hand. his other hand keeps him braced on the shower wall, steadying him through the searing heat the promises of your touch seem to be; to think that you were calling for him, thinking of him in the way he thinks of you now felt like a dream. he had to be hearing things, that’s the only excuse the man can summon. water beads down his biceps and chest, and it just makes his dirty deed all that much more so, fucking into his fist until his load is running down the side of the tub, the pearly beads getting swept away in the water and carried down the drain. he tosses his head back in the shower stream, his long black strands sticking to his face and neck as he tries to rinse away his shame. 

that night, choso doesn’t come out of his room to watch a movie with you before bed. you pout, but try not to linger on it too long. maybe yuji took a lot out of him today, or they didn’t have a successful time on and he was moody. either way, you weren’t going to bother him. you hang out on the couch like usual with the hopes that he would emerge soon, but as your bedtime nears and everything remains still, you slink off to your room with a sour mood to end an otherwise normal day.

as the days pass, choso’s behavior gets weirder and weirder. it’s almost as if he’s completely reverted inside his shell he made when he moved in, only emerging to get food when he had hoped you weren’t around. the times in which he did inevitably run into you were dealt in nervous laughter and denials that anything was wrong with him. it didn’t take a genius to figure out that he was lying, hiding something from you even. you were slightly hurt that he didn’t trust you enough to talk to you, instead of going backwards and shutting you out. you wanted to wait it out, but as the days turned into a full week, you feared losing him altogether. 

you stewed over the situation the entire time you were at work. you couldn’t even get anything accomplished because you were too preoccupied wondering what you had done to wound your connection. spending your days alone was maddening. a little over a year ago, you would have relished in the peace and quiet, but now it was unwelcome. you only wanted quiet if it was filled with the subtle sounds of pages turning or the buttons of a controller smashing or shared breathing during the climax of a show. this was haunting, and you knew you had to do something. you left work early, faking a stomach ache in order to get home and corner choso into relenting. no more miss nice roommate. you were tired of letting him be all weird and distant. so you walked in unceremoniously, not necessarily out to scare him. you shake your sandals off by the door and walk towards his room, noting that his door was actually open for once. 

that was only because you weren’t supposed to be home for three and a half more hours, giving choso plenty of time to relive his dirty fantasies of you with the least amount of guilt possible, though he could barely look you in the eye these days. if you weren’t home, he could at least not worry about you catching him in his perverted acts, only dealing with the shame that flows in after he’s came for the millionth time to the image of your legs quivering and mouth parting in pleasure. he didn’t hear you sneak in–didn’t hear you shuffle down the hall to poke your head around the doorframe. he was dead to the outside world, his hips stuttering into his hand, thumb swiping the pre-cum that beaded there around his slit, stroking himself with whimpers of your name tumbling out, his eyes scrunched tight in concentration. 

your jaw was on the floor, never in a million years imagining that he even knew how to touch himself like that, not to mention the prayers of your name on his tongue, mirroring the ones you make for him on fridays. he was massive, it had you covering your mouth in shock. even with his huge hand, it seemed like pumping himself was a tall task. you couldn’t imagine trying to do it yourself, you’re not even sure two hands would do the trick— you must have gasped aloud or something, because suddenly his head snaps toward where you stand in the doorway. 

“y/n–you’re–” his dark eyes are wide, his lips parted in realization that you had really caught him jerking off and mewling your name like a helpless perv. as the guilt starts to creep in, the haze of need and desire clouds his mind. he never lets go of himself, all too aware of your lip between your teeth and your hardened nipples poking through your top—no, you shouldn’t be seeing this, you shouldn’t even be home yet! not to mention how ashamed you should be of your own roommate rutting into his hand.

“...i’m home.” you whisper back, a slight smirk creeping onto your face. despite the red blush spreading across his cheeks, he keeps fucking up into his hand. it’s salacious, and you can feel your body responding to the sight, unsurprisingly. you’ve been picturing him naked for months, and not even your lewd imagination gave him justice. every plane on his body was sculpted and defined, thick veins running down his arms and thighs and cock. he left his hair down, some of the strands tucked behind his ear, some of them hung over his brows and cheekbones. he gulped when he noticed your stare, your eyes locked on the thick cock in his hand, curved with an angry and needy tip. 

“y/n, i’m so so sorr–” he scrambles to sit up, the heavy reality finally sinking in. he was awful, sick in the head, you were going to have him pack his shit immediately, and he’d have to tell all his friends why you had gotten rid of him. 

“need some help?” you spit out, unable to tolerate the pounding in your chest and pussy. his eyes grow impossibly wider, blood rushing in his ears. did he understand you right? he couldn’t possibly. 

“wh-what?” he sputtered, sitting up slightly to try and hide himself from view a bit, as if you hadn’t seen every bit of him already. 

“i asked if you wanted my help. you were saying my name, weren’t you?” you tease gently, stepping further into his room, your hands innocently folded behind your back. now that you know your desire is shared, you felt confident enough to push your relationship further yet again. he nods hesitantly, watching you stalk over to the bed like a lioness about to pounce.

“i–yes, it’s not what you think. i know it looks–” 

“like you were jacking off and thinking about me? is that not…what you were doing?” you hum, pausing by the foot of his bed. you look so cute, he has to believe you know what you’re doing, folding your arms under your voluptuous chest just to taunt him a bit more. you have him backed into a corner, and he either had to admit the truth or come up with a very clever lie. and he is not a gifted liar. 

“i–yeah…” he looks away, feeling the shame weighing down on him now that you had confronted him with the undeniable truth. 

you chuckle warmly. “i do the same thing, ‘cept I’m thinking of you.” you shrug, the smirk growing on your face as realization seeps into his. he didn’t misunderstand you that day or even earlier in this conversation. you want him too. he swallows thickly again, remembering the day that started all of this. 

“i–i know, i saw you, last week.” he chokes out as you take your top off, revealing yourself to him. He’d noticed your lack of bra earlier, but didn’t expect to be blessed with the sight of your body again, especially as you bend at the hips to wiggle out of your pants. Your laughter surprises him again, like he had intentionally made a joke. but it was only because he had solved the mystery that led you to his room in the first place, and that would potentially resolve any secrets you had been keeping from one another. 

“so that’s why you’ve been avoiding me?” you scrunch your nose at him adorably as you crawl onto the bed, his eyes glued to the body that had him locked in his bedroom day and night. “oh choso, i wish you would have interrupted me…i surely woulda let you help me.” you purr, so close to him that he could reach out and touch you now, and he definitely thinks about just grabbing your hips and pulling you down on him, finally feeling that glistening pussy for himself—to hell with his imagination, but your voice interrupts his thoughts again. 

“so, do you want me to help you, baby?” you glance from the hard length in his hands to his deep purple eyes, swirling with something you recognize very well to be deep desire. 

“please–” he whimpered and let his hand fall away from his pelvis, looking to you like a pathetic boy getting his teenage dreams fulfilled. Your grin grows wide, and you lean closer to brush your hand across his toned abdomen. he lets out a pleased little grunt and his cock jumps at the simple touch

“you’ve never been with anyone, have you?” you asked, faces so close he can see every freckle and dimple and scar on your skin. he shakes his head. you peck the tip of his nose. he’s already shivering, the feeling of your body leaning over his was exhilarating. your kiss was so simple and sweet, but it stopped all the thoughts in his brain. he was just malleable now, ready to let you make him feel good, finally shifting from imagination to reality. “need you to talk to me, so i can know where you’re at, cho.” 

“no, no..never.” he shakes his head again, eying you with excitement and nerves all at once. he wants to touch you, and you’ve already stripped naked and kissed him, so surely there was no going back now, so he reaches up and places his hands on your hips—so light like he was afraid to hurt you. 

you grin at both his answer and his courageous touch, nodding your encouragement, “that’s fine, i’ll help you…just do what feels natural–you can go as hard as you want., and tell me if you want to stop.” your eyes blink at him sweet he realizes he would trust you with his life if you asked. 

“okay.” he lets your words wash over him, nodding as he grips your hips a little tighter. he’s more than embraced his fate, his mouth watering a bit at the idea that you were in his bed and offering to make all his fantasies come true. you were expecting him to keep that deer in a headlights look, but when you rake your fingernails across his chest, you watch his eyes darken a bit more. “kiss me?” 

choso looks so cute, you couldn’t deny him if you wanted to. his eyebrow raised with innocence, but his eyes shrouded in arousal. you giggle softly and lean up, sliding your hands over his pecs and shoulders and into those dark locks calling your name. you tug, and he gasps softly. you take that opportunity to cover his parted lips with your own, his head falling back to accommodate you as you fully crawl into his lap. he melts, you feel and taste so impossibly good he’s concerned he may bust over the kiss. your tongue moves so expertly against his, twirling around and sucking on the muscle in a way he didn’t know people employed. then you’re sitting on his abs, and he can feel so much at once. his eyes blow wide in the kiss, and he has to pull away to gasp again and see what you’re doing to him. 

you’re simply sitting, your pretty shining pussy rubbing against his core and his dick teasing the crack of your ass. that must be what’s driving him insane, the warmth and softness providing some but not enough friction. you wiggle your ass a bit to tease him, and he whimpers. the sound is so sweet and low you know you can’t handle playing with the shy little virgin much longer.

“i–is th–that sup’posed to f-feel that go–ngh, good?” he stammers, the hold on your hips bordering bruising. he doesn’t even realize, and you certainly don’t mind, so you only smile and nod down at him, reaching for his chin with your fingers. he makes you look so small without even trying, the broad expanse of his body, wide jaw and thick legs—not to mention the monstrous cock rocking against your behind, your own need soaking his happy trail to the skin beneath. you move his gaze from your sensual movements back to your sultry gaze. yuji was wrong. pretty was such a mild way to describe the woman on his lap. you were more a kin to a goddess, something not fully human like him. 

“i was hoping to give you the full treatment, but i don’t think you’ll mind if i skip to the main event?” you bite your lip, your other hand scraping at his scalp a little bit. no, of course he didn’t mind. sometimes you were so silly. he nods fervently, remembering that he needed to find his voice, to not seem like such a coward when he wanted this so badly. 

“no—please,” he whimpers again, feeling the drip of your liquid on him. it dawns on him then that you’re just as needy, and you still wanted him even though you’d have to teach him what to do. you didn’t seem worried, maybe it was easier than he thought. but all he knows is that his balls are starting to hurt and he had never felt more buzzed in his entire life, sensitive to every move you make. “i need you so bad, oh sh–” 

you scoot back, lifting yourself up a little to align him with your entrance. his whimpers and begs were so fucking amazing, you wish you had it in you to milk it. you make the mental note to keep him begging when you show him what it feels like to have his dick sucked or whimpering when he eats your cunt for the first time. he’s so heavy in your hand, and you can’t even close your fist around him. it makes you shudder, knowing that you’re going to make him fit inside you no matter the stretch. his tip was so red and irritated, oozing pre. you swiped it over his head, humming in amusement as he jerks and whines at the feeling. 

“you’re massive, d’you know that?” you pout, sinking down a few inches. he moans at first, feeling like his cock was fit into a perfect sleeve. it’s unreal, the heat he feels in his gut as you rock further down on him, whining at how huge he was. he watches the pained faces you make halfway down, the concern clear on his face. he didn’t know he was that big—he hadn’t really been comparing, but if it was hurting you, he wondered what he could do. he remembers watching you play with that sensitive spot at the apex of your thighs, using your own slick to glide around. he thinks he could replicate that, so he sticks his fingers in his mouth, spitting a bit to make sure they were just as wet as you were. you take more of him, almost to his base all while panting and bracing yourself on his chest with your eyes screwed shut. he reaches toward you, swiping his fingers around the place he watched you toy with. you gasp out and sit all the way down, the noises you make as he touches you make his eyes widen again. 

“god—i’m so full, baby.” you nod, your hips moving forward automatically, searching for more of that searing feeling he brings to your clit. he surprises you, moving his digits in slow circles as you get accustomed to his size. he chokes slightly when you squeeze him, his eyes zeroed in on your face. 

“are you alright?” he asks softly, feeling your nails dig into his chest as your hips move faster now, any other words he had wanted to say sucked from his brain like he had no thoughts at all, nothing other than that vice-grip of a pussy you have locked around him, bouncing softly and leaving little half-moons in his skin. 

“mhm, just had to stretch a bit t’fit you, are you alright?” you grin as you ask, knowing he would struggle to respond—in the best way possible. he nods eagerly, eyes flickering from where you swallow him up to your soft face of bliss. 

“are you kidding? i’m—” you rock on him a bit faster, the feeling of wet and choking walls rubbing every possible spot had him sputtering, unable to speak. he’s only able to watch you run a hand through your mane, keeping it out of your face and away from your bouncing tits. he’s in heaven. being with a woman, no, being with you, was as all the eternal bliss he cared to know. 

his hips start to move, the hold he has on your hips trailing up to the curves of your waist to better hold you down. he didn’t realize how much more intense he would make this feel for the both of you, grunts and whines spilling from his lips as you begin to cry out and yell. it’s heavenly, the way you let him drive into you, leaning forward with one hand on the headboard and the other tugging his head towards your chest. he contains his pathetic pants by sucking your nipple in his mouth, laving his tongue over it, mind so drunk and hazy he can only be driven by his primal instincts, flat footed on the bed to plow into you from below. 

it’s so perfect. you scream his name way better than he ever imagined, and he doesn’t mind to bear the scratch marks of your passion. you keep squeezing around him, and it drives him crazy. 

“i–i love when you do that—clenching down on me like that, fuck.” He grunts, slowly getting his knees under him while you sloppily keep the pace. he uses the leverage to ease you to your back, though you don’t have the luxury of pillows or a headboard, only the mattress beneath you as choso realizes this positioning lets him piston his hips without you having to do any work at all. you’re wailing, nodding to keep him from worrying about you as you continuously claw at his back and shoulders. 

“choso baby—” you whine in such a way, he knows he’s going to bust in seconds. “you’re gonna make me cum, please–doin’ so good, ngh—ack!” you cry, legs tightening around his waist as he feels a significant increase of your fluids. feeling and watching you cum by his doing was the nail in the coffin—the way your face screwed up in pure pleasure brought him his own, his pelvis stilling against the mounds of your backside, cock twitching against your womb before your vision is blurry, and all you feel is warmth seeping out of you. his load leaked out around him inside you, his cock still pulsating with no signs of dying down. 

he smiles at you a little shyly, his cheeks rosy and eyes hazy with the aftershocks of such a gripping orgasm. he watches your chest heave as you calm down, your eyes fluttering open and a smile spreading across your face as you look up at him. 

“what do i do now? to take care of you?” he asks, absentmindedly stroking the creases where your thighs meet your hips. you giggle and shake your head, knowing it would take multiple rounds for his erection to die down. 

“i show you the full treatment now, baby.” you grin, wiggling your eyebrows. 

choso found himself immersed in exploring himself and your body, discovering several new kinks to enjoy with his sweet little roommate turned lover.

#kyleewritesjjk #kylee's kinktober event #kinktober 2023 #kinktober #choso x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #choso smut #choso x voyeurism #jjk choso #choso kamo #choso

[seeingivy]

picnic

sukuna x f!reader

**part of my best friend's older brother fic

previous part linked here

(^^make sure you check since this was a double upload and I posted the last one very recently :D)

--

dear head of the cullen clan,  keep evening plans open – im getting off work early and we’re going on a picnic.  coldest regards,  the head of the volturi  (ps. am expecting a very wholehearted appreciation for the fact that it’s coldest regards and not warmest regards, because they are, in fact, vampires and therefore cold. because they don’t have a heart and such.)  (extra ps. this is a link to a shared spotify playlist. i’ll add a song and then you add one. we’ll keep it going.) 

you snort. 

dear aro of the volturi (does he have a last name???),  so much to unpack in one email, yet again. you really know how to keep a girl on her toes.  first and foremost, you are SOOOO ran through. so offended that i wasn’t the person who got to put you on to twilight and whoever it was, I HOEP SHE DIES! if you’re team jacob, you’re a freak.  second, SO VERY FLATTERED that you think i would be carlisle. a little haunting that you think YOU would be aro…but it’s ok cuz former companions to enemies back to lovers in our case would be kind of crazy???  third. done and done. i just added a song so hurry up bc i have like ten other songs i want to add and i am #impatient  see u after work pookie :D,  carlisle cullen  (very appreciative of the cold regards. you are a king among men.) 

his response back is very prompt. 

Never call me pookie again.  (very offended that you think i’d be stupid enough to be team jacob. and direct your murderous rage towards yuuji and my mom, who forced me to watch it in theaters with them.) 

--

you wait for sukuna at the park two blocks down the apartment complex. the sun is hours away from dipping into the horizon, the chilly wind rustling through the trees. you realize now that the red skirt and white sweater might betray you in a few hours but decide that you’ll simply have to steal his jacket when he gets here. 

and you would have already but he’s twenty minutes late.

and while this part of the city is extremely safe, sukuna’s ever constant fear of people attacking you on subway trains and stabbing you in alleyways has instilled an acute fear of strangers in you, which is why you’re gripping the sparkly pink pepper spray he bought you very harshly in your palm right now. 

you think it’s sweet that he bought you a pink one. 

but of course it’s severely ironic that you almost used it on him. 

because he scares the living daylights out of you, by placing his hand around your shoulder from behind. 

“hey. i’m sorry i-” 

“jesus fuck-” 

you instinctively hold the pepper spray up to his face, your hands shaking in front of you. 

“i’ll use it, you pervert!” 

sukuna leans his head to the side, which is when you’re finally able to log that it’s actually him standing in front of you and not a stranger, and you drop your hands in embarrassment. 

“i mean, i’d really appreciate it if you wouldn’t doll face but–” 

“oh my god, sukuna. i thought you were trying to rob me!” 

“i’m smarter than that. the only thing inside your purse is lip gloss, which has very little value to me.” sukuna responds, dropping the little basket at his feet and taking the little stalk of flowers out of the top handle. 

“i’ll have you know that it’s actually sold out in every store right now. so you could make bank if you sold it.” 

“don’t tempt me. and for your sake, i’ll accept the apology you didn’t give me for just trying to rob me of my eyesight and for calling me a pervert? i’m getting really tired of the age gap jokes, y/n.” sukuna responds, as he lifts your hands at your sides and places the stalk of flowers in your hand. 

you give him a big smile as you press your nose to the flowers, the scent fresh in your nose. and sukuna props down, setting a billowing white blanket on the ground before he taps the spot next to him and signals for you to sit next to him. 

“who needs eyes?” you joke, as you squeeze his hands and set the flowers down next to the little basket. 

“me, dipshit. how else am i supposed to look at you?” 

you cover your hands with your cheeks as you watch him place all of the little things inside the basket next to you, laying them out perfectly. it’s albeit a weird assortment – two wine glasses, perfectly wrapped sandwiches, a mini-cake, and strawberry lemonade. 

“well, stop perceiving me. this is so weird!” you murmur. 

it’s enough to catch his attention and stop him in his tracks. 

“what?” 

the question makes you pause. and a little embarrassed. it was a little harsh to say while you were joking.

“oh, i mean…i didn’t mean it like that! i was making a joke about perceiving because eyes…vision…and i almost took your vision away! and you perceive with your eyes, because how else would you see…” 

sukuna smiles, before shaking his head, and continuing spilling out the last of the contents – a set of gouache paints and two little small canvases. and he drops to his feet, yanking his shoes off, before sitting flat on the blanket and gesturing for you to join him. 

“there’s no way in hell that was what you meant. but we’ll ignore that for the time being.” sukuna responds, hiking his legs to his chest and gesturing towards the spread he just put out. 

you tilt your head to the side in confusion. 

“you look very pretty today.” sukuna responds. 

“thanks! you too!” 

he narrows his eyes. 

“uh huh. well, pick what we do first. the paint, the sandwiches, or the weird wine glass cake.” 

“the wine glass cake? like from tiktok?” you ask. 

“correct. i’m really bad at…cute dates. so…i did some research.” 

sukuna refuses to look at you. because after admitting it, he’s suddenly busied himself with reading the back of the box of paints, like it’s the most riveting, intriguing thing he’s ever read in his life. 

but the pink flush that’s creeping down his neck betrays him entirely, as you reach forward and push the little box down. and sukuna’s already glaring at you. 

you place your chin on the top of his knees, reaching for one of his hands and smiling. 

“you did research for a date?” 

“you can choke on your spit.” 

you grin. 

“you really know how to turn a girl on.” 

“you’re filthy.” 

you grin. 

“and you’re actually so precious, i–” 

“don’t call me precious, y/n.” he whines, as he reaches forward to flick on your forehead. 

you smile as you sit by his side, tucking the folds of your skirt under your leg as you reach for both of the wine glasses and hand him one. 

“so how humbling was it to have satoru explain all this to you?” you ask. 

he sneers. 

“don’t even ask. he’s like the biggest nuisance i’ve ever met in my life. top ten worst moments of my life.” sukuna responds. 

“i’m flattered you humbled yourself to him for me.” 

“i actually asked suguru. they’re like…two peas in a pod, they can’t do shit without each other. the paints and stuff they gave me and the nice basket too.” 

“that’s sweet of them. remind me to send them something later to thank them.” 

sukuna scoffs. 

“no need. they were more than happy to give it up for you.” 

“ah yes. i hear they’re big fans of this camping bag story. the scouts honor and the fake story we had to tell them makes a lot more sense now.” you respond. 

sukuna rolls his eyes. 

“okay, you know what? sue me. i was like sixteen sleeping next to a girl for the first time. god forbid i enjoyed myself. and i don’t know why they’re all so hyperfixated on that story because it was a very normal thing to assume when you’re asked that question.”  

you snort. 

“and you say you’re not a pervert…” 

sukuna leans forward, his eyes flitting down to his lips before he looks back up at you. and he can tell that you’re in a mood, that you’re trying to push his buttons by annoying him. 

“you know i despise you right?” he whispers. 

you grin, leaning in. 

“is that right?” you whisper back. 

“oh yeah. you irritate me.” 

there isn’t even a shred of earnestness in the words he’s uttering. you know he doesn’t mean them. 

“keep going.” you respond, as he presses a warm kiss to the side of your cheek. 

“you’re a nuisance.” – a kiss to your forehead. 

“an irritation.” – a kiss to the tip of your nose. 

“like a fucking thorn in my side.” – and a kiss to the sweet spot right in your neck and his hand snaking up your thigh, which makes you nearly keel your head back from the sensation. 

you place your hands on his cheek and pull him back, face flushed and his eyes nearly glazed over. 

“are you crazy?” you whisper. 

“what?” he asks. 

“we’re in public, dumbass. you can’t just start trying to rile me up.” 

sukuna leans back, obliging. 

“so you admit it? i was riling you up?” 

“oh, shut up.” 

you reach for the sandwiches and unpeel one for sukuna. before he takes it, he places a tiny white box in your lap. 

you frown. first the fancy date but the jewelry too? 

“sukuna. you didn’t–” 

“just open it. i’m impatient and i’ve been waiting all day. and i actually think you’ll like it. otherwise, you’re ungrateful and rude and you hate me.” sukuna responds. 

you give him a tight lipped smile before you open the little box and actually smile. 

it’s a dainty silver chain – the exact same as sukuna’s from the chain-links, but the build is a little thinner. and right at the center, a little charm of a star. 

you reach forward for his chain, dangling around his collarbone. and surely enough, in addition to the original charm he had of an interlocked circle, there’s a star charm added right next to it. 

“you always reach for it. when you’re talking or when we’re kissing. figured i’d get you your own since you’re such a big fan.” 

“you are so…” 

“perfect? sexy? the father of your children?” 

“i was thinking adorable. can i answer d for all of the above?” you respond. 

sukuna grins. 

“survey says yes, princess.” he responds. 

you yank the chain from the little box and hand it to him, before turning around for him to secure it on you. his fingers tickle against the nape of your neck, accompanied by a warm kiss, before he taps your shoulders to signify that he’s done. 

“you know. you really are perceiving me right now.” you respond. 

“and how’s that?” 

“i know you’re obsessed with me and pay attention to every word i say.” 

sukuna smiles. 

“obviously.” 

you jab at his side. 

“i mean, i know you’re doing this because i mentioned picnics yesterday and always feeling left out. sure you could put two and two together that he never really bought me any nice gifts or anything when i said he ruined my birthday.” 

“okay, captain obvious. and?” 

you shove him once more, before leaning your head against his shoulder. 

“well, i appreciate it. i know the whole…cutesy painting date isn’t your thing. we won’t have to do it again. and that you…you’re trying to make this whole thing special for me.” 

sukuna scoffs. 

“i’m offended. first and foremost, i always like to eat with you. every time i think that there’s no way you can amaze me more, you find another way to spill food on your clothes.” 

“hey! that’s not true.” 

“you already spilled on the blanket. second, this is a very violent way to eat cake. you literally mess up all the layers by doing that and destroy the piping on the cake which i can admit, i am a fan of. and third, i’m going to paint us as worms, which seems enjoyable to me.” 

you curl your nose. 

“worms?” 

“yeah. what were you going to paint?” 

“i don’t know. but it certainly wasn’t going to be worms. like the park or flowers or something.” 

“boring. i’m going to paint us as slimy worms. and because we made it on this date, you’ll have to agree to put it up in the apartment, even if it’s ugly.” 

“sukuna.” you whine. 

“especially if it’s ugly. it’s a testament to our love.” he responds, dramatically placing his hands on  his chest. 

“you know, you’re so right. worms have been a really defining feature of your relationship.” 

sukuna leans forward and presses a quick kiss to your lips and an additional one on your cheek. 

“you just get me, princess!” 

and he breaks the little joke by lifting one of your hands to his lips, and pressing a kiss on all four of your knuckles before pressing your hand to his cheek. 

“and i have to do special things for a special person.” 

you return the gesture, lifting his tattooed fingers to your lips and doing the same. 

“you know…you’re really good at this type of thing.” you murmur. 

“what do you mean?” 

“i mean, being a boyfriend. and…and being supportive about everything. sometimes i feel like i’m trying really hard to be the best but…just comes naturally to you.” you respond. 

sukuna shrugs. 

“don’t know if i’m perfect but…loving you has always come really easy to me. i don’t really have to think twice about it because these are actually just things i want to do for you.” 

you groan. 

“see! that’s what i’m saying! you always just…say sweet things, do sweet things. sometimes i’m convinced i’m not even half deserving of it, just because sometimes i don’t reciprocate that back.” you respond. 

sukuna leans forward. 

“you know, you actually do though.” 

“as if.” you groan. 

sukuna pauses, before leaning his cheek against the tops of his knees and looking out at the expanse of grass in front of you. you follow his line of vision – to the dog running in the distance, the wide, billowing trees, and the little flower truck on the side – which you now realize is where sukuna copped the flowers from earlier. 

“i mean, this type of thing. that we have, or…or the way i act around you. it means a lot to you because, you…you’ve never had this before. right?” 

“yeah.” 

“well, i haven’t had you before. i know you see me as perfect, but…but when you say that i can tell that you don’t mean it the way my mom or…or yuuji think that i’m perfect. in the untouchable way.” 

you lean forward, cupping the side of his face. 

“sukuna. you’re so touchable.” you joke. 

“you’re disgusting.” 

“you love it.” 

sukuna smiles. 

“yeah, i really do. it does actually mean the world to me that you think i’m perfect how i am and don’t think i’m larger than life.” 

“if anything, your ego could be smaller.” 

sukuna leans forward and presses a kiss to your cheek. 

“and…and even the other day. i know you were acting squirrely and weird when yuuji was near us and heard us bickering, but i was half convinced that you were going to take his side at the end, when he started saying that stuff about me. because it is true and i have acted a certain way in the past…and, you would have every right to agree with him if you wanted to.” 

you frown. 

“no, i wouldn’t. you’ve never treated me like that and i know you’re being earnest when you say these things to me. this would be a very elaborate way to get into my pants if that was what you were trying to do. and i know it’s not.” 

sukuna smiles. 

“that’s what i’m saying. every other person for me has never given me that benefit of the doubt, but you always do. you were the person who thought to tell me that my grandpa died when you all came to get me and you were the one who wasn’t mad at me. the things you do for me are the same, in equal magnitude, as what i do for you. if this makes you feel good, or…or on top of the world, you have to know that’s how you make me feel too. i’m half convinced that you’re basically made for me at this point the way you get everything right on point.” 

you lean forward and press a lingering kiss to his lips. 

“i really think you’re made for me too, ryomen.” 

sukuna groans, dramatically leaning his head back, before nearly pushing you over and peppering kisses to almost every surface on your face. 

“quit fucking saying my name. you have no idea what that does to me.” 

“i mean, i think i have an idea.” 

sukuna clamps his fingers over your mouth, before pressing a few more lingering kisses to your face and pushing off. and subsequently, picks all of the grass out of your hair as you roll your eyes. 

and after that sukuna, admittedly, very aggressively uses the wine glasses to portion off little slices of the cake and makes it a point to finish off yours when you can’t stomach the sweetness. and true to his promise – sukuna paints the two of you as worms, but at the park, stargazing. 

it’s a little silly, the way he paints it. you were expecting it to be more gory or gross, but it’s so corny that it makes you smile. because he draws the two little worms, but distinguishes between the two of you, by swiping some of your pink paint and adding a little ribbon to the one that’s supposed to be you. 

sukuna explains the stars. because before sukuna had dragged you out of that shitty bathroom bar, it’s what megumi and yuuji said in his drunken mess – he had pointed at two little stars and likened them to him and megumi.

and you’re almost positive that at the time, sukuna found it utterly ridiculous. but now, he understood it – the sentiment. that you and sukuna were two little worms, and two stars, and two little flowers too. 

and to his promise, the two of you decide to place the little canvases you drew at the end of the kitchen counter. 

it’s only then that you realize that you have to go the whole ten miles for sukuna the way he had done for you – countless times again. and that if you were going in blind in trying to make something special, you’d have to take a page out of his book and do some research. 

and there was only one person who could really help you, who you’d rather die than humble yourself to than ask for help. 

regardless of that, you still call sammy the next morning.

--

next part linked here

an: they're about to do it. anyways....there is a very real playlist to match the one that they talk about in the fic -- and it matches the way it described in the fic! so it's interleaved, the first song is a song that sukuna would have added, the second one that y/n added, the third sukuna, so on and so forth. it's linked here! happy listening babies

second an: thank you for the love on the last chapter. it makes my heart really warm bc all of that was actually based on a REAL MAN and real things that I have felt/have said to me and just having people comment that they felt seen by it or it made them feel a certain type of way actually made me really happy and so warm. this blog was one of the first things I did after I stopped being really, really sad and i'm glad that i'm able to share a little joy here and there, if that's what this fic is for you. anyways this is long and sappy and gross and actually I just love you all for enduring the ouchies and the sillies with me a little bit 💌

third an: double upload bc yall were so patient with me :D

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[hqbaby]

one — rumor has it

tag, ur it! — sakusa ? iwaizumi ? osamu ? 

*ੈ✩‧ love is a losing game your roommate, your rival, or your ex—the choice should be simple, right? right?

masterlist — next

word count. 1.3k content. profanity, sexual content (rough sex, unprotected vaginal penetration)

Iwaizumi doesn’t pry.

That’s why he’s such a great roommate. He hogs the bathroom and forgets to take his clothes out of the dryer, but he isn’t nosy. It’s not that he’s cold or distant, he’s just acutely aware of your boundaries and he has no intentions of crossing them.

But when he hears that you’ve been sneaking around with some mystery man… Now, how is he supposed to ignore a rumor like that?

He finds out through Oikawa of course who—despite his insistence that he isn’t—is the world’s biggest gossip.

“You’re lying!” Oikawa whines, on the verge of making another scene over lunch. “You know something. You’re just protecting her.”

Iwaizumi pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head. “You know that you’re really fucking annoying, right?”

“You’re not denying it though,” Matsukawa chimes in oh so helpfully. “You covering for her, Iwa?”

“Yeah, is there something you’re not telling us?” Hanamaki teases, nudging Iwaizumi’s shoulder. “Maybe that you are the mystery man?”

Your roommate makes a face of both disbelief and confusion. “What would fucking give you that impression?"

“Dunno,” Hanamaki says, smirking. “You’re just so obviously flustered by this whole thing.”

“I’m not flustered. Oikawa’s just annoying.”

“Nah, you love me,” his best friend insists. “So? Do you think she’s been seeing someone?”

Iwaizumi considers shutting his friends down right then and there and telling them that you haven’t been seeing anyone and that they’re all delusional, but he can’t seem to bring himself to do it. The truth is, he does think that you’ve been hiding something. He just wasn’t sure what it was—but now that he thinks about it, Oikawa’s suspicions might actually be right.

He offers his friends a feeble shrug. “I don’t know, it’s not like she’s told me anything,” he says. “But she has been acting a little weird recently. Coming home late. Getting distracted… I don’t know. Maybe.”

Matsukawa sighs. “I bet it’s a business major,” he says. “They get all the pretty girls.”

“Or one of those engineering dudes,” Hanamaki suggests. “The art girls always seem to fall for those guys.”

As the two debate about what kind of guy you would go for, Oikawa taps Iwaizumi’s leg with his foot to get his attention.

“Hey,” he says quietly. “Are you okay?”

“What are you talking about?”

Oikawa rolls his eyes. “Don’t act dumb, you know what I’m talking about.”

Iwaizumi swallows. Of course he knows what he’s talking about.

“I don’t…” he hesitates, “It’s not like that. It doesn’t matter.”

“Sure,” Oikawa says, unconvinced. “Well, I’m here if you ever decide to stop being in denial.”

Iwaizumi nods. He hates when Oikawa is right. “Thanks.”

“Fuck! Right there!” you grip his back as you find yourself pushed up against the wall, his cock bullying its way into your aching cunt. “Don’t stop! Please, Kiyoomi.”

The tiny storage closet that you’ve somehow found yourselves in shakes as Sakusa pounds into you at an unrelenting pace. He holds you up by your thighs, groaning right into your ear as he continues his assault on your pussy. 

“You feel so fucking good.” He hisses as your walls flutter around his length. “So fucking tight.”

He hits a spot deep inside you that sends shivers down your spine. You drag your nails down the expanse of his skin and throw your head back at the sudden pleasure. “Fuck, I’m close.” You let out a moan. “I’m so fucking close.”

And that’s when you hear it. A chuckle. A fucking chuckle.

“So weak for me, aren’t you?” Sakusa says, his breath hot against your neck. “Who would’ve thought?”

His cock plunges into you, smashing into a spot that makes you writhe in his arms. “Omi!” you scream as your high crashes down on you. You bury your face in the crook of his neck and sink your teeth into his skin to hide your moans.

“Fuck!” he exclaims as your cunt squeezes his cock dry. He releases into you, the cum slipping out as he continues to thrust into you through his high.

He stills and slumps against you, slowly lowering the two of you to the floor.

You pull back and hold his head in your hands. His forehead is damp and his curls are a mess and he has that fucked out look on his face that you’ve gotten more than used to. You run your fingers through his hair and start laughing.

“You’re so fucked, man,” you say, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Couldn’t even wait for tonight?”

He shakes his head, smiling as you continue to pepper his face with kisses. “You’re a menace.”

You shrug, grinning at him. “Can’t help it,” you tell him as you run your thumb over his swollen lips. “You look pretty like this.”

Sakusa leans forward and catches your lips in a kiss, slow and sweet. The two of you move against one another like it's second nature. It might as well be, what with how long you’ve been at this.

“We have class,” he mumbles as you press your lips on his. “Wouldn’t wanna be late.”

With one last kiss, you pull back and sigh. You press your forehead against his and stare into his eyes, full of something you can’t quite put a name to yet.  “No, we wouldn’t want that.”

“Hey,” Iwaizumi greets as you take your seat beside him. “We were looking for you at lunch.”

Your eyes widen and you start your profuse apologies. You’d lost track of time when Sakusa decided to drag you away between classes. You completely forgot that you’d made plans to see your friends.

Iwaizumi just laughs. “It’s fine,” he says. “Oikawa’s not gonna let it go though.”

“I fucking know.” You groan into your hands. Then, you lift your head and take Iwaizumi’s hands in yours. “Be honest though, are you mad?”

His eyes flicker to where your hands meet. He looks back at you and shakes his head. “It’s really fine,” he tells you.

You let out an exhale of relief and pull your hands away. “You’d tell me if I fucked up, right?” you say. “I know I’ve been a shitty friend recently.”

He hums. “I mean, I don’t mind,” he tells you. And, well, he tries, he really tries to be as casual and respectful as he usually is about giving you privacy… but he just can’t take it this time, so he asks, “What were you up to though?”

You’re taken aback by the question. It isn’t anything big, but you know that your roommate’s never asked for information that you didn’t offer willingly. It’s just new.

“Oh, right, I was—” Your mind’s going crazy as it scrambles to come up with an excuse. You’ve never had to make up excuses with Iwaizumi. “—studying for a test.”

For a moment, you’re worried he won’t believe you. Because why would he? You’ve been living with him for two years now, he has your routine down pat. You study for tests in the afternoon and at night if you need to. You’ve never studied over your lunch break. You aren’t a slave to your schoolwork.

But he just nods. “I get it,” he says. “Third year’s rough, isn’t it?”

You let out an awkward laugh. “Oh, yeah, it really is.”

The door opens and you look over to see if the professor’s come early. 

It’s Sakusa.

He walks by you, quickly looking away as soon as he catches your eyes on him.

“What was that all about?” Iwaizumi wonders, catching the exchange between the two of you. 

You’re jolted out of your thoughts. “Sorry, what?”

“What’s his deal?”

You poke at your pencil. “Dunno,” you say. “Dude has some issues.”

You look over your shoulder to find Sakusa staring at you, a smirk on his face. You stick your tongue out at him and turn to look straight ahead of you, trying your best to school the grin that wants to burst across your face. 

Sakusa definitely has some issues. Chief among them being you.

note. let the drama commence ;)

#hqbaby.tag ur it! #hqbaby #haikyuu #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa #sakusa x reader #sakusa smut #miya osamu #osamu #osamu x reader #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi #iwaizumi x reader

[crystaldust]

If you're feeling stuck with non dualism, this might be able to help you

warning: long post

You get into this philosophy and you see bloggers advice to just claim everything as "not yours, not your problem" and move on with your day. What I'm realizing recently is that maybe not everyone can start off doing that, at least I certainly couldn't.

I believe what they mean by claiming thoughts as not yours is to leave the mind alone so that it can become quiet, as encouraged by Lester in his book. But what he also says is that doing that can be really difficult sometimes if your subconscious is filled with opposing feelings and thoughts to what you'd like to have in your life. So he advised to clear some of that subconscious heavy weight before trying to quiet the mind. (You can read more about this here)

And here's the big breakthrough for me: learning about the Sedona Method and practices of letting go of subconscious beliefs. I went ahead and found more material on it (you can access everything here), I've read some of it and started to apply it.

Now I had been practicing introspection for over a year so I am acutely aware of most of my subconscious issues (which make up this ego's identity in the world) but what I realized was that even though I had been aware of these self issues for a long time, I never tried to let go of them. I've had attached myself to them, claimed them to be my identity, they made me who I was.

With this new knowledge on how to let go, I started to try it out, everytime i felt bad or encountered unwanted circumstances, I'd try my best not to suppress the feelings or thoughts that would come up. Then I started to ask myself "Can I let go of this?" or "Can I let this be / Can I be ok with it?" and if I got an answer of "no" I'd then ask "Why not?" and immediately I'd see that it was just because that's how it is for the ego, it's a habitual pattern. And by now I already know that memory and continuity are part of the ego illusion so there's no real standing for these patterns to be in place. I just kept them there because I didn't know better.

The more I practiced letting go in this way, the easier it got and now I'm at a place where the mind is starting to naturally grow quieter. I'm not even asking those questions as much anymore, I immediately recognize what's happening and I let it be, whatever it is. It is also easier for me to do self-inquiry now and sometimes I catch myself wanting to focus on finding out my true nature rather than indulging the ego and it's never ending cycle of desiring and suffering.

The ego still wants to think and overanalyze everything, running in circles, but I have this knowing sense that it's useless, there's no point in thinking about anything. I still am experiencing the ego's life just as before but now I am being able to detach, to say "not me, not my problem" and move on mentally quite quickly. I don't dwell on the bad anymore. It happened to the ego and there's nothing they could have done about it, it is what it is, I don't need to entertain it anymore.

I still acknowledge the ego's desires and fears but I can actually leave it alone now, I KNOW it's not my true self and I'm at peace with it. I feel whatever comes up and then a minute later it's gone and I rarely think about it. I'm able to be more present and live in the moment.

All of this is to say that I had to understand and practice letting go to a degree in order to be able to understand and practice what more advanced bloggers recommend.

Final tips: ♡ Practice introspection, go deep and be honest with yourself. Understand who the ego is, what it feels and believes in, how it gets triggered and why. This will make it easier to make peace with it and let it alone. ♡ Start practicing letting everything happen, and I mean everything, every circumstance, every feeling, every thought. Try to control nothing. You might notice that if you let the ego do it's thing, it will pipe down quite easily. ♡ Remember that every single thing comes from the ego, every thought, every feeling, every fear, every doubt, every desire and every circumstance. And the ego is absolutely helpless in it's pursue. You can't help it, what you can do is accept it and love it unconditionally (you can actually do this!)

Big thanks to @4dkellysworld for turning me in the right direction 💖

#o #non dualism #nondualism #letting go #surrendering #4dbarbie #welp scared to post this lol #personal journey

[theneighborhoodwatch]

thoughts on the Eddie scene from the end of the commercial reel? :D

HAHA oh man. okay while i'm waiting on the results of that poll, i might as well answer this. thoughts under the cut:

so, this may be me being optimistic, but i actually don't think this is indicative of eddie being permadead or anything, and not just because i think it'd be kinda cheap to kill a character off this early into the story before we even got to really know them. rather, i think this is a pretty straightforward explanation for eddie's absence from the homewarming recordings: he spent most of the day in his office waiting to be called on, only got invited to the homewarming party once everyone else had wrapped up their shenanigans, and proceeded to disassociate so hard that he was borderline catatonic when frank managed to draw his attention away from whatever he saw when he looked beyond the veil - and it's implied that frank was the only (or at least, the first) person to notice his acute distress in the first place. in short, eddie's presence throughout the entire holiday of homewarming ended up being so inconsequential either way that he might as well have not even been worth mentioning. of course, if he is missing by the next update then like. egg on my face. but that's how i see it for now.

so, is The Void that eddie found himself in when he first opened his eyes real? i mean, certainly on some level, it must be. either it's the truth of the neighbors' world or it is simply true for home, since they were the only other entity there - and since home is at the center of their world, well...... . as for what the void represents - i feel like that's something we'll only have a clearer picture of once another character finds themselves in The Bullshit, but i can hazard a few guesses, the first and most obvious being that it's eddie accidentally piercing the veil by being just a little too OOC for the universe's liking, i.e. "silly mailman, you're the resident workaholic! you're not actually supposed to relax, that's just so this special can end!" the second interpretation - and one that i like just a bit more, if i'm being honest - is that it's a bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy, or that distress over a deviation from the status quo makes one more susceptible to The Horrors.

hear me out: we know from the previous show scenes in the commercial reel that feeling useless or unneeded by way of having no work to do is a really easy way to get under eddie's skin, and his agitation over that was still lingering when sally invited him to the homewarming party. he's optimistic, yes - but very cautiously so. he's not used to it. something still feels a little wrong, which presents a prime opportunity for Something (home?) to wrap their arm around his shoulder and go, "buddy, you have no fucking idea." i remember reading a post that went something like "if a person goes from 1 to 100 seemingly out of nowhere, chances are they were at a 99 for a really long time, and they were just either hiding it or didn't even realize it." i think it's something like that. Something - home? wally? one of those two acting on the other's behalf? - sees this dissatisfaction, and in it, finds an opportunity to Make Them See. Make Them Understand.

something else i can't stop thinking about is that final shot of frank at the end. on the one hand, yes, it is very sweet how frank is willing to break away from formality if it means making sure that eddie's alright. on the other hand, though.... that shot of frank feels very idolizing to me. in the sea of red, frank is the one remnant of when things were fine and dandy for eddie just a few minutes before. he's in the center of the shot, and for that split second, arguably the center of eddie's world. they're even haloed by light, like an angel. again, whether they're in a properly established relationship by this point or if this is the beginning of their relationship turning from a playful flirtationship to something deeper, it's sweet to think that this is how eddie sees frank - as a refuge from The Bullshit. but i have to wonder... is eddie prepared for the possibility (or inevitability, rather) that one day, it'll be frank in that chair? given how frank likes things "just so," how is eddie going to react if, say, frank decides that the best way to ensure eddie's safety/wellbeing is to stay away from him? Many Questions Here.

[remembers that i suggested lower one's eyes as eddie's answer to frank's esperar pra ver once] [remembers that lower one's eyes is about a judas analogue being in love with a jesus analogue] [coughs up blood]

on that note, i know some folks think that at least some parts of "bug-a-bye and goodnight" are about eddie because "that's not the kind of thing you say about a bug!!!" but the thing about that is. it might not be what you would say about a bug. but it is absolutely what frank would say about a bug.

ok i'm done. For Now.

#anonymous #ask #welcome home #wh speculation #eddie dear #franklydear #near the end anyway #edit: CHECK THE ADDITIONAL REBLOGS I ADD ONTO THIS POST A LOT

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Meet Cute

Meet Cute

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: Reader is surviving in the apocalypse alone, until she meets a stranger who needs her help, even if he doesn't want to admit it. This is a reimagining of when Daryl gets hurt trying to find Sophia in Season 2, in which the reader shoots Daryl instead of Andrea. This can be read as stand alone, but can also be read as a prequel fic to "Your Fault," describing how reader and Daryl met for the first time. (I'm so bad at summaries, please forgive me).

Era: Hershel farm era.

Tropes: Angst, Fluff (if you squint at it), Patching up someone's wounds.

Warnings: I mean, I don't think there's any. I'll say references to past trauma with survivors, but mentioned only once or twice and not detailed. Blood and gore, because the reader is patching up Daryl's wounds and of course zombies. Cursing, not a lot, but a few words.

Word Count: 4.1K (Oops) (Seriously did not mean for it to be this long.)

Note: There is minimal use of (y/n).  Any references to the reader besides the (y/n) is done using "your" or "you". I tried to proofread the best I could, nobody's perfect. If you don't like, don't read, but if you do like you're my favorite!

Internal monologue is done in italics and is in first person.

ENJOY!

******************************************

It was raining and you were having a bad day. You weren’t having a bad day because it was raining, you actually liked standing in the rain, feeling the cool water drip down your face and through your clothes made you feel alive in the best way. It was difficult to find things that made you feel alive, especially after two months in the zombie apocalypse.

You considered yourself lucky, the first day everything went to hell you had slept through it. Pulling a double at the hospital downtown knocked you out and you woke up to the screams and the pounding of feet in the hall of your apartment building.

By then the phones were gone, electricity to the city had been cut off and you were hopelessly alone. Not unwelcome, due to the fact that it had been you on your own since your father had died a year earlier, but still acute enough for you to notice. It took you a week to leave your apartment to try and scavenge for food, even then you were not ready for the carnage that waited on the streets of Atlanta. After another week you realized that you needed to get out, it was too dangerous to be there. The military had failed and there was nothing left for you in the city. So you packed your backpack and said goodbye to your old life. Finding the cabin outside Atlanta was fortuitous, especially after you ran out of gas in the middle of nowhere. That being said when you found it originally, it had its quirks. No windows, a door that hung off its hinges, blood stains on the wooden floors, and no running water all made the cabin less than ideal.

But after two months it was home.

You sigh to yourself as you reset the trap, hiding it underneath the wet dead leaves as rain dripped from the treetops above. Someone or something was getting into your traps. It was the third time in a week it had happened and you were starting to get annoyed. You suspected it was a walker, since you continued to find bits and pieces of squirrel in the forest around the trap.

You continue your trek in the half-circle one mile out from the cabin. It was a nice spot, dense forest with a small creek that ran through, small enough to cross, but enough water that you didn't have to worry about going any further to find it. The only time you left the cabin was to scavenge, but that took a few days of preparation.

Rain pattered softly over the fallen leaves, weaving in and out of the canopy above, and kissing your skin. Being alone never bothered you before, but the thought that you might be the last person on earth was different. It was one thing to choose to be alone, another thing to be forced into it.

The sound of shuffling and sliding leaves makes you pause, ears peeled. You did not see too many walkers where you were and figured that because you were in the middle of nowhere there weren't enough people to turn.

The shuffling gets louder and you duck behind one of the trees, drawing your pistol from the belt at your waist. It was a gift from your father when you moved to Atlanta to start your residency. Target practice every week made you a good shot and helped blow off steam when shifts at the hospital were tough. Unfortunately, you hadn't been able to find many bullets, which prompted you to carry a hunting knife on the opposite side of your waist. The only ammo stores you found were stripped down and desolate. Sometimes you worried what would happen when you ran out.

You hear the heavy exhale of the walker as it continues through the woods behind the tree where you are hiding. You peer around the tree trunk, watching it shuffle along. It's wearing dark clothes, blood dripping from its side as it hunches over and travels away from you. A crossbow is strapped along it's back at an awkward angle and every step it releases a heavy exhale.

You click off the safety. Probably the same walker that's been eating all my squirrels. You think to yourself as you aim the gun at the back of the walker's head and take in a deep breath. But just as you pull the trigger, the walker stumbles to the left and the bullet scrapes along the outside of the walker's skull.

Shit.

As it falls, it hits its head on a tree stump and lies still, face down. You come out from behind the tree cautiously, replacing the pistol at the holster on your waist and pull out the hunting knife. The walker doesn't move.

Okay. I can do this. I can do this-

You tap it with your boot. It groans once, but doesn't make an attempt to get up. Wait. If its groaning and not moving is it not-

You bend down and grab the back of the walker's shirt, avoiding the crossbow to roll it over, and suddenly realize, it's not a walker, it’s a man.

SHIT.

"Hello?" You poke his chest once, twice, but he doesn't respond. "Um- Sir? Are you okay? Can you speak?"

Why did I just call him sir?

The man groans softly, but does not open his eyes.

SHIT.

You hadn't run into many people in the apocalypse. Saw them from afar, but never approached one. Your father had instilled in you that desperate situations bred a new kind of person. No one could be trusted. The one time you had run into a group, you learned that the hard way. You shake it off and look down at the man on the ground.

He's covered in a layer of dirt and grime, a necklace of walker ears hangs over his dark green tank top, a large hunting knife hangs from his waist next to a child's doll, and blood soaks through the side of his shirt.

Why does he have a doll? Is he like one of those truckers on the highway that has a teddy bear strapped to the front of their semi? Because that's kind of weird.

You stepped closer to examine where the blood has stained his shirt along his side. He's really hurt.

You raise your head to look around the forest around you. He doesn't have a pack, his camp must be nearby. Which means that there might be others that come looking for him.

You look back down at the man where the bullet scraped through his hair, watching the blood trickle down the side of his head. You think about leaving him there. I don't know him. I can just walk away no harm done-

You bite your lip. I can't do it. I can't leave him here. You curse your conscience. Now I just have to haul him the entire mile back to my cabin, without waking him up or hurting him.

Great.

*******************************************

Dragging him back to the cabin through the woods and up the front steps took over an hour. You were too afraid to drag him back quickly, afraid that it would do more harm than good especially because you were unsure how bad the wound on his side was. He hadn't woken up, a bad sign, but you were optimistic.

Guilt momentarily fills your chest. You wouldn’t have shot him if you knew he was still alive. You probably would have just let him go on his merry way. But then you think about how he stumbled.

If I let him go, how far would he have gotten? Maybe me taking him is better than the alternative.

Staring at him laying on the hardwood floor made you wonder if this was a bad idea. You didn't know him. He might have a group somewhere and he might be faking to find out where you lived.

If he is faking he is certainly committed. You mused gazing down at him again.

He was older than you, by a few years at least, with brown hair that stuck out in different directions. Your eyes sweep his clothes, nose wrinkling at the strand of walker ears around his neck. His clothes were dirty, covered in dirt and dead blood. You had taken great care with his crossbow, setting it down on the small wooden table that you usually ate at, noticing how clean it was.

He must really care about it.

You couldn’t help but notice how small the man looked laying on the floor. And it made you feel more guilty about shooting him.

You walk away to get your medical bag, it was on the makeshift kitchen counter on the right back wall. The cabin was one room, in one corner there was a giant cabinet filled with whatever cans you could salvage, in another there was a wooden counter with a non-working sink, a small fireplace sat on the left wall, and in another there was a small twin sized bed covered in mismatched blankets. You had been prepping for winter, moving further and further into town to salvage what you could and storing chopped wood against the inside wall by the fireplace. The thought of winter scared you more than you’d care to admit. Especially with the squirrel traps giving less and less each day.

I wonder if this is the person stealing all my squirrels. You frown to yourself. Maybe I shouldn't help him.

You hear a strange sound behind you and as turn around, bag in hand, you notice that the man isn't on the ground anymore. He's standing, crossbow drawn, pointed directly at your chest.

Great.

"Where the hell am I?" The man growls.

Your chest tightens in fear. By the time I reach for my gun he’ll shoot me.

"It’s okay." You force the tremor from your voice, trying your best not to look frightened. The bag drops to the ground  and you hold up your hands in front of you in a gesture of surrender. "You're at my cabin. You're safe."

"Why?" His eyes narrow as he takes another step forward.

This was such a bad idea. Granted I also would have that reaction if I woke up in a strange place.

"I'm a doctor. I just wanted to make sure you were alright. You collapsed and I noticed you were bleeding."

He backs up towards the door without turning around, eyes wild, body tense, ready to spring.

"Wait please. I feel really bad-"

The guilt is back now as you look at the scrape along his head and the blood soaked shirt.

"Why?" The man narrows his eyes.

 "Because I-" You scrunch up your face in embarrassment. "I thought you were one of those things and I shot you. I'm sorry."

"You shot me?"

"Yes. I mean, you stumbled at the last second and I missed, but I'm also pretty sure that you hit your head pretty hard."

"What?"

"It felt wrong to leave you there.”

“I don’t need your help.” He spits.

“You’re probably right.” Your hands are still palm up in front of you. “But I thought it would be stupid if you survived this long with those things out there and then died from an infection. That's pretty pathetic." You smile sheepishly at your attempt at a joke to lighten the mood, but he doesn't smile.

Well the good news is if he leaves I'll never see him again, and I'll be able to forget about this entire awkward exchange. Who am I kidding? It’s going to haunt me at night, right up there with the time I tripped and ate it on the way to the microphone at my 8th grade talent show.

"I don't want your help." The man says again as he turns to go, but groans when he feels the muscles on his side strain with the movement.

"Please." You breathe. "It'll take ten minutes then you can leave and we never have to see each other ever again."

His eyes are still narrowed. They skate across your body sizing you up. “Are you alone?”

The question makes a cold shiver travel down your spine. It's the question that made you avoid other survivors, the question that made you tie your hair up under a hat, wear oversized clothes to hide your body, and a scarf to hide the bottom half of your face.

“If I say yes are you going to attack me?” Your throat is thick when you ask it.

He shakes his head.

You watch him curiously, but even though he’s pointing a crossbow at your chest you don’t think he’s lying. “Then yes.”

The man stands there for another few seconds. “Five minutes.”

“Fine."

He makes no move to lower the crossbow.

"Is it okay if I move or are you going to shoot me?" You raise an eyebrow.

The man sighs and finally lowers the crossbow, which you take as confirmation that you can pick up your medical bag.

What am I doing? I should have just let him leave. You think to yourself, watching the way his eyes dart around the cabin.

You both stand there awkwardly for a second. “You can just sit on the bed. It'll probably be easier than the chair.”

He sits down, but places the crossbow next to him on the bedside table, as if preparing for you to attack him.

You tried to remember the training you had for dealing with unwilling patients. Of course when that happened the hospital let them leave, but you didn’t want him to leave. You felt guilty for shooting him and you felt guilty for dragging him all the way here. And despite not knowing him, you were worried.

He could barely move without it hurting, what would happen if he left? One of those things were sure to get him on the way back wherever he came from.

You pull up a chair, so close to him that your knees are almost touching, and place the bag on your lap, looking through for your supplies.

“How long have I been here?”

“A little over an hour. Took me a while to drag you here. You’re heavier than you look.” You smile up at him, but he continues to frown.

“Are you really a doctor?”

“Why would I lie about that?” You shuffle through the bag, placing the supplies on the bed.

“I don’t know.” He shifts. “You don’t look like a doctor.”

“Because I’m a woman?”

“No. You're just-“

You wait for him to think of it, but he doesn’t finish his sentence.

Okay.

“This is going to hurt just for a second.” You soak the cloths in the antiseptic and raise one to the side of his head. The man flinches away from your touch with narrowed eyes. “For this to work I’m going to need to touch you.” You say softly with a gentle smile. You were under the impression that he wasn't mean, rather he just wasn’t used to other people.

He leans forward, looking away from you to give you access to the side of his head. Your left hand brushes away the strands of hair from where the bullet scraped along his head, dabbing with the cloth along the shallow wound. You were happy to note that it didn’t need stitches, but you still wanted to clean it out. The man doesn’t wince when the cloth touches his skin.

“I’m y/n by the way.”

He waits a beat. “Daryl.”

You continue to clean along the wound, concentrating on getting as much blood and dirt away from the opening.

“Have you been out here alone this whole time?” Daryl asks.

“Yeah. How about you?”

“No.”

Guess he doesn’t say a lot.

When you finish with his head, you start to reach for his shirt, but Daryl jumps hand twitching towards the crossbow.

“It’s okay." You smile at him.  "I want to look at your side. If you could just take off your shirt-"

“No.”

“But I have to see it-“

He frowns at you. Finally, Daryl pulls up his shirt only enough for you to see the wound on his side, but no further. Just under the cloth of his shirt where it stops, you see remnants of pink scar tissue.

You try very hard not to look at the pink scar tissue, but you were curious. Was that why he didn't want me to take off his shirt?

He’s not looking at you. In fact the only time he made eye contact with you was when he was holding the crossbow.

“You might need to lie down for this one.”

Daryl eyes you again, before finally he lays down on his side, still not looking at you. The wound on his side is deeper, two piercings that go from the front of his abdomen and through to his back.

Did he shoot himself with the crossbow? How is that even physically possible?

“What happened?”

“Fell.”

“Uh-huh. Well, I think I’m going to need to pour the antiseptic in this one and it's going to hurt. You can hold my hand if you want.” You put your left hand on the bed as a peace offering. He doesn’t take it.

Or not.

As soon as the liquid touches his skin, Daryl fists his hand in the mountain of blankets, clenching his teeth together.

“I know I’m sorry.” You can't help but touch his arm and he flinches back away from you. “But now it’s clean and you don’t have to worry about infection.” You go through the motions with the stitches, pulling the needle through the skin smooth and steady, surprised that Daryl does not react to the needle. You reach for a bandage to cover the affected area. "Okay, so keep this clean, don't raise your arm up too high or the stitches will rip, change the bandage in a day or so. I'm going to give you one to take with you. Do you want some painkillers? I think I have some in here somewhere."

"No."

"Okay." You stand up and move out of his way so that he can get up from the bed, before beginning to look through the bag for a spare bandage.

Daryl stands there for a minute with his crossbow dangling from his right hand as if he's not sure what to say.

"Here." You hold out a bandage.

"Don't need it."

"Are you sure?"

Daryl nods once.

"Well if you rip your stitches or decide you want another bandage, you know where to find me." You can't help but smile at him. 

As much as you were afraid of him at first, you couldn't help but like the interruption in the monotony of your day. And despite his gruff exterior, you liked talking to him. Which was surprising given the fact you hadn't liked talking to anyone else in the past.

He doesn't say anything, instead he starts to walk to the door of the cabin, but he stops. "Thanks." Daryl doesn't look away from the door.

"You're welcome. Be careful out there."

And then he's gone, leaving you in the still silence of the cabin once more.

********************************************

The next few days pass as they usually do. You check the traps, scavenge for water, read a book by the fireplace at night, but every time you leave the cabin you hope to see Daryl again, hope that he'll come back because he needed that bandage or maybe will just come by to sit in utter silence.

That last bit seemed the most in character.

You didn't want to admit to yourself how disappointed you were in the silence that followed his exit. Not because he spoke that much, but even his presence in the cabin made whatever this was easier. Before you relished in the fact that you were alone, but now after you met him, it felt too quiet.

However, you had noticed more dead in the area over the past few days and that made you worry.

What if Daryl never made it back to wherever it was he was going? What if he had gotten attacked as soon as he left? You tried not to think that, because Daryl looked capable enough to survive in the apocalypse. Definitely seemed capable when he held a crossbow to your face.

You jolt awake to the sound of someone frantically knocking against your door.

What?

You tighten your hand on the hunting knife under your pillow before you sit up in bed. Maybe I dreamed that.

Someone kicks open the front door of your cabin.

Definitely didn't dream that.

A ball of fear lodges in the back of your throat as you grab the gun on your bedside table, holding it up between you and the dark figure standing just inside the doorway.

"Y/n?" A familiar voice shouts.

"Daryl?" You lower the gun watching the dark figure turn to barricade the door.

"We have to go."

"Daryl what's wrong-" As soon as the words come out of your mouth, you hear the moaning and shuffling of the dead  followed by the pounding of hands against the door.

Fear makes your entire body freeze. You had been in Atlanta long enough to watch the chaos, watch what happened in the streets, the memories of what you saw keeping you awake more than one night, memories of the masses of bodies swarming survivors and the ungodly screams that followed.

"We gotta go.” He grabs your wrist and hauls you out of bed.

In case of an emergency like this, you always slept fully dressed. You clip your belt around your waist before putting the gun back in the holster and throwing your oversized jacket on over your t-shirt. Your pack is on the floor by the back door. The medical bag is small enough to shove inside the black backpack.

“Come on!” Daryl grabs your hand and pulls you out the back door, dragging you through the woods behind him.

You glance over your shoulder. The moonlight above illuminates the mass of walkers that surely would have destroyed the small cabin and you inside.

He came back for me. The thought makes a surge of gratitude warm in your chest. He didn't even know me and he was willing to fight his way through dead infested woods to save me.

Daryl shoots one that stands in your way, glancing behind him to see the mass of walkers that follow, before letting go of your hand and reloading the crossbow.

“Where are we going?” You shout running behind him, gun drawn.

“Up ahead-“ He responds over his shoulder.

You break out of the tree-line onto a road, where a motorcycle waits haphazardly on the edge of the long grass.

He jumps on the motorcycle revving the engine once, looking up at you expectantly. You don’t hesitate. You kick your leg over the side and wrap your arms around his waist to secure yourself. Daryl's muscles tense as you do, but the motorcycle shoots off, the sound of the engine masking the moans and shuffles of the dead emerging from the trees behind you.

You drive for a few miles, far enough that you put your face into Daryl's back to block the onslaught of wind that comes up over the road.

As soon as Daryl hits the interstate he weaves through the broken cars, before finally parking in the median. The world sounds quieter without the roar of the motorcycle, you notice as the smooth silence of the night returns.

"Why did you come back for me?" You ask him, as you get off the seat before you can stop yourself.

Daryl lights a cigarette, not meeting your eye. "You helped me."

"After I shot you."

"You missed." He shrugs.

You snort. "I did." You look out over the desolate interstate where cars are haphazardly parked and empty luggage cases spew clothing onto cracked pavement. "So what now?"

Daryl blows out a lungful of smoke. "You could-" He stops.

"What?"

"Well." Daryl shifts his feet, taking another drag of his cigarette.

"Daryl?" You try to catch his eye worried that he's going to tell you to go away, that he's going to say goodbye right here right now.

"My group is supposed to meet up here." He doesn't meet your eye. "If you want you could come with us, but you don't have to." In the moonlight you swear you see his ears turn pink.

"Well," You sigh looking around. "How else am I going to repay you for saving my life? Might as well stick around."

"We're even."

"No. I think saving someone from zombies trumps suturing a wound. Plus, somebody's got to make sure you don’t shoot yourself with your crossbow again."

Daryl frowns. "I didn't shoot myself with my crossbow."

"I think that you did and that you're too embarrassed to say anything. But don't worry, your secret's safe with me."

He continues to frown at you, but it only makes you smile wider.

I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

***********************************

Thank you so much for reading! If you liked this, be sure to read "Your Fault!"

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fluff #twd #the walking dead #twd daryl dixon #daryl x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl x y/n #twd fanfics

[fayes-fics]

Show Me

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader, Modern AU

Summary: Too much Merlot and a challenge neither of you will back down from...

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, mutual masturbation, mutual orgasm.

WordCount: 2.4k

Author's Note: Anon request fill from HERE (request: modern Anthony masturbates for reader), with thanks to some lovely mutuals (@colettebronte and @eleanor-bradstreet) who helped me decide for this to be a mutual masturbation fic and the former for beta reading too. Sorry it's taken so long to write this, Nonny, but I hope you enjoy! <3

“Oh, Please. I know everything about you,” you wave a hand dismissively at him, relaxing onto the chaise of your sectional sofa, wine glass in hand, after hosting duties are over. 

The dinner party was done long ago, but he’s still here, even after all the other guests have left.

“No, you don’t,” Anthony frowns, swallowing the last dregs of his red wine from the glass.

You snort derisively. “Okay, go on, I dare you, say something that would shock me,” you goad, only half-joking.

He raises an eyebrow at you and puts down his empty glass. Then he leans back and places both elbows on the cushion behind, manspreading with arms and legs.

“I think about you when I masturbate,” he offers casually.

When he utters seven words, your whole world grinds to a halt. That is NOT what you were expecting. For a few seconds, you are stunned into silence, a static buzz in your ears as your brain supplies an enthralling mental slideshow.

“Haha, very funny. No, you don’t,” your retort echoing into your glass once you find your tongue again.

“Oh yes, I bloody do,” he asserts, and as you turn to look at him now, there’s a thread of tension in the air. 

You have sparred with this man so much over the years you’re surprised he has any feelings of attraction towards you. Although, if you think about it, somehow, it’s right on brand for him—fighting and fucking somehow being on the same continuum. A sudden acute curiosity about where this might go, not wanting to think too hard about what it could mean.

“Show me.” 

It leaves your lips before you can stop yourself—the wine speaking for you. One of his eyebrows raises archily again, and there’s a twinkle in his eye that looks so dangerous.

“You always surprise me. It’s so fucking sexy,” he says low and gravelly.

The spike of euphoria makes every cell of your being fizzle with energy like a storm approaching. To hear him call you sexy is the hottest thing you have ever heard. It makes you bolder.

“Show me,” you repeat, staring him down, the power and crackling potential of this moment enthralling, even if you are almost sure he will back down now.

He licks his lips and then pushes back onto your oversized sofa, settling into the plump cushions. You twist to watch him as he holds your gaze and drops a hand to his fly. The sound of his zip fills the room as much as your slightly laboured breathing does.

Fuck, is he actually going to do this?

Your disbelief is only matched by the rapid beating of your heart. The most vexing, and yes, okay, most attractive man you know is about to masturbate for you. Surely a fever dream. 

He flicks the button at the top of his jeans, and you see boxer briefs that are slightly tented and bite your lip. Still, he stares you down as your eyes ping between his face and his lap. Then he pulls down his underwear, and you see his cock spring out, already sizable, half hard and very delicious looking. That theoretical mental slideshow from just moments earlier is nothing compared to the real thing.

He fists himself and stares at you challengingly. Then ever so slowly, as a tease, he raises his hand and then drops it down with a slight curling action, emitting a tiny groan as you watch his cock twitch and come to life in his hand.

“Y/n.” 

The way he says it is dark, delicious and pitched so low you throb between your legs, almost painfully, a prickly feeling runs over the base of your scalp—a spike of arousal so rough it catches your breath. 

“Anthony…” slips out of your mouth. It’s breathy, and you barely recognise it as your own voice.

“God, say it again, just like that,” he hisses, and you watch his fist flex around his cock.

“Anthony…” you repeat, slower this time, throatier, intentionally pitched to arouse.

He groans, and his hand speeds up. All you can do is watch. Your clit pulsing in sync with your heartbeat, with his motions. Your strongest urge is to strip off your underwear and climb on him before he can come to his senses. But you don’t dare; you just sit there routed to the spot a few feet away, unable to look anywhere but him - at that glorious cock and handsome face.

His tongue peeks out and swipes over his bottom lip, then he groans slightly, fractionally pushing his hips off the sofa. 

“Join me,” he dares, his hand speeding up slightly as he hissed through his teeth. “Touch yourself.”

A shiver ripples over your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Just the thought of masturbating in front of him while he does the same is enough to make you flood.

You stare briefly into the rich, ruby pool of Merlot in your hand, then tip your head back and down the rest of the glass without thinking, placing the glass aside. Your eyes back on Anthony, delicious cock in hand, stroking gently and staring at you intensely.

“Liquid courage, I like it,” he nods, smirking with a wink that is far too seductive. “Go on, prove me wrong. Show me you’re not the person I think you are.”

You know he’s trying to manipulate you, not at all subtly, with flattery. But you let him. 

“What sort of person do you think I am?” you challenge, toying with the hem on your dress, revelling in how his eyes linger on your fingers as you do so.

“Too repressed to do in front of me what I know you would do if I walked out right now,” he goads with an empty threat.

“You’re wrong on both counts,” you counter brazenly, the wine coursing in your bloodstream now, letting your hands slide up your outer thighs, taking your hem with them. “There’s no way you’d walk out of here right now,” you posit with a knowing smirk.

His eyes flash in the low lamp light, his hand still making languid strokes of his cock, as you reach the sides of your underwear and peel them down your legs, angled away slightly so he can't see between your thighs, heart hammering wildly in your chest.

“Oh fuck yes,” he hisses as you pull them from your feet with a flourish and toss them across the room. “Come closer,” he adds velvety, his free hand patting the cushion next to him.

“I'm staying right over here, Bridgerton,” you warn even as you lick your lips unconsciously as a bead of precum forms at his tip, him still pumping himself slow but steady. 

It feels too much like jeopardy to be right next to him, uncertain you could stop yourself from doing anything to him, begging him for everything he is willing to give. Desire tugging low in your gut, making you impulsive to do things you could never walk back. The distance between you feels safer.

So instead, you slide your fingers under your dress, heel digging into the plush fabric as you widen your stance, and he growls at the sight. All he can see from his angle is your arm wedged between your legs; that is how you want to keep it. A tease, not letting him see the whole show. But dammit, if you aren't going to give him a spectacle anyway. Arching your back and throwing your head onto the cushion behind, you inhale sharply as your fingertips slide into your folds, temporarily taken aback by just how soaked you already are, your clit swollen and aching. It won't take much.

“How wet are you?” he demands, the tone needy and wrecked already, the hand wrapped around his cock moving faster now.

“Wouldn't you like to know?” you grit out defiantly, the antagonism still broiling under the surface.

“Yes, I fucking would - tell me!” it's impatient, through gritted teeth, and you shoot him a sideways simper.

“Never…” you tease as your fingers slide through the slick, viscous pool. The blistering lingering look you share is anything but animus. 

“I can hear it from here,” he growls, and you can't stop the hitch in your breath in response, knowing there is a wet sound as you flick across your clit in a rousing motion.

Your sight is locked onto his hand as he speeds up, squeezing his cock more insistently now, the tip getting pink and slick. It takes every fibre of your being not to slide to your knees before him and lick him clean. Just that thought has you pushing your knees further apart, your other hand reaching inside your neckline to tweak a nipple, pebbled and aching to be touched.

“Fuck, y/n,” Anthony stutters, temporarily stupified by the undulating movement of your body as you bear down on your fingers and pinch the hardened tip of your nipple until you hiss.

“Don't you dare stop,” you warn through gritted teeth as his rhythm falters, transfixed by the sight of you bringing yourself close to the edge.

He snarls at your command and seems to snap back to it, fisting himself even tighter, his hand almost a blur now, huffed, hungry noises escaping his lips as he stares at you, wild-eyed untamed, goading you to break with him. 

The room feels too hot, the flush of alcohol coursing through you, the smell of sex in the air as you both push your bodies rapidly towards completion, the texture of the sofa catching the back of your thighs as you squirm on your hand, honeying your fingertips, desperate for him to reach out and demand to suck your fingers clean, to push your legs onto his shoulders and dive face first into your slit.

“Put a finger inside yourself,” he urges, rushed and ragged. “Please,” he amends with a throaty whine.

Unable to stop yourself, not wanting to either, you obey. Sliding your middle finger lower as you keep your index finger circling your clit. The heated, soaked cling makes you hiss in surprise, so on fire for him; you hold his gaze as you push deeper, your mouth opening into a small O at the sensation.

“That's it, fuck, I bet that feels amazing,” he snaps, his tone feral, his eyes just inky pools staring you down.

“Tell me you want to fuck me…”

It takes a split second to realise it was you who said it. Unwilling to back down, meeting Anthony’s stunned, hungry expression head-on, fingers sliding fast over your clit, spiralling so close so soon to something extraordinary.

“I want to fuck you,” he enunciates slowly, dripping with intent, making a low, almost grunting noise with each pull on his delicious cock.

Your responding moan is lewd, and you are uncaring of the noise your body makes as you rapidly fuck your finger into yourself over and over, wishing it was his perfect cock that you stare at now, both openly panting.

“Don't. Fucking. Stop,” it's his turn to say it now, each word a heaved, wrecked sentence.

There is an inevitability to this moment that somehow feels fated, apt, perfect, almost. As if this is the only way the searing tension between you would ever be resolved: a literal release.

“I’m so close,” he grits out, and you nod rapidly to agree, moving your other hand to touch your clit as you now slide two fingers into yourself, rapid, deep, craving release, feeling the telltale fluttering around your fingertips.

With a brief glance up to his handsome face, you watch his plump lips moan your name, long, loud, low. His body going rigged as an arc of cum shoots out of his cock, painting a glistening line over his knuckles and the rug between his splayed feet.

The sight makes you shudder from head to toe and pushes you over the edge, your pussy trapping your fingers in a vice-like grip as your body bows, and you call his name in release, the tension snapping in what feels like every cell of your body. Unable to stop and uncaring to do so, you ride the cresting sensation for what feels like forever and no time at all. You can hear him swearing and barking filthy encouragements, but it's muffled as if through cotton wool, the rush of blood in your ears and the spots dancing before your eyes, screwed tightly shut, all you can concentrate on. 

When you sag back into the sofa cushions, utterly spent, letting your fingers slip from your body, mortification starts to creep into your edges. You feel unable to meet his eyes as you primly push down your dress where it had rucked up around your hips, even as you feel your own juices smearing over your skin as you do so.

“Don’t…” it's gruff and beseeching. “Don't you dare regret this. Or feel embarrassed. That was amazing,” he exhales shakily as he rezips his fly, his raw sincerity taking you back slightly, even as you stare at the floor.

“You owe me a new rug…” It's the strangest non sequitur, but it's what your brain has decided to say in response, eyeing the mess he has left.

He barks a laugh so loud you can't help but join in.

“That I do,” he admits, slumping back and turning his head towards you, a softness in his warm brown eyes as you finally pluck up the courage to look at him again.

“I don't regret it,” you admit quietly after a brief silence. “I just can't quite believe we did it…”

“Merlot…” he offers laconically, eyeballing the empty collection of bottles on your kitchen island.

“Definitely,” you giggle.

A grin tugs at his lips. “Got any more?” he inquires.

“One more bottle,” you gesture vaguely towards the wine rack.

He gets up and saunters over, bending to pick it up as you admire the fit of his jeans around his bum. He nods at you to pick up the empty wine glasses and then walks away, gesturing for you to follow.

“Where are we going?” you frown, pushing off the sofa to catch up with him as he wanders down your hallway.

He spins to look at you with an expression so heated you stumble to a halt and almost drop the glasses.

“Don't play coy, you know where,” he rumbles and kicks open your bedroom door with a flick of his foot.

It turns out your encore performance had a different director, but after you come screaming onto his hands and face, you decide it might be worth ordering a wine subscription.

Anthony taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @fictionalmenloversblog @debheart @malpalgalz @amanda08319 @panhoeofmanyfandoms @delehosies @m-rae23 @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @jeanfreau @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @vane28282 @kisskissshutmydoor @hanji-emo-blog @y0ur-favgerman @Huffelpuffforlife @0x1harmonia0x1

#anthony bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton smut #anthony bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton smut #bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x female reader #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader

[draculasfavoritewife]

Touch Me Please

Summary: Aftereffects can be painful to work through by yourself, and a little help from your partner can be a godsend.

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Warnings: Unwanted touch from a gross man, initial lack of communication, suggestions of a panic attack. Extended sequence of getting handsy in the shower. Possessive! Din.

I will never tire of writing shower scenes ❤️‍🔥. I love the thought of Mando's partner sometimes going undercover to flush out particularly oily bounties. And I really don't know what came over me for this one's ending...I have to blame my senselessness on the utter chokehold this man has on me hehe.

*Translations of less common words/phrases in Mando'a at the end

"I had it handled."

Din gives no response to your annoyed statement, simply lowers himself on one knee to yank his vibroblade from deep in the throat of the male Twi'lek on the floor, whose body has just barely ceased twitching.

You angrily stalk towards him, wrenching your chain along in one hand, your own knife still humming loudly in the other. "Don't you tune me out, Mando," you warn, using his professional alias as much out of displeasure as necessity. "I. Had it. Handled. But no, you just HAD to have things done your way. And now he's dead and we have to make a run for it."

"Warm or cold, makes no difference," he says gruffly, still not looking at you. He's a little too focused on the prone body of the asset, and you briefly wonder what's bothering him.

He doesn't usually act so impulsively when you're undercover.

With an exasperated snort, you shake your head and turn your attention to your modified slave collar, pressing the hidden release so it falls away, leaving you unchained once more. "This was a waste."

"We got what we came for." He rises and hefts the dead man across his wide shoulders with breathtaking ease, indicating the doorway with a sharp jerk of his head. "Let's get out of here before too many of his lackeys come looking for him."

You sheathe your knife and pull his pulse rifle from its holster on his back. He doesn't object.

He can tell you might need to disintegrate a few lowlifes before it's safe to hold a conversation with you again.

Your escape goes smoothly, more so than the actual mission, ironically, and soon the two of you are standing in the ship's hold, watching the carbonite seal over your latest asset. Din is acutely aware of how close you are to him, all his senses on high alert as his religiously conditioned mind struggles to process how you can just STAND THERE so exposed. Your slave dancer disguise is perfect, as far as it can be called a disguise.

As much as the pair of you shares under cover of darkness, he's never really seen so much of your skin before, bared between little more than straps of leather and the drape of filmy netting. He has to remind himself repeatedly that you consider yourself dar'manda.

He wonders too, if you'd done jobs like this before your partnership. Not once did he see anything in your stride that betrayed your discomfort. Images flash through his head unbidden, of the way you moved before your new "master", of how you remained still and silent even as that crime lord TOUCHED you....

Din Djarin is a controlled man. So his admittedly violent and perhaps unnecessary reaction to seeing that filth's hands straying -- too close to areas of you that belong only to him -- has him slightly shaken, though he'd never say so.

Does he regret having buried his blade in that scum's neck for his sins, for trying to take what's his?

No.

He doesn't.

He finally emerges from his brooding at the sound of your voice beside him. "I'm not angry at you, Din." Everything from this mission has finally caught up with you, drowning the adrenaline in exhaustion. "I just wish you trusted me more. I know I don't look dangerous like this --" you gesture down your mostly unclad form, not seeing the Mandalorian's gaze subtly follow, "-- but I can take care of myself. I had to, for a long time. I was in control, not him."

"I know." His voice comes out cold; he's struggling to keep himself from unloading all his confusion and dismay on you at once. "I do trust you, Cyar'ika. I just...."

You wait, but it's like waiting for a stone wall to open up for you.

Nothing gives.

Normally you would gently cajole that stone wall into eventually breaking down, but you just don't have the capacity to do so at the moment.

"I'll be in the 'fresher if you need me," you sigh, turning away. "I need a shower and a change of clothes."

He says nothing, and you don't invite him along.

For the first time in a while, the silence that falls between you two is taut, barely stretched over spiking emotions that are too rampant to reach the air.

The feeling of hot water pounding into your skin clears your head as it always does, letting your patience recharge and your frustrations bleed away down the drain. Sense slowly begins to reclaim your thoughts, and you let your mind drift as you wash away the scent of smoke and spice, your fingertips trailing absently across your body as new questions rise of their own accord.

You can't understand why you feel disappointed.

The job went well. It doesn't matter in the wider scheme of things whether you were the one to acquire the asset or Din, not really. You both get paid the same.

Were you simply hoping for more of a reaction to your dancer outfit from your laconic partner?

Your hand slips in the water, brushes over your ribcage. It's one of your favorite places to find Din's hands lingering when the two of you are half-awake in bed, your skin sensitive enough there that the calluses on his fingertips still raise shivers from you every time.

But to your disgust, this time it isn't his hand you feel on your body, but the memory of a much different hand, one with overlong nails searching for something that isn't meant for it. A hand that's been dead for over an hour now, but the sensation is still there, and not only there, but trailing down your neck, slithering around your waist, loitering a moment too long atop your thigh, and you can't keep back the sound of horror that forces its way up your throat.

You feel disgusting and helpless with the mere idea of those hands crawling your body.

And all you know is you need it gone now.

Desperately.

So as the sensations continue to heighten unpleasantly, you do the only thing you can think of.

"...Din?"

His footsteps are swift, and he's in the 'fresher before you even need to call for him a second time. You can see his hulking dark form outlined through the frosted door panel.

"What's wrong?" He sounds concerned.

"I...." You pause and take a deep breath. "I need you, Din. Please."

He doesn't protest, doesn't question you. The lights go out and you hear the clack of the beskar as he strips and sets it aside. Scant moments later, he's under the water with you, solid and familiar and radiating heat, and you're suddenly so needy for his touch it's all you can do to keep from throwing yourself at him.

"What do you want from me?" he breathes, water dripping from his hair down to your face.

"You." Most times you're a playful flirt, but this time you have no room left for games. You just want him to remind you who you really belong to. There will be time for other things later. "I want to feel your hands on me, Din. I need to get the feeling of that miserable scum off of me. Touch me, please."

He pulls you into him, a tad more roughly than usual. "Where, Cyar'ika?"

You melt into the welcome haven of his chest, your hands immediately finding their way to some of the more distinctive scars that ridge his skin. "Anywhere you want, my Love."

He's ravenous in his compliance, all but devouring you with his touch, lips joining his hands as he focuses first on your throat and shoulders.

It's as if he's as desperate for the contact as you are, and suddenly his strange actions become clear to you, as his hands flawlessly overrun all of the places where the other man had been.

He took note of every single unwelcome caress, each one still burning in his mind's eye, each movement of foreign hands a wrong against you and him that cries out to be righted.

And so he follows that path diligently, his heated touch obliterating any claim that vermin tried to make on his sacred space, reconquering everything you offer him like the Mandalorians of old.

You're surrounded by him, blind in the dark and the steadily falling water, held flush against his body, your senses reduced to purely touch and hearing as he growls broken phrases in Mando'a into your skin.

"I've never seen you so territorial," you huff out in a laugh.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs against your lips, as his pause in their journey across the landscape of you.

"Why?" you ask the well-loved chamber of his mouth.

"For my actions. I let my jealousy rule me in the moment and I offended you." He lifts you in his arms, your back resting against the 'fresher wall and your arms wrapping around his neck. You settle into the new position with a happy hum, letting your hips kiss his and feeling his hands slide down the backs of your thighs in reply.

"But seeing that son of a Hutt with his hands all over you like that --" his forehead comes to rest against yours. "That did something to me I can't explain."

One of your hands finds its way into his hair as the other gently scratches across his muscular back, making him sigh.

"Thank you, Din."

You can FEEL the curious eyebrow raise.

"For caring so much. For coming to my rescue when I need you -- every time. Next time," you add, mischief creeping back into your tone, "we can reverse the roles, if you'd rather. I can think of a lot of people who'd pay an exorbitant amount for a dancing Mandalorian. Think of that -- you, dressed in that get-up, but with the helmet still on, of course -- that would intrigue any crime lord, all right."

"You sound like you've imagined that more times than you should have," he chides teasingly.

Your only response is a soft laugh, though you do press yourself more insistently against him and give his hair a suggestive tug.

"Hmm. Someone's still not satisfied." He lets you slide from his embrace back to the floor, and you whine with disappointment, though to your relief all echoes of unwanted hands have dissipated.

Now you're just left hungry for more of HIM.

"Hush, Mesh'la, I'm not refusing you." The extra grit in his lowered voice suggests he wants more as well. His thumb brushes across your lips, rough and sensual. "I just think it would be more...pleasant to finish this in my quarters, don't you? Cold water and romance don't always go so well together if the heat runs out."

You nip at his thumb and smirk. "Thinking as always, Djarin."

"About you, at any rate." He falls quiet abruptly as he pulls away, as if abashed that such a flippant admission actually left his lips.

You laugh and duck back under the water. "Go. Get your hair dry and whatever else you need so I don't see your face. I'll get out when I hear you leave."

He starts to open the door, then suddenly thinks twice and is upon you once again, his fingers digging into the softness of your hips and his lips grazing your collarbone.

"You're beautiful," he grates out in a rush. "And I can't stop thinking about you in that costume. I just thought you should know that."

You sigh into his firm hold, a sinful idea taking delightful shape in your mind.

"How about I dance for you then, Din Djarin? Would you like to see that, ner'alor?"

The breath leaves his lungs all at once in a sharp exhale. "Yes, Mesh'la. Dance for me."

When he finally goes, you're left to finish your shower with an overwhelming ache for him and some very tempting plans turning over in your head.

Dar'manda = Not Mandalorian; separated from one's heritage

Ner'alor = My leader/boss

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #x reader #mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #female reader #romance #steamy #comfort #suggestive #hes my husband #possessive #bounty hunter #shower scene #I love when he gets flustered he's so cute #obsessed with him

[from-the-clouds]

texas sun - joel miller x f!reader - vol. iii

series masterlist | series playlist | writing masterlist | previous chapter | gif credit

chapter summary: Somehow, you realize you've accidentally ended up spending almost every weekend for the last month and a half with either one, or all of the Millers. pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader words: 8.7k chapter warnings: some angst, alcohol consumption, marijuana use, suggestive thoughts (but no smut), referenced parental neglect, implied age gap. reader has daddy issues (shocker!) & a fear of intimacy. a/n: this chapter is so disgustingly sweet it might give you a cavity. truly. but its also a little self-indulgent because joel is in my dream blunt rotation :/ please be patient with updates because i have a career/social life/apartment, and am a perfectionist! i promise i will always (try) to make the wait worth your while. Also, here's a link to the song Joel plays on guitar, since it's not on Spotify so I couldn't add it to the playlist.

-April 19, 2003- 

“Well, that was awkward.”

Obviously, Joel thinks to himself as Sarah turns to watch the retreating form of her teacher, while Joel stares straight ahead at the crowd in front of him. At first, he had thought she was just being polite. It was the right thing to do, to say hello to a parent and a student if you see them outside of class. But…they were seeing each other at a bar. And she’d asked him to dance. 

We just got here, maybe later? Joel can’t even remember what he had said, something along those lines. It wasn’t a flat-out refusal, but he had been acutely aware of Sarah’s eyes boring into the back of his head from where she sat beside him, and he sort of blacked out, couldn’t recall what had caused her to get the hint, to walk away. 

Joel grunts an affirmation to Sarah, and drums his fingers against the tabletop. There’s a dance floor full of people in front of him, all under various levels of intoxication, all of them dancing. 

“Do you believe me now?” Sarah asks. 

“I never said I didn’t believe you.”

How he had allowed Tommy and Sarah to talk him into coming here tonight, he’s not sure. Probably, it had something to do with how much he loved them both. How he would, ultimately, do whatever they asked if he knew it’d make that happy. But still, honky-tonking is the last thing he wants to be doing at the end of a long week. 

There was pretty much only one decent bar in town, so he wasn’t exactly shocked he had run into someone he knew. Everyone came here – to dance, to drink, to eat, or to drown their sorrows. To see their friends, or even to find someone to take home for the night. And over the years, as a frequent customer, Joel had used this place to do all those things.

Tonight was special though, a little more family friendly. It was swing night. It happened once a month, and Joel had always made a point to take Sarah a couple times a year. When he was young, his mother had taught him and Tommy to dance, and he felt it was only appropriate to pass the skill along, even if it was almost obsolete. He hoped Sarah would be able to do the same someday, if she ever had children of her own. 

“Will you dance with me, at least?” Sarah asks.

“Of course I will,” Joel answers.. “But let’s wait for Tommy, he’s ordering our drinks.”

“You mean your drinks.”

“No, you got a Shirley Temple.”

Sarah narrows her eyes. It’s the same expression that Joel has only seen her use recently, and he actually prefers it less to the eye roll. This time, he’s glad it hasn’t come with a question from her, because when it does, it’s always a little more frightening. “Come on, you know that’s not the same.”

Before Joel can respond, he’s cut off by Tommy’s voice. 

“Look who I found.”

This is what he and Sarah have been waiting on, and Joel turns to sees Tommy with all three of their drinks in hand. Over his shoulder, there’s a woman who looks vaguely familiar, wearing daisy dukes and a plaid shirt. After a second, he realizes it’s you.

Most of the time when Joel sees you – from across the street, of course – you’re in a power suit, a pencil skirt. Sometimes, it’s more casual – athletic clothes. There was also that black silk robe he can’t seem to shake from his memory. But this is so…different. It’s clear you’re trying to blend in with the crowd, but you don’t. Not because you’re not pulling it off – you definitely are, effortlessly – he’s just pretty sure if he walks into any room you’re in, his eyes will always be drawn in your direction. 

Joel doesn’t see, but rather feels – Sarah recognize that you’re in front of her, because when she does, she’s tapping him on the arm before he can utter a greeting. “Dad, can I get out and say hi?”

He’s standing to let her out just as you step closer to the table, and you come chest to chest. “Hey,” he says. 

“Hi, Joel,” you say, a soft smile on your face. Your eyes remain locked on his just a moment too long, before Sarah is wrapping you up in a hug, and you’re focused on her when she draws back. “How are you?” you ask. 

Joel doesn’t hear Sarah’s response, because his brother is pressing a drink into his hand - a Jack and Coke, same as what you and Tommy are drinking. 

“Sit down, please!” Tommy encourages.

“Are you sure?” you ask. “This looks like a family thing, I don’t want to-” 

“Please!” Sarah exclaims. 

“What she said,” Tommy seconds Sarah’s sentiments.

For a second, you seem to contemplate the offer, and then you accept the invitation, sliding into the booth across from where Sarah has settled back next to her father. Joel makes eye contact with his brother, sitting next to you. Tommy’s eyebrows are raised suggestively, and there’s a playful smirk on his face when he tilts his head in your direction. Joel gives him nothing, already irritated by his brother’s goading. 

“Is that a Shirley Temple?” you point to Sarah’s drink. When she nods, you continue. “I haven’t had one of those in forever,” you say. 

“Want a sip?”

“Sure,” Sarah slides the glass across to you, and you sip from the straw, pondering. “I should’ve gotten one of those instead. They were my favorite growing up.” 

“Can I have a sip of yours?”

“No,” you and Joel say at the same time. 

“You’re not gonna like it,” he adds.

“You always say that, but how can you know?”

Joel sighs. “Okay, fine. Try mine.”

Sarah seems pleased to get what she wants. When the bitterness of the whiskey registers, the triumphant expression leaves her face completely. 

“Told you,” he says. Sarah grimaces, accepting defeat, and returns to her beverage. 

Tommy leans forward, urging Joel to start making conversation as if this is a date and it’s his responsibility. But before he can think of anything, Sarah pipes up. 

“Guess what?” she asks you.

“What?”

“My teacher’s here.”

“Yeah?” you ask. Joel takes a long pull off his drink, hoping it’ll loosen him up a little. 

“Yeah, she tried to hit on my dad.”

Joel feels the cocktail of whiskey and soda get caught in his throat.

“Oh….” you sound intrigued, and you lean forward. He wonders if this is the dynamic between you and Sarah when he’s not around. Like you’re two friends, engaging in some harmless gossip. “Really?” Your gaze flickers between him and Sarah. 

Sarah bobs her head once. “She has a thing for him. I can tell.”

“What makes you think that?” his brother joins in, moving closer to Sarah, crowding you between himself and the wall and putting his elbows on the table. Joel feels a flash of envy when you shift your attention towards Tommy.

“She just asked him to dance.” Sarah looks over her shoulder, nods her head towards the woman in the corner of the bar who’s probably already focused on his table anyways. Joel already knows what you’re seeing. Miss Davis is pretty, bubbly, outgoing. Probably about your age, if he had to guess, though it’s hard to say how old you are. He imagines he has ten years on you, give or take a few. And for all intents and purposes, Sarah’s teacher is the type of woman he should be interested in. 

“She’s pretty,” you say it like you’re appeasing Sarah, but you’re looking directly at Joel. He’s not sure why you kind of frighten him a little. You’re sweet, he knows, even if you’ve tried to tell him otherwise. But there’s something else there, enigmatic and alluring, that continues to draw him in. 

Tommy chimes in. “So are you gonna dance with her, Joel?”

“Uncle Tommy,” Sarah says dramatically. Her face drops for a second, though, her shoulders slumping as she angles herself towards him, lowers her voice. “I mean, if you want to, that’s fine, I guess. But I….I don’t know.”

Joel is taken aback by how long this conversation has gone on with absolutely no input from himself. Not to mention how honest Sarah is being. She doesn’t usually have much to say about his choice in women – he can usually just tell what she thinks. For her to express something so directly makes him realize how serious she is. But at the moment, he can’t find words to assure her everything will be fine. 

It must be his lack of response that causes you to lean across the table and speak to Sarah. “You know, that’s valid,” there’s a tenderness to your tone. It dawns on him that you’re trying to comfort her. “It is kind of a conflict of interest.”

“Right?” Sarah perks up, just slightly, you’ve given her some support. “It’s one of those things you said you had going on at work the other day an….an ethical…” 

“An ethical dilemma?” you finish her thought.

“Ethical dilemma! That’s it.” Sarah turns back towards Joel. “I think it's an ethical dilemma.” 

For just a split second, he wonders why he’s been letting his already-precocious child hang out regularly with a lawyer. He’s accidentally creating a monster. But thankfully, Joel is finally able to find his voice. “There is no ethical dilemma, because I wouldn’t ever consider it.”

That seems to placate Sarah, and hopefully everyone will decide to drop it. Joel catches your eyes, and there’s something akin to wistfulness there, chin propped on your hand, before you blink once and focus back on Tommy, who's asking you a question. “So, are you here alone?”

“Is it that obvious?” 

“Not at all,” Tommy smirks, not dropping his eye contact with you. “...It’s just surprising, is all.”

Joel stiffens.

“Oh, well…” you smile a little. “I’m just trying to get to know the town a little better. Trying to engage in the community, I guess. But…I’m not sure if I am doing that great of a job fitting in.”

“You are,” Joel interjects, and maybe it’s a little forward, but he’d rather say it before Tommy does. “That’s a nice flannel.”

“Thanks,” You look down at your oversized plaid shirt – the sleeves rolled up to the elbows – that hangs open over a tight white tank top. Joel can see a sliver of the black lace bra you’re wearing that pokes out above the low neckline. He wonders what it might feel like to press his face there, to feel your fingers carding through his hair, but does not allow himself to entertain the idea for very long. Not the time. “I actually had to go and buy it because I didn’t own any plaid. And by the looks of it,” You gesture towards the dance floor. “I need to invest in some cowboy boots, too.”

“One thing at a time, right?” he asks, and you agree.

“So what are you all doing here? Family outing?”

“We actually had to drag this one kicking and screaming out the door,” Tommy points to Joel. 

“You did not,” Joel defends himself.

‘We kinda did,” Sarah says. “Do you know how to dance?”

You shake your head no, look at the people twirling and dipping and dancing in pairs. “Not like that.”

“It’s really easy! I can teach you. My dad taught me.”

“Cute.” Joel looks towards Sarah, and catches you staring instead. Your eyes flit back immediately to his daughters. “But I’m not sure I’ll be any good.”

“You’ll be fine,” Sarah says like it’s already settled. Joel knows he’s spoiled her, that she ultimately gets what she wants. He worries sometimes that others won’t find her quite as endearing. 

“Sarah,” he warns. “You’re making it sound like she doesn’t have a choice.”

You hide a smile behind the rim of your glass. “It’s okay. You can teach me. Might as well learn, if I’m trying to fit in.”

Sarah seems satisfied.

“Joel tells me you grew up in New York City.” Tommy says it, and Joel notices you raise your eyebrows at the implication. He’s talked to Tommy about you. And now you know. He’s pissed at himself for doing it, but at the time he’d been drunk, a little more chatty and vulnerable than usual, and had mentioned you more than once. Too much to be a coincidence. The issue was, Joel had never expected you would talk to Tommy again. If he’d known you would, he wouldn’t have said anything. He doesn’t want to imagine the damage he had done when it was just the two of you, alone at the bar. But even now, he’s completely at his brother’s mercy. 

“Yep,” you nod. 

“You don’t have much of an accent,” Tommy remarks. 

“Not everyone has them.” 

“That’s fair.”

“I did, uh, go to a boarding school in a different state, though, so I wasn’t around it too much.” 

“Boarding school?” Sarah turns to Joel.

“Basically you live at school,” you answer her question. ”Kind of like college, but earlier. I started going when I was nine.”

Sarah frowns. “Wouldn’t you miss your family?” 

“Yes, and I did.”

“So why would you go?”

“Well…” you trail off, shift your weight. “It wasn’t up to me. My dad worked a lot, so it made sense.”

“What’d he do for a living?” Asks Tommy. 

“He’s a criminal defense attorney....owns his own firm and it does pretty well, so…” you shrug. “He was very busy.”

“And that’s why you’re a lawyer? To work for your dad?”

“At one point, that was the plan, yes."

“What happened?”

The question appears to make you uncomfortable, you cross your legs and glance down at the table. “Uhm….pass.” Joel sees your face go blank for a split second before you look up with an easy smile. It’s like the desolate look you’d been wearing was never there, and you point to your drink. “I’ll need a few more of these if you want that story.”

“Might as well order another round,” Tommy flags down a waitress.

You have one more drink, but you don’t really touch it as the four of you continue to talk. Joel has two more, and Tommy has three, because he’s Tommy, and also not driving. Both you and Joel also have to vehemently refuse his request to do a round of tequila shots. 

After a while, Sarah gets bored, then insists on teaching you to dance. You agree, but seem awfully reluctant. Joel wants to pull you aside and let you know that you don’t have to entertain everything Sarah offers, but once you’ve stood up, and he watches her arm link through yours as you both walk to the dance floor, he can’t bring himself to intervene. 

He’s never seen Sarah be so taken with someone before, and he’s filled with a vague sense of regret. He always thought that she was content with just him and Tommy. Maybe she has always needed more. It’s partially his responsibility, Joel thinks –  what could he have done to stop her mother from leaving? Even if he could’ve stopped it, they would’ve been a miserable couple…which might have been more damaging to Sarah than her mother not being around at all.

Once you’re long gone, Joel can sense what Tommy is thinking before he even opens his mouth. 

“Shut it,” Joel says before he can even hear his brother's ribbing. 

“I wasn’t even gonna say anything about that!” Tommy raises his hands, but Joel knows he’s lying.

“We should go over there,” Joel says. He trusts you, but in a bar full of drunk people isn’t interested in being far away from Sarah for too long. Both he and Tommy abandon their booth to mosey their way towards the dance floor. 

Sarah has taken you into a back corner, far away from the band playing, where the crowd has thinned a little. There’s room for him and Tommy to lean up against the wall and watch you both. 

Both your hands are clasped with Sarah’s, and she’s teaching you the counts, the steps, while you study the way that your feet move.

Joel has a feeling that if it weren’t for his daughter, you wouldn’t have hung out with his family for so long. It’s just like the hike, and as usual, he feels more like a third wheel than anything else. You’re right that you do look a little out of place here. Maybe you don’t belong,  but he likes it. You’re wearing a pair of beat up hi-tops, which are a sharp contrast to Sarah’s baby blue cowboy boots that are covered in rhinestone butterflies. He’d gotten them for her for Christmas that past year, and she only wore them during special occasions like this.

Joel is doing the best he can not to think about the way your legs look in those fucking daisy dukes. All on display, and he wonders what it might feel like to drag his tongue up the soft skin of your inner thigh, feel you quiver and whimper as he works his mouth closer to– Enough. He’s disgusted with himself for thinking about you like that right now. 

“Dad, look!” Sarah says, and it seems you’re catching on all right, but none of it looks graceful. Sarah’s trying to lead – which she has never done – so she falters often, and also can’t quite reach all the way above your head when she tries to spin you around. “Oh no, look at his face!” Sarah points. You turn his direction, and Joel realizes he has to neutralize the grimace that has crept onto his visage. “We definitely aren’t doing good.”

“I’ll get the hang of it,” you turn back to Sarah, assure her. “You’re a good teacher.” You’re being nice. Too nice, humoring her and laughing it off, even if she’s making a fool of you both. But you don’t seem to mind, because it’s making her happy. 

All of the sudden, the toe of Sarah’s boot catches on the scuffed wood floor and she lurches forward. Joel immediately pushes himself off the wall as though he could close the space and catch her before she faceplants, but he can’t, and he can already see a vision of himself sitting in the emergency room at 2 a.m waiting, while Sarah holds an ice pack on her nose. But you reach out before the image is fully realized, arms wrapping around her shoulders. “Careful!” You warn. And even though you shuffle forward with the weight of her, you keep her from falling. Once she realizes she’s safe, Sarah giggles and throws her head back, her eyes catching your own. 

He’s not sure what makes him do it. It could be the liquor, the way you look, the unspoken pressure from Tommy. Or maybe he’s just been wanting an excuse to be closer to you. Most importantly, at this rate, he feels like Sarah is going to hurt herself and also you in the process. Regardless of what the reason is, Joel decides to step in. He walks onto the dance floor.

“Alright,” Joel says once he’s gotten closer, looking at Sarah. “I can’t watch this anymore.”

“What?”

He halts in front of his daughter, jerks his hand. “Move. I’m takin’ over.”

Sarah rolls her eyes, but smiles a little, and drops her hands from your shoulders. Joel offers you his hand. “You mind?” 

You look between Joel and Sarah, and she gives you an encouraging nod. “He taught me, he does know what he’s doing.”

“Well okay,” you take Joel’s hand. “You better not embarrass me,” and then you actually fucking wink at him. Already overwhelmed by the delicate weight of your hand in his palm, it almost sends him over the edge. He’s lucky he’s in public, with his family, because he doesn’t think he’d behave himself otherwise.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Joel answers. “Besides, I don’t think anything could be worse than what I was just watching.”

You giggle, and step forward when he tugs you just closer to dance, taking you fully in his arms. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sarah dragging Tommy onto the dance floor. Everyone is taken care of.

You’re smart. And because of it, you’re a fast learner. Even people who can’t really dance can usually figure this out, himself included. But in Joel’s opinion, it’s always been less about getting the steps right, and more about who’s keeping him company. 

And you’re great company. 

Eager, willing, gentle…soft. He’s embarrassed at how long it’s been since he’s been this close to an adult woman, and normally he might be a little nervous, but instead, he just feels…comfortable. 

But Joel is a selfish man. He always wants more. Wants the band to play a slower song, so then he’d have an excuse to pull you closer. Wind an arm around your waist, whisper things in your ear that no one else could hear, and feel your breath hitch when they register. But this isn’t really the dance for that, and the rest of his family is just steps away. He’ll have to compromise – which he doesn’t like. 

“I’m going to dip you,” Joel says, matter-of-factly.

“No you’re not.”

“I am,” he insists. “It’s essential.”

“I seriously doubt that.” 

“Look,” he tilts his head to Tommy and Sarah, and the latter is laughing as she pitches all her weight backwards into his arms. He nearly drops to one knee to catch her, she’s still so petit, but their form is actually pretty good. And they aren’t the only people in the room doing it. 

“Okay,” you say, and give him a warm smile for a split second before becoming stone-faced. “But if you drop me-”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” Joel drawls.

He puts his arms around your waist, one of them catching the middle of your back, the other on a patch of exposed skin on your hip – your tank top has ridden up slightly with all the movement. You dig your fingers into his biceps, cling to him like he had hoped you would.

And even when he draws you back up, eyes locked with your own, your grip remains the same. You stay close. 

“My turn,” Tommy interjects, and Joel can’t help the dirty look he gives him over your shoulder. He’s playing the annoying little brother, doing everything he can to piss him off. His brother wants to see Joel break, but he’s not going to give him the satisfaction.

Plus, Joel is happy to dance with Sarah, which is the whole reason they came here in the first place. She’s so excited to be there, and he wonders if there will ever be a time when she’s too grown up for things like this. He hopes not. 

He ignores the sound of Tommy’s laugh mingled with your own. You were not laughing that much with him, and that causes a pang of jealousy. Joel doesn’t like acknowledging it, but he’s always resented Tommy for his ability to be the charismatic one, the charming one, the happy-go-lucky one. Even when they were kids. That’s what it’s like to be the oldest sibling. Never as fun, always more practical, more serious, the voice of reason. Always in service to their siblings, all in the name of love. 

Eventually, you and Sarah are back dancing together, and since you’ve had some practice separately, it’s not as sloppy as before. It allows Joel and Tommy to return to their post against the wall, just out of earshot.

Joel feels his brother’s eyes on him as he watches you and Sarah. “Dude,” he finally gives in, looks over at Tommy. “Just ask her out already.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Tommy-”

“You’re into her.” 

“Maybe,” Joel says, because he knows it’s pointless to lie. “But she’s got a boyfriend.”

Tommy elbows him. “So what?”

“I know you’re alright bein’ a homewrecker but I-”

“It makes sense Joel. She’s fuckin’ smart, and funny, and pretty. And Sarah fucking loves her-”

In any other situation, he would’ve acted weeks ago. But he’s starting to understand why he’s dragging his feet. Tommy’s right. Sarah adores you. Joel will fuck something up, it’s inevitable. And when you decide you never want to speak to him again, Sarah will lose you too. He’s already let her down enough. 

“I should’ve never fuckin’ told you–”

“Take her to drinks, to the movies, dinner, show up at her house with a bottle of wine, hell, something. If you don’t ask her out already, then I will.”

Joel punches his brother on the shoulder. It’s not enough to incite an actual fight, but it’s definitely not playful. “Ow!” Tommy grips at his arm. “What?” When Joel doesn’t answer right away, he rolls his eyes. 

“Speaking from experience, I’m surprised you haven’t already,” he raises an eyebrow.

“Once, Joel. That was one time. Will I never hear the end of it?”

“No,” Joel says. “And I see what you were doing tonight, too. Don’t think you’re slick.” he hopes to change the subject, and it seems to be working. 

Tommy sets them back on track. “Well, I was just trying to get you to wake the fuck up and see what’s in front of you.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What happens when Sarah grows up? Goes to school, leaves the house? Then, what are you gonna do? You’re just gonna be alone?”

“You are treadin’ on some mighty thin ice, Tommy,'' Joel hisses. ““You barely know this woman-”

“I’d like a family, too, Joel. When that happens I won’t be able to keep you company anymore. You might want someone else. And maybe it’s not her, fine. But there should be someone.”

For as much as he hates to admit it, Joel knows Tommy is right. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-April 25, 2003- 

It’s six at night. and you’re already in your pajamas. 

A couple years ago, you would’ve thought that was pretty sad. These days, it’s only a little sad. You prefer things this way. That’s the perk of being an adult living alone. If you want to put on pajamas before the sun sets on a Friday night, you can. If you want to get stoned on the back porch of the house you bought yourself, you can. If you want all those things to happen while you watch the sunset and listen to yacht rock, you can. And you’re going to. 

You’re toying with the new digital camera your brother bought for you. Vincent likes to argue with you, but he always feels guilty after a conversation gone wrong. Rather than use his words, however, he just buys you gifts. You had apologized over the phone a few days ago…this was his way of doing the same. The shutter clicks as you snap a photo of your backyard, and you look at it in the viewfinder before discarding the camera on your coffee table.

Martini is on the porch with you, doing that thing where he stands just out of reach but chirps at you until you pet him. When you reach out, he moves away. He’s not great at accepting what he wants. Maybe it’s why he’s sort of the perfect cat for you – you’re the same. 

You light your bowl, and you’re mid-inhale when you hear someone call your name. 

“Hey!” 

At this point, you’d recognize Joel Miller’s voice anywhere. You don’t want to admit it’s because you’ve tried to commit it to memory, daydreamed about how it might sound for his smooth lilt to read you a book until you fall asleep, or listen to him take a phone call in the other room. 

Realizing it’s him, you inhale sharply, forgetting what you’re in the middle of and taking a much bigger hit than you had intended. You begin choking violently on the smoke while simultaneously scrambling to hide your piece and the related paraphernalia sitting out, and manage to do so just in time for him to round the corner. 

You scramble to hide your bowl under the pillow of the outdoor couch you sit on, just in time for Joel to appear at the screen door. 

“Hey,” you say, covering your mouth. Your throat burns, and you cough again. Stay cool, stay calm. Everything is good. “What are you doing here?”

“Sorry, I tried your front door and you weren’t answering, so I thought I’d see if you were back here.” It’s hard to see him from here, through the door, and he’s backlit by the sun that’s shimmering behind his dark hair, catching it in a golden halo. 

You rise to open the door, and when you do, he continues. “I’m here to pick up Sarah’s soccer jersey.”

Right. Of course he was. She had left it a few days before, and you had assumed she’d come get it before her game on Saturday but it didn’t dawn on you until now that she ever had. 

“I would’ve sent her, but she’s at a sleepover tonight.”

“Oh yeah,” you nod, standing in place. You’re trying so desperately to act normal, words evade you.

Joel squints at you, a slight smirk on his face. “I didn’t catch you off guard or anything, did I?’

“No, no, not at all,” you lie. “Come on in.”

Joel steps over the tiny dish of cat food you’ve left on your back step for the stray you feed, and into the screened-in porch. Now that he’s under the dim light, you get a better look at him. A loose-fitting flannel hangs open over a worn green t-shirt that barely meets the top of his jeans. His hair is damp, like he’s just showered, and he smells clean. In any other situation, you’d want to climb him like a tree, and he’s not even trying. But right now, you’re just doing your best impression of a sober human that is definitely not doing anything illegal. The truth is, you should’ve made him wait outside.

“This is nice,” Joel says, looking around. And you really wish he wasn’t because you notice that you left the clear plastic baggie containing your weed out on the couch. It sort of blends in with the green floral pattern, so you hope for the best, because there’s no way for you to sneakily grab it without drawing his attention. “I didn't know this was back here.”

“The last owners added it on,” you say, because that was the type of thing the realtor had said to you about the features of this house. And you supposed a carpenter or contractor would probably be interested in it. It was a good distraction.

“I can tell. Looks new,” he looks up towards the wooden beams that span the ceiling. The top of the porch is still covered, so during the few times it’s rained, you always sit outside to listen.

“I’ve got her jersey in the kitchen,” you tell him. “Wait here.”

It doesn’t take long for you to pick out the bright blue athletic gear from your pile of dry cleaning. It stands out against all your neutral-colored pantsuits. Joel has his back to you when you return, one of his hands clenched into a fist. 

“Here,” you say, and he turns. 

“You had it dry cleaned? You didn’t have to do that.”

“I kind of wasn’t sure if it was safe to run through the machine,” you explain. “But now that I’m thinking about it….it wouldn’t make sense to give a bunch of 11-year-olds dry clean only jerseys.”

“It wouldn’t. But it’s probably more convenient than scrubbing the grass stains out yourself.”

“Speaking from experience?”

“Unfortunately. But again…thank you.”

“Of course.”

This is where Joel should leave, walk across the street, and go home. And he does, well, at least, he starts to. He steps away, reaches for the handle to your back door, and then pauses. “You know,” he says, glancing over his shoulder. “The Watsons were tellin’ me the other day you’ve been complaining about a family of skunks living under your house?”

You freeze, recalling the lie you’d come up with on a whim when your sixty-year-old neighbors had started asking too many questions. 

“Well, it does smell a little over here.”

“Uh-huh,” you give him nothing.

“Something like that….you should really call animal control. Get rid of the problem,” Joel’s facing you now, eyebrow raised. 

“If I call animal control…they’ll just kill them,” you answer. “And I don’t want that. So…I think I’ll just have to live with it.” 

“That’s fair,” Joel says. “But you know, Sarah’s over here all the time, and I’ve never heard her mention it.”

At this point you know he’s just fucking with you. But years of remaining stone-faced through business negotiations and family dinners has prepared you for this, so even if you’re a little stoned, you’re not going to let him win. 

“Yeah, it sounds like a coincidence. But they’re never around when she’s here,” you say, in your own defense. “Ever,” you add for emphasis. 

“I guess that’s good.”

You both stare at each other for a second, and your blood buzzes slightly because even though this is just a playful standoff, you’ve never made such intense eye contact with him. It feels electric. After what feels like an eternity, Joel lifts his hand from his hip, and you see what he’d been holding in his fist, now pinched between his thumb and forefinger. He raises an eyebrow.

When you see the plastic baggie dangling in front of your face, you purse your lips. “Alright, you got me,” you lift up your hands, but snatch the bag from him. 

“And here I thought you were such a good girl.”

You don’t even want to acknowledge the full body chill that runs down your spine at the sound of those two words, coming from him. Snatching the bag back from him, he gives you a cheeky smile. “If you give me a hit, I won’t tell anyone.”

Your jaw drops, and you look up at him. “Oh, you’re trouble.”

“I’m not the one lyin’ to my neighbors.”

“And I’m not the one snooping through my neighbors' things.”

“It was right out in the open.”

Joel doesn’t seem bothered at all. But it’s Texas, so you can never be sure. “Okay, fine,” you say. “If you want….I could roll us a joint. Unless you have other plans.”

“The alternative is a house to myself for the evening and some chores, so…yeah. Whatever you’d like.”

“Great.”

Joel follows you to sit on the couch. As you settle on opposite ends, he speaks up. “So you think you could explain to me why my daughter keeps tellin’ me she wants to be a lawyer?”

You snicker. “Believe me, Joel. I’ve tried to talk her out of it already.”

He chuckles. “It’s okay. Probably a more lucrative career than what I’m doing. She’s really taken a liking to you, you know that? I don’t think I’ve ever seen her warm up to anyone so quick.”

“Well, I’m the first adult she knows that’s not an authority figure.”

“I’m sure there’s more to it than that.”

“I remember being that age,” you look down at your work. “It’s nice to have someone older to relate to, who you can talk to without being afraid of getting a lecture.”

“She probably needs it,” Joel says. “She told me you talk about girl stuff. I’m not so great at that.”

“I don’t know,” Your tongue darts out to wet the edge of the paper and finish rolling the joint. You put it between your lips, and rummage through the drawer of the coffee table to find your lighter, gesture between the both of you. “This is about ninety percent of how I spent my time with my friends at her age…and so far you’re doing alright.”

���Now you’ve got me worried about what’s going on at that sleepover.”

“Okay, well, I was maybe a little older. And with her? You’ve got nothing to worry about,” you shake your head. 

He rubs the back of his neck, and his eyes glow with the reflection of your lighter as it’s flicked on. “I don’t know.”

“She’s fine, Joel,” you say, bringing the lighter closer and shielding the flame from the calm breeze of the evening. “She’s great. Really.”

“She is,” he agrees. You inhale, let the smoke settle in your lungs for a moment, before exhaling. You take your time, feeling warm from the weed and the feeling of Joel’s eyes on you, and he accepts the joint when you pass it over.

“I really didn’t really expect this from you,” he exhales, studying your handiwork before taking another puff. “You’re pretty buttoned up.”

“This is hardly rebellious.” Instinctually, you like the idea that he thinks you’re buttoned up. Deep down, however, you don’t actually want him to.

He looks so dreamy, the smoke curling though his eyelashes, tracing along his defined jaw, and then up, up, where it settles and shifts under the porch light, before disappearing completely.

Martini, who has been in hiding, hops up on the couch, and Joel reaches out, your cat nuzzling its face into his palm. “Didn’t know you had a cat,” he mumbles. And then, like some sort of magic, the cat plops down on Joel’s lap. 

“I do…but…” you say out loud, then trail off because you’re in such shock. You glance up at Joel, who looks confused. “I’m sorry, I’ve just never seen him do this.”

He passes the joint back to you. “Do what?”

You take a final puff, and then put it out in an ashtray. It’s only about half smoked, but you can get into it later if either of you wants to. Plus, you’re more interested in what’s unfolding in front of you. “I kinda want a picture of this.”

“What?”

“I’ve had him for five years and he’s never sat on my lap like that,” you say, and you can’t keep the resentment from dripping into your tone. “What makes you so special? I’m a little jealous.”

“Of me? Or the cat?”

Something honey-thick drips down your spine at his words. You can’t conjure a witty response, opting instead for: “Shut up.”

You snap a couple photos while Joel’s still laughing, one hand on his chest, the other on Martini’s back, and then put the camera down, and lean against the back of the couch, curling your feet underneath you. 

“You’ve got a nice view of the sunset,” Joel says softly.

There’s a distant fear you might never get to see him like this again, and you want to take him in fully before you drag your eyes to see what he’s looking at. Your backyard slopes down into a small patch of woods, the sky opening even wider to let in the aureate light. 

“I know,” you agree. “It’s why I spend so much time back here.” The high continues to settle over you, strokes your shoulders, tugs at the corners of your lips.

“Surprised you like things that are so peaceful…being from the city and all…”

“The city is peaceful,” you say, thinking of the leaves swirling from the trees in the fall, and the snowflakes falling onto your family's porch in the winter, melting on the tip of your nose as you lean over the balcony to see the glittering lights below, car horns and engines and sirens piercing the darkness, white noise. “In its own way.”

“You miss it?”

“Everyday,” you say. 

“What do you miss the most?”  

“Uhm…probably the bagels,” you lie. Well it’s true. But it’s not what you miss the most. You think of your brother, flopping onto your bed on a Saturday night – a rare weekend when you visit home – and you’re trying to read A Tree Grows In Brooklyn for school but he’s begging to take you around the corner to get a milkshake. It’s the image of him you’ve so desperately tried to cling to and the recollections you share with him have only gotten more and more unpleasant as time goes on. “The bagels here suck.”

“Really?” Joel seems amused by that. 

“And uh…I don’t know. It’s part of me. I have a lot of friends there, a lot of good memories,” you smile to yourself, lean forward towards him. “I had this apartment before I graduated, right? It had the best view of this little Italian restaurant, and I’d sit and watch people through the windows, eating and talking. I was supposed to be studying, but…it was great. I loved it.”

“What’re you doing here, then?” Joel asks, and you look back at the sunset. Here you are, waxing poetic and you’re sure he can hear it in your voice. “You runnin’ from something?” You look over to find he’s staring at you. Like he knows you aren’t being honest, and he’s asking you to stop lying.

So you do the only thing you can think of, which is to ask him a question in response. “What makes you think I am?”

Joel considers this for a moment. “I don’t know. I grew up in Austin. All my friends are here, my family. If I ever moved someplace else….it’d have to be for a good reason. And even if I did, I’d be lonely.”

You stare down at the floor. “Maybe I am.” Lonely? Or running from something? The answer is both, you know, but you’re not going to clarify. “My family. Things are pretty fucked. I thought distance would help, and it does, a little. But….that shit still follows you anyways. They’re always with you, no matter what.”

Joel nods. 

“But… I have a life here. When I lived downtown, I definitely did. I don’t mind the quiet, and….I have friends.”

Joel looks at you. “You got a boyfriend, don’t you?”

Why would he think that-oh. You had tried to forget it, the morning he’d caught you still wrapped up in your robe – not the fluffy fleece one you liked the most, but the one you specifically only wore when you had guys over, cause they loved that shit.

“Oh, right,” you say. “Bradley. Yeah, uh. He’s…he’s….not my boyfriend. But…” you shake your head. “It’s a little complicated.”

“I’m sure it ain’t that hard to explain.”

“I mean…” you avoid his eyes. “He’s kind of an asshole, but we’re not really commited to each other in a meaningful way. Plus, he’s not around that much which is kind of perfect…for me.”

“Really?”

“Less to worry about,” you answer, purse your lips. “But…I don’t know. I sorta wish he got my heart rate up a little more.”

“He’s not your type?”

“I don’t really have a type,” you shake your head. “I like what I like.”

Joel rasps. “I feel the same,” and he’s made sure your eyes are on him when he says it.

You swallow, nod, smooth your hair back. “Anyways. Why’re you asking me all this?”

Joel doesn’t seem to find an answer right away. You narrow your eyes at him, studying his face, looking for something that will give him away. It’s a trick you’ve learned…silence…a bit of skepticism. It makes people uncomfortable. And Joel shifts his weight, squirming beneath your gaze. Until something in his face shifts, and he smiles….just a little. 

“So that’s where Sarah learned that.”

“Learned what?”

“That look you’re giving me.”

“What look?” 

“Like you can see right through me.”

“Can I?” You narrow your eyes further.

“You’re tryin’ to.” 

He’d done a good enough job of avoiding your question, and you’re not gonna ask him again, and instead opt for a different one. “So what about you, then?” you poke his knee with your foot.

“Oh, I’m not answerin’’ that.”

“What? I just told you, that’s not fair.”

Joel runs a hand along his jaw, ponders. “Most women don’t want to be with a man who already has a kid so…things on that front are not always easy.” 

“I have a hard time believing that. I mean, don’t you have an upcoming date with Sarah’s teacher or something?” you tease.

“That’s not happening,” he assures you. “But….I work so much these days I don’t have the capacity for much. So I get what you mean, sometimes it’s easy to not get emotionally involved but…I’ve never really been great at that.”

“You’re a relationship guy?”

“I mean, Tommy has been pestering me about this lately. Says at this rate, once Sarah’s grown, I’ll end up old and alone. Annoys me to hell, but he’s right. I wouldn’t mind…some kind of companionship. Someone to tell you you’ve done alright at the end of the day.” 

“You sound awfully romantic,” you at him blink slowly.

“I can be, when I want to.” Joel rolls his eyes. “But right now…I think I’m just stoned.” 

That makes you giggle. So he’s just being honest. “I didn’t really see much great come from settling down when I grew up, so I’ve always been a bit of a pessimist when it comes to love. What you’re saying….it’s a nicer way to think of things.”

You rarely connected with the men you dated. You chose to date douchebags, to date cheaters. It was better that way, to know up front what you were getting yourself into. The best ones didn’t ask for much, just the odd fuck here and there for a couple months, and you’d step away when things were no longer fun, if they evewere to begin with. 

Actually getting married, settling down, didn’t feel like a real possibility for you. So you’d never allowed yourself to indulge in what seemed like a fantasy. Some women aren’t meant to be a part of a family. Your father had told you once – during one of few times he’d attempted to comfort you after your mother didn’t call on your birthday – as if it excused his own neglect. 

“Yeah, and it hasn’t all been bad. I mean, I’ve had a couple good girlfriends over the years. They were sweet, fun. I enjoyed the time I spent with them, they just…never made it through the real litmus test.”

“Sarah?”

He nods. 

“It would be hard, I imagine. For her. Accepting someone new into her life.”

“Yeah.”

“You really care about her,” you say. “About how she feels. It’s nice.”

“I’m doin’ my best.”

The way he talks about Sarah makes you nauseated. It’s something pure, and you can’t help but feel bitterly nostalgic. 

“I wish my dad would have been like you.”

It slips out, and you immediately regret it. It’s been too long since you’ve gotten stoned with someone else, and you’ve forgotten your filter. And even though you’ve already divulged more to him about you than you normally would, this feels like too much all of the sudden. 

This isn’t something you can backpedal, and before you know it, Joel is leaning towards you. There’s concern written in his features, he wants to comfort, and you thank God for what happens next, or it all would’ve been too much.

His shift in weight causes Martini to jump off his lap and sprint to the door of the porch. He stares at you and then meows. 

Even though Joel isn’t touching you, you have to tear yourself away from the hold he’s got you in. ““I gotta let him in, or he’ll get annoyed.”

You move to open the door, and the cat slips inside.

“Is that a guitar in there?” Joel asks, catching a sliver of the gleaming body in the dim light.

“Yeah.” 

“You play?”  He questions, and you come to sit back on the couch. 

“Not anymore. It’s more of a decoration. How about you?” 

“A little.”

“A little?”

“A lot.” Joel smiles, looks at the ground like not sure why he’s telling you this. “I actually uh, used to want to be a singer.”

“What?” you ask. “You’re kidding.”

“No,” Joel shakes his head. 

“Joel, what?” you put a hand on his arm and lean forward, then look at the guitar.

“Why not?”

“I was…young when I had Sarah. And I had to do something that could actually help us get by.”

“Okay well, you have to play me something, then,” you rise to step inside and retrieve it off the wall. 

“No, no-”

“Come on, please?” you ask. “Don’t be a tease.”

Joel just stares as you bring the guitar out to him. 

“Although this might be out of tune…” you strum once, and wince at the tinny sound it makes. “Definitely it is.”

“Here,” Joel takes it from you. “I can do it.”

It takes him a moment, but he’s plucking the strings in a way that feels so instinctual, purposeful, you can already tell he knows what he’s doing. Once he’s finished, he strums a few chords, and everything is magically in tune. 

“Alright,” you prompt, when he hesitates. “What are you gonna play me?”

“You know any Neil Young?”

“Of course,” you answer. 

Joel nods once, looks down at the guitar, and starts playing. You’d recognize the opening chords to anywhere, but he somehow makes them sound even moodier, and bittersweet. 

Come a little bit closer, hear what I have to say…

He can sing. You’re taken aback. You’re not sure what you expected, but it’s definitely better than that. Deeper, raspier, and now you have new information about him that’s going to bounce around your brain when you’re bored during meetings at work, while you’re lying in bed at night, trying to sleep. 

Because I’m still in love with you, I want to see you dance again…

You shift your weight, sling your arm over the back of the couch, and rest your chin on your hand. Suddenly, you’re feeling a little tired. He’s all-but putting you to sleep and, somehow, that feels like the highest compliment you can give. It could be because you’re stoned, but you feel warm all over. You close your eyes, just listen, until he’s finished.

Even after he’s finished, you keep your eyes closed, settling. Until you feel something graze against the back of your hand. Joel’s. He’s matching your own pose, facing you, but reaching out…

“That was nice,” you say, earnestly. You’re good.”

Joel smiles bashfully, tugs your hand from beneath your chin and pinches your index finger between two of his own. Your nails are painted a glittery purple, and Joel studies them. Sarah had painted them earlier this week when she’d hung out after school, and had picked out the color. 

“So are you,” he shifts closer. 

He’s not quite close enough to kiss you himself. But it’s enough…he’s just giving you the chance to lean in, to close the gap. The proximity makes you dizzy, and you’re a little overwhelmed. It’s too much. It’d be too much. You can’t. You’re afraid of what he might do to you.

“We should be good, then,” Gazing at him from under your lashes, you pull back just enough. It’s not a rejection, and you can tell he doesn’t see it that way either. There’s a mutual understanding, you’re on the same page, but you aren’t quite sure what it is. The warmth of Joel’s hand leaves yours, and a part of you is filled with regret.

And then, like it never happened, the two of you spend another hour talking. He’s engaged, intuitive, thoughtful, funny. By the time he excuses himself, long after the sun has fully dipped below the horizon, you feel like he’s an old friend. An old friend you want…badly, but, you know him on a level you hadn’t before.

“Gotta be up tomorrow for a soccer game, otherwise I’d stick around,” Joel says as you’re guiding him to the front door.

“It’s alright,” you say. “You’re welcome to do this anytime.”

“You sure?” he tilts his head, leaning against the doorframe on his way out. “You might regret offerin’ that….”

“I won’t.”

--

part iv

taglist: @yaskna@venomous-ko@lomljigg@yeehawbitchs@ay0nha @eldahae @lol-im-done@melancholicmelanin@reggies-floatie @omniscientqueer@superflymaterial@mikkorantanev@zbeez-outlet @nadja-antipaxos @strawberri-blonde @jabbajambler @ponyboys-sunsets @kyuupidwrites @r4efromvenus @loveatfirstsight-atlastsight @korianderbandit @nicoleoeoeoe @hotgirlsshareaccounts @madisonred88 @crustyrustydusty @sflame15-blog @issybee0611 @darkemeralddiamond @grandmana @totallynotastanacc @ay0nha

#are you feeling the slow burn yet? #also #i fully think i am not just writing for hbo joel but also game joel #ive had a lot of thoughts about game joel lately #and i really need people to understand i try to represent both in the story #so imagine who you want ;) #Joel Miller x reader #Joel Miller #Joel Miller x f!reader #joel Miller imagine #Joel Miller series #joel miller the last of us #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #Pedro pascal #troy baker #TLOU HBO #TLOU fanfic #pre-outbreak! joel miller #texas sun

[mari-monsta]

It honestly really baffles me when people say adrien is a boring or simple character, I don’t understand where that comes from at all. Because I think the main reason he’s so compelling are his complexities, but in the same vein those complexities I think make him someone very easy to relate to. Like it’s fine if he’s not likable or relatable to everyone but saying he’s not complex is really just ???? To me. Just looking at how DIFFERENTLY he acts around different people and situations is so fascinating to me. Of course everyone takes different personas and highlights different aspects of their personality around different people but adrien is the king of doing it around the same people to the extent of which having his two personalities be the same is laughable to those who know him personally in his everyday life.

But it’s not out of no where, seeing his home life and the kind of person he’s made out to be by his situation it’s not hard at all to understand that he’s a person who is immensely self conscious. He’s constantly gauging others perception of him and whether or not he is “safe”. What’s more fascinating is the entirely different way this comes out in chat noir. Because adriens personality as chat noir is also deliberate to a certain extent but it’s deliberate in the way that that’s how he wants others to see him. He wants to see self assured and larger than life because in his everyday life he feels small and self conscious. The fact that this dichotomy is so easy to follow in his character but creates such a black and white image in his two personalities is so interesting!

Another thing I find completely fascinating about him are his high empathy and how that actually fucks him up more often than not. He’s acutely aware of how other people might be feeling and can easily sympathize. At the same time though he has a hard time understanding certain social cues and situations and seems very out of his element. I don’t think these things conflict at all. Adrien is someone who easily puts himself in other peoples shoes and can imagine and have sympathy for their situation, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to pick up on the social complexities of every interaction every time. Emotions aren’t the same as communication and when it comes to the later adrien works best with simple and straight forward interactions.

In the same vein because of his aforementioned situations he’s also a character who has a lot of repressed anger and frustration that has been building up for a very long time. In his everyday life, he feels powerless, small, and insignificant. He doesn’t have faith that anyone would listen to his thoughts and feelings and actually take them into account, because by all of his experiences no one really has. This creates a defense mechanism where he shuts himself out before he even gets to the point of sharing how he really feels. We see this really easily in his relationship with Nino. He loves Nino DEARLY, but there is something that we have seen in him constantly putting up walls emotionally. He won’t tell him when he doesn’t find something funny, he won’t tell him if he’s unhappy to do something even when it greatly affects his life because he is at his core afraid Nino will not validate those emotions.

As a result, all the frustration he’s built up from feeling powerless in his everyday life we see just. Randomly bursting out of him in inopportune moments as chat noir. It’s not that adrien is such a violent or angry person normally. But he’s so used to repressing and modulating his emotions regularly that when he feels somewhat safe to express any frustration ALL of the anger he feels constantly bubbling under the surface all of the time just suddenly rushes out, like a dam holding back hundreds of gallons of water. This happens repeatedly, and then as soon as he’s realized he’s let himself get out of control he immediately feels immense guilt and he stops the dam up even tighter. This is obviously not a healthy feedback loop but it’s fucking FASCINATING!!!!

A common thing that I feel like I see fans often misinterpret about his character in my own opinion is just how PRIVATE of a person adrien is. Adrien loves sharing his love and appreciation for those around him because he knows how it feels not to know, not to be sure of that affection. But in the same token, Adrien rarely if ever actually shares his real feelings with those he’s close to. He doesn’t like people prying into his life or his feelings and he is very private about most things. We don’t see him talking about what he likes, we don’t see him sharing with his friends his anger or frustration. And in the end Adrien is the one character who has kept his secrets most closely held to his vest. This is all despite being so grandiose and loud mouthed as chat noir. Even as chat noir, adrien rarely is entirely open about things going on in his life.

To me Adrien as a character isn’t interesting or compelling because he is shy or cute or sweet, but because there are a number of different facets to his personality that I can easily see reasons for and understand where his feelings come from. He IS sweet, but not without misplaced anger, not without repression, not without mistakes and messy emotions. Not without pain that we can both easily see the roots of but also have a wide spread variety of consequences from. We see how his formative experiences affect every aspect of his life even in ways he audience wouldn’t necessarily expect, but make complete sense. That’s so fun and interesting to me!!!! Let characters be messy but try their best anyways!!! Let characters hurt each other and try to put the pieces back together one shard at a time. People have complicated emotions that come out in ways we can’t always foresee or help, people make mistakes because of that. But despite everything adrien is a character who cares deeply for those around him and tries to do right by them despite all the rest of it, and despite sometimes not really knowing how.

It’s things like that that keep miraculous being an extremely engaging and compelling story to me. Most of the general things about adriens character are also things that I find interesting about marinettes as well! Of course the intricacies of her character are completely different, but the general hows and whys and complex motivations for her actions while maintaining the best of intentions are what make them both so interesting to me. So this is just a little love letter to adriens character because I wanted to talk about that and why I find him so engaging!

#I feel like I see people act like #oh adrien is just a white male character what is so interesting about him #when it’s. like. just a characters baseline identity does not . dictate if they are interesting #I’d also argue that adrien as a white male character that falls into so many feminine females character tropes is also FACINATING #BECAUSE he is a white male character #being a white male character doesn’t make a character interesting by default either tho obviously #any character should always have the depth and work behind their story to make them compelling no matter what #adrien is particularly interesting to me because of his dichotomy #but the same could be said about marinette #she deserves praise for being an engaging and compelling character just as much #ANYWAY. IDK WHY IVE BEEN RANTING SO MUCH LATELY. #THIS JS MY SECOND MIRACULOUS INSPIRED RANT IN THE LAST 24 HOURS

[aquaquadrant]

How would htp!Tango go with the bit from Limited Life episode 4 when he's running from everyone?

How would it be different from the actual scene?

(not canon to HTP ofc because the timelines don’t match up but HEY i like angst)

"tango!" skizz calls desperately, peering out over the ocean. he could’ve sworn he’d heard tango’s voice when he came this way, but the range of amplification their voices get from the proximity mod can be a little tricky sometimes-

“skizz?”

tango’s voice crackles out of skizz’s communicator; he must be in range, after all. but skizz doesn’t relax just yet. crouching by the water’s edge, he scans the waves intently. his grip tightens around his axe.

"alright, where are you, dude?" he asks, voice low. he keeps the horizon in his periphery; he can just barely make out the horde of yellow names off on the distant shore, digging and searching for tango.

“r- right below you.” tango’s voice is shaky; probably from the adrenaline. being hunted by almost the entire server isn’t exactly a picnic. “where- is impulse with you? or- or etho?”

skizz shakes his head, even though he knows tango can’t see it. “no dude, they’re running interference, okay, but it won’t be long before the others see me over here.” he swallows. “you gotta let me kill you.”

there’s a brief silence.

“okay.” tango’s voice is barely audible. the tone of it gives skizz pause; that sounds like more than just nerves. “okay, o- okay, fine, i’m- i’m fine with that.”

“are you?” skizz asks, his brows furrowing.

“i…” there’s a shuddering exhale. “i don’t- i’d rather it be you, if- if i’m honest. the others, they might…” he breaks off, making a distressed sound in the back of his throat. “y- you know.”

there’s definitely something wrong. skizz’s heart is starting to pound, but he keeps his voice steady. “alright, yeah. this is gonna stick it to them so bad.” he lifts his communicator up and peers through its lens. “can you give me a quick tag, buddy?”

tango doesn’t reply, but skizz sees the flash of a gamer tag beneath the ocean before it vanishes again. tango’s not taking any chances, apparently. not that skizz can blame him.

“you’re pretty deep underwater, dude,” skizz informs him regretfully. “and i don’t- ugh, i don’t have my stupid shovel.”

tango inhales sharply. “i- i can’t- uh, can you…?”

“okay,” skizz murmurs. he knows tango won’t be harmed by water like a real blaze, but it’s uncomfortable even on the best of days and that’d be a lot to ask of him right now. “alright, i’ll come to you. stay put, okay?”

“okay,” tango whispers.

“there a hole for me, buddy?” skizz asks, putting his axe away.

“yes.”

“alright.” skizz straightens up, folding his wing tightly against his body. even one wing will cause a lot of drag underwater and he’s already not looking forward to soggy feathers. “i’m on my way, just hang on.”

taking a deep breath, skizz dives into the ocean.

salt stings his eyes as he swims towards the sand at the bottom. it’s darker down here than he’s expecting for midday, only the faint glow from his halo allowing him to see. he starts digging as soon as he reaches the bottom, hoping he’s in the right place. he’s acutely aware of how long he can hold his breath for and the last thing he needs is a stupid drowning death to steal even more time from him-

a figure enters his field of vision, making him jolt. it’s scott, his freshly yellow timer barely visible in the deep. still holding his breath, skizz equips his axe.

scott actually rolls his eyes. “i’m not gonna kill him, don’t worry.” his voice carries well underwater, and he doesn’t seem to have trouble breathing. must be due to those recently acquired gills of his.

well, that’s fortunate. skizz nods quickly and puts his axe away before resuming his digging. to his surprise, scott floats down next to him and starts helping, his webbed fingers making easy work of the sand. after a couple seconds, they’ve cleared enough sand for skizz to see a hold in the underlying stone, with a faint light beyond it. lungs burning, skizz dives for it.

he makes it through right as the first damage hits him, head breaking through the water with a gasp. kicking against the current, he finally emerges from the ocean. gravity once again takes hold of him. he flops onto the damp stone floor quite ungracefully, his wing heavy and pulling him slightly off-balance.

skizz hauls himself to his feet, dripping wet and catching his breath, and looks around the cave tango’s carved out for himself. it’s tiny, with just three blocks between them, and lit only by the glow of tango’s blaze rods. they’re redder than usual and roaring with flames, whirling above his head in agitation- the way a blaze spins before it starts shooting fireballs.

tango himself doesn’t seem to be doing any better. he’s crouched against a corner, his arms wrapped around his knees, claws digging into his skin. his pupils are blown, so much so that it almost makes his wide eyes look completely black. his chest is rising and falling rapidly, and the noise that comes with each breath sounds disturbingly like a blaze. his mouth hangs slightly parted as he pants, lips drawn back to show his sharp teeth- like a wolf does. but there’s no ferocity in his expression; just sick fear.

altogether, the sight sends a chill down skizz’s spine. it’s like he’s looking at an animal; a cornered, terrified, wild animal. there have been things in the past tango’s reacted strangely to, sure, but skizz has never seen it this bad before. god, he wishes impulse was here.

“hey, tango,” skizz says softly.

for a moment, tango just stares at skizz. then his eyes dart to the side, to the hole in the stone. belatedly, skizz realizes what’s got tango so concerned.

“scott,” he calls carefully, keeping his gaze on tango, “just uh, just stay out there, okay, dude?”

a dark shadow passes by the hole before vanishing. “you’re fine, just get on with it!”

skizz swallows. he stays where he is. “tango, buddy, you okay? talk to me.”

tango’s gaze cuts back to skizz. “is martyn…?”

“no, no martyn,” skizz assures him.

tango takes a shaky breath. “i killed him,” he says hoarsely. “he- he’ll want revenge. and- and the other yellows- you have to kill me, before they find me. skizz, please.”

“hey, hey, hey, it’s alright,” skizz soothes, despite the way his heart feels like it’s twisting itself into a knot. he never thought tango would fear the other players so badly; these are his friends. “you got it. what do you- uh, how do you want me to do it?”

“TNT?” tango asks quietly. “if you light it…”

“alright, yeah, i got some TNT,” skizz says, rummaging through his inventory and pulling out a block of it. “here, uh- you wanna just take that?”

warily, tango teaches a clawed hand out and takes the TNT. he sets it down right in front of him, flush against his folded knees.

“tango?” skizz prompts gently, pulling out his flint and steel. “i need to hear you say it, buddy.”

tango shudders. “do it,” he whispers, turning his face away. “you can kill me, you- i- i just want it to be over.”

“okay, thank you,” skizz murmurs, taking a cautious step forward. “that’s right, dude. after this, it’ll all be over. i’ll come find you at spawn, okay?”

“okay."

“i’ll see ya there. now, count to five for me?"

tango swallows. “one…”

skizz lights the TNT. the sound of sizzling fills the air as the TNT starts to flash.

"t- two..."

putting the flint and steel away, skizz turns and dives back through the hole, into the ocean. tango's voice still sounds from his communicator.

"three..."

kicking madly, skizz swims towards the surface, where scott is waiting.

"four-"

BOOM.

skizz breaks the surface, gasping for breath. he glances back down and sees a new crater at the bottom of the ocean, water and sand churning into a froth. treading water with one arm, he holds his communicator up and looks at the chat.

Tango blew up.

scott gives skizz a sidelong look. "i know how hard it is to let a teammate kill you," he says, his voice low, "but that seemed..."

"scott, buddy," skizz says tiredly, heading for the shore, "keep this between us, will ya?"

~

#limited life smp #traffic smp #life series smp #hels to pay au #HTP fic #also SORRY i know u asked abt the actual chase scene #but i had such a vivid mental image for his convo w skizz #btw skizz is an angel cuz i luv that headcanon #goes so well with demon impy #sheesh this got so long

[shorthaltsjester]

sometimes people will say “going dark” and then what they’re actually talking about is just people no longer presenting a carefully constructed version of their emotions and experiences.

like. emotional turmoil is not the same as darkness. laudna in this Fictional Universe that has tangibly different stakes wrt to death and killing than our own, is at best like . morally neutral for what she just did like. man has been secretly trying to kill you, and then just tried to do so again, killing him back is a fair choice. and even if i was someone who is excited by delilah’s inability to escape from the narrative, this shit isn’t about delilah. laudna made a choice. if delilah is back or whatever it’s a choice that laudna made because something in that grants her more control than her existing conditions did. this isn’t some Delilah Takes Over, it’s Laudna Expressly Makes The Choice To Call Forth Something within Herself to remedy the lack of control that’s been thrust upon her. if y’all want to Continue to limit Laudna’s agency (as the cr fandom is so, so want to do when a female character makes a choice that isn’t Good according to some weird system of virtue ethics) go ahead.

likewise with orym. little guy is not “going dark” because he has finally made direct action about his emotional turmoil in dealing with a situation which has similarly left him without control and has also placed him in a position where his stalwart conviction towards protecting and honouring those he loves and has lost alike is constantly met with other people he cares for going well.. what if they had a point/we are killing other peoples loved ones/etc. which like . yeah that might be frustrating and in fact might lead him to go, actually, i can’t afford to try and maintain some abject morality where I carry a locket that will literally only provide guilt. orym is completely committed to his beliefs, the locket and what it represents has never been a limit to what he will do, only a reminder of the consequences of what he might cause in those actions. but they Are at war and orym has a billion things on his plate. he can put down the locket. especially when bor’dor is the explicit manifestation of that locket’s symbolism. the subtext rapidly became the text and orym doesn’t need a reminder. it’s there in the fact that team issylra is walking away with two friends, not three.

these are character who have at every turn denied their own emotions in various forms while still being acutely aware of what they deny, whether that awareness was/is fully realized or not. many of laudna’s early convos with ashton show us that there is some awareness to the lighthearted spooky goth girl and how that persona fades when she thinks too much about what has led her and maintained that reality. likewise the entirety of orym’s story thus far is defined by his grief in a very literal sense, it Has extended from that grief to also the commitment he had to the purpose of figuring out the assassination attempt on keyleth but as we have seen, that purpose has fallen apart. paired with the quasi-reopening of his grief that was getting to see will again only to have to turn away, i don’t think there’s a lack of awareness in orym of how much he hurts. but between his actions and 4SD, that hurt tends to get buried under guilt or Responsibility.

and now, finally, both of them have admitted to that Not in the safety of small introspection or one-on-one conversations but with actions that they cannot shy away from or deny. laudna killed bor’dor and orym encouraged her to. and it Is a complex situation but truly I don’t really think it’s a “going dark” one. because they’re not giving into some overhanging Darkness of Morality™, they’re admitting that they are hurt and have long been hurting.

or, y’know, tldr for those who continue to deny laudna and orym agency or fully villainise them for whatever weird reasons . you could listen to laudna and ashton’s conversation that pretty much lays it out explicitly. laudna claims she’s weak for having chosen to kill bor’dor. ashton denies that and affirms instead that, no, she’s hurt.

#critical role #cr spoilers #laudna #orym #team issylra #maybe it’s because a lot of these people r also the people who have no literacy wrt religious and philosophical complexity #that Screams bad experience that hasn’t been reckoned with but. the Big part of healing is that. a lot of the time #especially with Trauma. the mess is gonna come before the pretty little bow does #like noah fence but . this is The Most interesting laudna and orym have been to me this far and it’s not because they’re Darker #it’s because they’re being more true to themselves #maybe this is nitpicky I Don’t Care #me watching c1 as vex admits that she still feels like a burden and Heavily considers being treeified for sondor. ‘is this vex Going Dark?’ #as an imogen Lover . let’s be real and admit the only Genuine going dark risk is her at this point in the campaign #because like. i truly don’t see anyone else making the Choice to do absolutely fucked up selfish things #and imogen considers doing that shit like . once every two eps At Least (affectionate but eyes wide about it) #anyway. reunion will be very interesting with an orym and laudna who are shedding pieces of what maintains their like Group Role #bells hells #critical role spoilers #cr3 #cr campaign 3 #bell’s hells #my posts