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capslocked · 6 months

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KINKVEMBER DAY: 9

[prompt: problematic relationships]

male reader x nana

10k words

"Do you have any idea how long I've thought about it?" Nana slips a finger between the buttons of your shirt. "You, me - us?"

And here, you actually, truthfully do not want to know.

So, go ahead, cue up the sound of a mental rolodex spinning out while you start to list the very real, very valid, very adult reasons you should never, ever put your hands on her. (1) She's too young for you, (2) you're kind of a community figure, or at least someone who has to appear to be one, and more pertinently (3) she was your student not long enough ago - in your ethics class, the irony of which is not lost on you - and that makes it the kind of dirty, low thing you'd feel guilty for even masturbating to. Let alone actually attempt to live through, no matter how insistent some parts of you might be to the contrary, a point emphasized by the pressure of her finger against the dip just below your sternum.

"These... oh, how should I call them." Nana hums softly just before easing a bit of distance between the two of you, head tilting like she's in a trailer for this summer's romcom, and not, you know, trying to drag you into hell. "Filthy little fantasies?"

You're a high school teacher, interdisciplinary. Sometimes history, other times philosophy, you've also taught math - and once, egregiously, home economics when the faculty member whose usual duties consisted of teaching the class was out on a very sudden and scandalous maternity leave. But it's your love of literature that finds you in a bookstore near enough to the high school to sell more used copies of intro textbooks than actual novels.

You're paging through a book you'd say you're considering buying - if any of the store staff were to push the question onto you - when she appears at the other end of the fiction aisle.

You catch the look first of her dyed hair, this perfect shade of chocolate, to the edges, the fade-to-brown, cascading over where a more formal shirt would ostensibly have shoulders.

She smiles; it's pretty.

Then, you make the mistake of glancing down and seeing the modest rise of her chest beneath a crisp-collared sleeveless top; all your typical college-age tells but for the red flannel, rolled back down around her waist. Her fingers, long and thin, dangle from where a uniform button-down would taper off around her wrist, thumb rubbing lazily at her forearm. The briefest glimpse of her nails, all done up in acrylic - perhaps the most potent way to show contempt for an old dress-code.

You have, admittedly, also noticed the length (appropriately, the lack thereof) of her pleated skirt and those frilly stockings that ride so far up the creamy curves of her thighs that it has your stomach rolling and tightening when she shuts closed the book in her hands and says -

"Isn't it weird how most of the novels in the romance section are written by women?”

- she speaks with a slow deliberateness, like she'd only ever hoped to find one of her old teachers alone and slightly vulnerable in a used bookstore -

“Like, how do you think a man would even go about writing those kinds of stories?" She grins, because maybe this isn't really a question at all - not one meant for you, certainly. And for one wild moment, the rush of relief (she's not actually talking to you), then panic (she's actually talking to you.) surges through you.

But then the girl pushes another couple books along the shelf and continues.

"Because I'll tell you what, Professor - all this stuff," a flip-flip-flip of her fingertips against a leathery dustjacket, "about just feeling it, not being able to control it. It's all women, always women." Another wave of her hand to set another row of spines a-shuddering. "Do you ever think maybe people will get tired of listening to girls talking about feelings when what they really need to see is what guys would do?"

There are so many reasons you should turn and run.

So many little flags, flickering wildly in your mind. This is one of your students. Was it this fall? Maybe the last; she had sat front-center. Never slept in, was one of your best by several measures - not simply in regards to the simple repetition of classroom work, but by her insistence on getting in the kind of heated discussion where one might dig their fingers through the innards of your lectures. Not just good - fantastic.

"Nayeon," you end up saying, flat as your suddenly paper-dry mouth can make it - with just the tiniest hint of unease. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

And almost as if she knows that you're trying not to let your eyes dip any lower than the collar of her shirt, her shoulders do that lilting little move (hiking up and away just so), the one that your girls tend to learn a long, long time before your boys ever manage to figure out. She laughs out this pleasant sound, adds: "not that long, sir."

"Well," you're clearing your throat, looking around the bookstore like it might contain a way out, and eventually landing somewhere on her skirt, "you know how fast it all goes."

"Nana, by the way."

“I’m sorry?”

“Nana,” She gently corrects you again with this mischievous slant to her smile, and you start remembering: all the gossip and rumors, how she was being courted by these talent-scouts and labels. A prodigy, or as close to it as anyone from this town could ever get.

Your eyes are starting to sting again when she, this perfect-fit model of your worst impulses, runs her hand through her hair, tugging at the roots a little bit, a silver wristwatch falling slightly down the perfect length of her forearm. It almost hurts not to reach out and steady her. And it definitely shouldn't, but it has you breathing a bit faster. The rationalization: you are a man, and there is a perfectly ordinary part of you that might be aroused by any amount of smooth, inviting skin. That's fine. You're fine.

"Just for the record," Nana starts, still looking like she wants to put a hand forward and hook one long fingernail into the buttons of your shirt. "You were, like, absolutely one of my favorite teachers."

"I guess it's nice to hear I'm not a complete lost cause," you say.

She snorts. "Oh, definitely not." And maybe because, after all of the years you have been teaching these soon-to-be lawyers, politicians, and doctors, you've come to not look down on them for saying the wrong things so much. Though you do envy their absolute ability to say the wrongest of things - just so - just on purpose.

"Are you," you nod at the thick stack of paperback novels that she is still holding, and with which, suddenly, she's bashful and flustered - this perfect shade of pink blossoming through her cheeks. "Actually here to buy those?"

The response: a demure little shrug. A drawl. "We all have our vices, professor."

"I'm not your teacher anymore," and remembering at the last moment, "Nana, you can drop the honorifics, please."

She holds a book out, cover turned toward you, and your mind stalls - even your fingers slip a little where they are resting on the spine of your own paperback purchase. The title is an affront to literacy, and the art on the cover seems to have been produced only with stock photos, gaudy.

"Have you heard of it?"

"Can't say that I have."

"Well," she laughs and has the courtesy not to lay it at your expense, "it is so good." Then, without missing a beat, she twists her lips together, and finds the book flush against your chest. "I'm sure it beats reading textbooks and essays about the merits of Locke and Hobbes' life-after-death stuff all day, anyway. An hour if you can spare the time? I'd love to hear your thoughts on it"

And - ah, there it is. The push.

There is a zero percent chance that, after any of this, things will end neatly for either of you.

You still wonder, slightly, how long Nana will keep up the charade before breaking character - because there's no way in hell she doesn't see what she's doing: wrapping you around her pretty fingers, her shiny, manicured nails, twisting every chance you get to reject her into an excuse to linger that little bit longer.

But it's well over an hour spent at the cafe-end of the bookstore, where she orders an iced-coffee and fills you in on the details you don't really need to hear, what she's been up to these last couple semesters - playing twenty questions; questions about other faculty members, the school, if the school newspaper is still anything like it used to be (for the record: no), then coming back to if you've been seeing anyone lately. That last one slips in so naturally you can't stop yourself from taking a slow drag off of the straw in your drink and answering: "not recently."

Because no honest deed goes unpunished, or however the saying goes.

"Hey," her hands splay out over the tabletop, pushing the cold, condensing water of her glass, smudging where a finger drags a line through the pool.

Maybe she knows. How you're already caught, and there's no going back, which is to say you're perfectly free to watch, hungrily, where her throat moves, and then where her lips part.

"I’ve got the perfect thing for that," and for one unhinged, hysterical moment you picture it, Nana: lying back against a counter or maybe in the cushions of a sofa, panties thrown carelessly over her shoulder; heaving out this soft, heady gasp. You: pushing inside of her for the very first time, both of your legs bracing, the heel of her foot pressed into the small of your back - but before you can convince yourself that she can't be talking about that, and just barely before the air gets stuck in the back of your throat and you realize that you might be so thoroughly, tragically fucked -

"Read this." A snap back into the here and now. She is looking at you very pointedly, not naked - but beautiful and perfect as she leans a bit into the table and crosses those lovely, lovely legs of hers, and tilts the copy of that awful, awful filth at you.

"Nana, respectfully, this is drivel," you say, immediately and plainly, listening to Nana laugh out loud as you glean more than you need to know from the info on the inside cover. "They've crossed like five major genre boundaries for a hook-up. Why should anyone bother?"

"Come on." She waves it off with a careless gesture of her hands. "There's plenty of things to like. Maybe you should give it a chance - broaden your horizons, teach. Besides - the sex scenes?" She rolls her shoulders with the same shrug you remember watching so carefully all those times she made her way, out of the hallways and back into that front-and-center-seat she was always occupying whenever the bell rang. "So filthy. I can show you one of my favorites."

"Doesn't really seem like appropriate reading material for -"

"You said it yourself," her voice has a bright, saccharine tone, just on the right side of strained. And between sips of that straw stuck in the purse of her pert, little mouth, she draws that next sentence - the ice cracking, thinning under your feet -

"Not my teacher anymore."

Nana smiles; this brash, cock-sure thing that reminds you, as you try to clear your throat of the nerves making a bed there: you are actually so, so fucking gone on her. So far gone it hurts, when, with a flourish and a bounce and a complete, reckless lack of discretion, she starts paging through the first chapters.

"Who says you can't study these kinds of stories on an academic level? Think about it: sex sells. Whoever ends up writing, it's a whole lot easier and a hell of a lot cheaper than trying to do it all yourself." She looks up, this mischievous twinkle in her eyes, as she angles her fingertips down on the book and opens it - page after page of very obviously poorly-written sex. You look, not even consciously.

But of course, her fingertips drift lower and lower along the pages until it's evident: she doesn't have an exact page in mind, but only a particular passage -

"Here. Let me show you, just one."

"Alright, fine," you start - trying for an effect of exasperation, something to mitigate this god awful throbbing, "whatever - you get one, one sample paragraph and I'll, you know, whatever."

"Yeah, you'll definitely see. Just trust me. Just the one."

She drums her long, gorgeous nails against the table, then eases back with a finger highlighting the text.

You're screening and scanning the words as she tells you about the heroine in the story: a pretty girl who comes down with a bad case of infatuation for her teacher - unrequited, of course. And then, into a passionate affair, of course; all the most raucous, explicit details laid out over the table for everyone else to hear. She says it is about as nonchalantly as though she had been reading you the daily weather forecast and not an elaborate metaphor for - and here, you stop her.

"He cums on her desk?"

"Fucking hot, right?" She nearly snorts and gestures you onward, her eyebrows jumping - go on, go on.

So, you skim along: a heavy rush of nausea (alongside another) pulsing down around your gut at the thought of actually doing such a thing, your ears going hot and your legs crossing on instinct. There's not so much a breath of hesitation as Nana, cool, unfazed, and utterly unaware of the uncomfortable churning of your stomach and the simultaneous thrumming in your cock, takes another deep swig of coffee.

She hums, thoughtful. "Honestly? Kinda wished it happened to me like that. You were a good, good teacher, professor. I wouldn't have minded your hands all over me." You hear her laugh, and the entire universe collapses like the end-days. You are struck down with feverish conviction: this girl is the worst.

"Anytime you wanted," she adds, so carelessly.

There's a clunking sound, of glass on wood; a half a second where you almost lose control over yourself.

“Nayeon,” you let slip, the old name - a mistake of an invitation she grasps like a weapon. All coming to a glint in her eye that says she knows how you see it, how you can still picture her sitting with her hands folded over the skirt of her uniform, chest rising and falling beneath her cotton shirt. Studious, taking notes, acting every bit the naive sweetheart everyone believed her to be.

You shudder out some pretense of composure and settle back a few inches as she continues to coax a reaction out of you, prodding: "how many girls did you make confess back then, hm? Did it ever do them any good?"

"Dial it back, Nana."

Her expression is all feigned, gentle surprise. "But sir," she looks at you so innocently, "you said I should drop the honorific."

You want to argue that, you also want to tell her off for being such a brat - to demand that, instead, she cut the shit, sit back, and remember who you both are, but when, with a wink and a smirk, she's getting up out of her seat, Nana sets a gentle, reassuring hand on your shoulder as she pushes her chair back beneath the table. You get onto your feet, and when the two of you are stood close together like this - she's really and truly that much smaller than you remember. Waist so tiny you think you could almost, almost wrap two hands all the way around her; skirt rising all too easily when she tosses her weight between her heels.

"I hope you know what you’re doing," you tell her, sternly - the voice of a teacher whose patience is running thin.

But no matter where you look, the consequences are dire and immediate: an abject fascination, a kind of debilitating greed; the absolute fucking loss of ability to look her directly in her eyes. Not like Nana isn't staring right through you. There's no doubt some part of her relishes the feeling.

"Hey, what do I know?" This sweet, demure-like chuckle follows. "It's just porn, right?”

Eventually, Nana says to call it a night because the sun's long set into the horizon and the chill starts getting at the both of you.

She tells you while you're packing up your belongings to come by again sometime, her voice teasing as she explains that you should pick out a new novel to read for your benefit.

Which is possibly the ideal outcome, all things considered, if it wasn't for the way she found herself in your hands just a few paces into the parking lot - no one around to catch you, where you're gripping fast onto her wrist and pressing the lines of her body into door of your car, looming and ready to give a piece of your mind.

You know what you ought to say - things like don't bother, you've enjoyed her company, she's fun and sweet, and in a dozen different ways: be a good girl, and go home. You had your fun, didn't you? But she's practically begging, those huge, wide doe eyes that stare straight up into your soul.

"C'mon,” her voice lilts into a deeper, more purposeful register, “you wouldn't turn down a student on her way home, would you?

(This fucking girl.)

She speaks of propriety, like you aren't a man of your own principles - like you aren't reaching down to press a kiss to the swell of her lips like she undoubtedly deserves. To lick into her mouth and pull and kiss and bite until she's trembling, teeth caught in a delicate whimper. Or, that you aren't running your hands down her sides to find the backs of her knees and draw them upward, hooking your hips flush against hers.

She's all too breathless, watching you draw off her lips, fingers fast in your shirt, your hair - holding you close.

Then finally, a true, honest reflection of your heart. Nothing less than sheer and utter capitulation: "let me take you home."

Nana just nods before wrapping her arms around your neck and kissing you again.

It's definitely on you for expecting anything different, but Nana fucks like she talks.

Conceited. Brash. A little selfish.

The girl's sitting there on her kitchen counter with one leg hooked over your shoulder. She's stripped herself down to near nothing save for those fuck-off ridiculous panties: slick, shiny with a thick strip of satin between her lips, complete with white lace frills and all; the same ridiculous pattern as the thigh-high stockings clinging tight around the soft-gentle fat of her legs and the lace top of her garter. Her pussy - all tight and pink and soaked - has left this shimmering, shiny mess that's trailing down the insides of her thighs.

Your fingers are in the elastic of her panties, near bruising the curve in her waist where she's rocking, flushed and keening against your grip.

You tell her, "take these off."

"Off?" She repeats it back to you with the same little grin: playing dumb, the smart, charming ass she's been all night.

"I'd tell you what I really want to do to you," you start, pushing your fingers in a little harder, eliciting another pretty moan. "But I'm really, really sure you can fill in the blanks yourself.

"I hope you're not planning on being rough with me," she teases, running her hands all through your hair as she pulls herself against you - and of course, it's her audacity to insist, "no marks." She drops a chaste little kiss along the underside of your jaw. "At least, nothing that might show up on a camera."

Someone with a little less baggage might have done just that. Might have jerked her panties down a couple inches further - ripped the cloth, exposed her even more. You might have followed the waistline further along the perfect round of her ass, found those dips and dimples that, maybe, no one else has ever gotten to explore. You may have grasped at the ends of her hair and gotten your fingers in her pussy without ceremony - driven Nana to the very brink of her climax just before palming two greedy handfuls of that ass - shoving yourself right there between her lips and, lost to shame, put a fucking kid in her.

All the things she must be dying for you to do.

"Something the matter?" She pushes her mouth into yours for a kiss that has all the urgency of a lazy Sunday morning. Your tongue against hers, languid and gentle at first; wet-sloppy, kissing and sucking on her bottom lip. You can feel her smirking when she says, "don't tell me you've forgotten how."

It's a lot, the effort you're putting in not to crumble - to crack at her taunts, snap your restraint, the temptation. You just wanna grab her pretty tits in both hands, shake her, and say: "shut the fuck up." But no - even in your wildest fantasy, you want to hear her first - beg you to make a wreck of her. So you force the words between your lips, dry and cracking:

"Not a fucking chance."

A laugh. "Guess I'm in good hands, then. Have to admit," Nana slides her hands down to hook under your own, bringing them lower. She grinds your fingers in slow circles over that one, aching, perfect little bud - a shock that has her curling tight inward until she's whining, clutching at her waist. "Not the - not the situation I had in mind."

Nana shifts her weight a bit more on one hip, guiding you through rubbing along the entrance to her slit - sloppy with precum, silky and aching - and when you place just the lightest pressure over all that hot skin, she opens her mouth:

"Ah."

Her eyes, her hair, her fucking mouth - you can’t look away - she’s so gorgeous it hurts.

Even the way she pants; the perfect furrow between her brows. And then, you dip a finger inside her, just to the first knuckle. It’s enough to make her whine, all shaky and high.

"Go on then, with how you’d pictured it," you press, already easing your digit in and out; slow, slick pumps that she is growing hotter, needier around. "I'm sure you've touched yourself to it more than a few times. The details and - stuff - must have been vivid."

"You haven't the slightest clue."

A brief kiss. You coax another shy sound from her, drawing a long sigh against her mouth -

"Try me, Nayeon."

"This is a lot closer to the truth than you’d think, professor." This time, no correction, she just smiles wide and tosses her head back, asking, sweetly, as if to absolve you of the responsibility. "Do you have any idea how long I've thought about it? You, me - us?"

Nana slips a finger between the buttons of your shirt and starts to pull.

On that detail, you actually, truthfully do not want to know.

"These... oh, how should I even call them." She hums softly just before easing a bit of distance between the two of you, head tilting like she's in a trailer for this summer's romcom, and not, you know, trying to drag you into hell. "Filthy little fantasies?"

"You know," you start. And by this point, her cunt's that much tighter. You've managed two fingers now, but no further, and she's making these desperate, punched-out gasps. Her clit's a swollen pink nub, jutting out from its soft hood. "I really had you pegged all wrong."

"Not - not at all. You can fuck me just fine, trust me - ah. Please, you can fuck me anyway you want."

And here, you grab a little higher on her hips, pinching her on the outside of a thigh, and begin working your fingers fast. You've never cared much for teasing, not really, but something about the way she squirms in your grip, tries to lean up and grasp onto your shoulders with shaking hands, it gets you smiling. It gets you grinning, even, especially the way she makes these pretty noises: a long, desperate little, "ah," at each press and thrust, her breath going high and uneven.

"Listen, Nana -" She squeals out loud when you push your fingers just a little deeper, a little bit harder. "I'm not going to talk about what a slut you've been today or how badly I want to spread you wide open," you can already tell it's affecting her: the sudden change, the subtle hitch in her breathing, the tremor where her thighs press together. "Tell me about you, about your little ideas. Let me help."

"Wouldn't be fair." Her pussy's getting tighter, urgent with want. And still:

"C'mon now. Humor me a little. There was probably-" you say, sliding down that ridiculous pair of underwear along her ass, tugging them over the curves of her legs - so slow and easy, all while you're not bothering with easing off. Nana moans again; voice pitched. "Lots. Lots and lots of dirty things - and, I'm willing to bet my career that they made you a hot, mess - an awful, soaking fucking wreck. Who could've guessed? You, of all people, with just the right kind of teacher's-pet-appeal, hm?"

And you meant it to be a joke, just some ribbing. But the question has her immediately tensing, looking at you very intently, no trace of shame as she snaps back -

"Your mouth." She rocks forward. "Your fucking mouth."

You shouldn't keep touching her, you shouldn't keep staring, you shouldn't push her flat on her back and shove your face right into her cunt, you should pull away before this goes too far - it shouldn't be your fingers drawing out sopping-wet gasps out of her pussy, nor should you press your tongue to her cunt, your mouth to all that delicate flesh and, at your first taste, shiver.

Nana laughs: shaky, nervous. Then, your fingers sink back into her pussy alongside your tongue, your lips, the way even your hot breath against her aching pussy has her all stunned, breathless - and -

"Please."

- right before she breaks off into a beautiful sound that catches her hard in the chest.

(A sound like you’re all she could ever want in this life, maybe the next; it’s this wordless plea.)

"Hah, I had - ah, had so much - hah - dirt on you, used to masturbate thinking - ah," and there, she arches her spine, forcing a sigh out, "thinking about how you might punish me." She laughs - nearly choking. "How you might break down all your veneer of being a good, moral man and fuck me raw and rough and - ah - fuck. Oh god, fuck."

You twist your fingertips up just so, right against this perfect spot in her, and all the sudden the entire line of her body seizes - stiffens up, the muscles in her thighs twitch as you both moan through the moment, the spasms reverberating in your own ears, loud and unashamed, right against her wet, wet clit. Your fingers are fucking and fucking and fucking away in her cunt, harder and faster and sloppier, every word, every groan, every gasped breath only making it easier to forget. To give in. And with every heavy slap and squelch of your fingertips digging in as deep as her body allows - you're sending her that much closer.

You pull back long enough to bite out: "cum whenever you want, Nana.”

She can’t, she can’t, she can’t, is what she’s trying to say, bracing against how your tongue moves around her clit, and she knows, there’s no use fighting it.

A kiss against her swollen mound and she writhes. “There you go sweetheart, cum for me.”

Nana comes undone. Gradually at first, then vaulting over that edge all at once. She lifts and lowers her hips - pushing your fingers into the smooth, velvety muscles of her cunt; rocking up and up again. It's a torturously slow kind of grinding, and her feet find purchase on either side of you as her toes curl, one heel digging into your shoulder. An assurance; a promise; a lifeline; that she might tremble and shake through it, moaning.

“Fuck,” and, “god,” and, “you’re gonna make me-” slip past her lips alongside all the assured gasped-out cries for relief - the orgasm sweeping through her, tearing her apart.

Back pitching, shoulders narrowing, face twisting, cinching tighter and tighter -

Until she collapses.

Until it’s over.

As she lays there, chest heaving, arm draped carelessly across her forehead and half over a kitchen cutting board - her thighs splayed open, fucked and spent - she's so, so beautiful.

And it’s in that sort of fucked-up-noodly-state where she just slides right into your arms - those long, slender legs wrapping tight around your middle. "Here's the deal," you say, grabbing hold of her hips and steadying her, as best as either of you can.

"Hm." This lazy, sated look, the way her tongue's dragged out - slow and slick - across the top of her teeth and bottom of her lips. "Go ahead, sir. I'm listening."

The lip service - that coy little appeal to authority that maybe you’re actually plenty fond of - it makes you stop for the barest of moments. This girl, she's unreal. How hard could you ever be asked to resist her?

She lifts a brow. "Professor."

So you continue:

"I'm going to get out of these clothes, and we are going to see what happens after that - if you have a preference for the bed or the sofa, now's your chance to pipe up. Or else -"

"Or else-" She repeats, shifting her weight around again. You can feel how she adjusts her heels to hang higher up your ribs, rocking her weight against your abdomen, against your cock - and the instinctual twitch that runs through your spine is turgid and rough. Like a shot. If it had a smell, it'd probably remind you of gasoline.

And then, maybe just to rile you up even more: "the dining room table makes a good impression of a teacher's desk, no?"

You slide your hand along the backs of her thighs until you have a good, tight, high hold on them and pick her up, leaving the panties, the stockings, all of it down where they can gather dust or whatever - she giggles, and tightens her hold around you like she doesn't need to worry about falling.

"I'd rather fuck you into a mattress to be perfectly candid."

Nana throws back her head and laughs - this real, honest-to-goodness peal of laughter, a hint of playfulness where there was usually just a practiced ease. "Oh. So forward."

(In all likelihood, you're both going to hell, and on the off chance you meet down there, you figure you'll fuck her then, too.

You've read the myths, the Greek tragedies, the ones that have these gods descending from the heavens on human women, for pleasure and nothing but, you've read those stories and plenty more - the details don't matter: it's always a bad, bad end for everybody involved.)

She takes you upstairs. And the two of you fall through the doorway to her bedroom, stumbling all the way.

Her apartment is simple and clean in the way all young adults try to emulate, all white countertops, but with pictures hanging in little, neat rows on the walls and the space void of anything with some sort of character or history.

You know because you're fumbling toward a dresser or desk or bookshelf in an attempt to orient yourselves, bumping and tussling, half-blind, on your path forward and all of a sudden there's a goddamn framed photo in your hand - not of her family, thank god. Though just about every other person in the picture is familiar to you, you remember every single one - but all you're capable of focusing on is Nana, Nayeon: not quite the same. The same glint in her eyes, the way her smile has a timeless kind of quality, the faint dimples in her cheeks.

And some wicked part of you is all too willing to ignore the whole timeline of events that has led up to you, Nana, like this: you want to pull her hair. You want to shove her around like she doesn't matter - is in any way disposable or replaceable; the most selfish parts of you wishing you could keep her pinned down by her slender neck; pressing a palm, bruising, into her collarbone as you start to work at your belt buckle and slacks with your other hand.

It's hard, getting a grip on yourself as Nana, sliding onto her bed and rolling across the sheets, pulls her stockings down the length of her legs - only stopping herself long enough to meet your eyes. Her throat bobbing.

“Of course,” she says, because your cock is hanging out by that point, straining and a little pent-up. "I fucking knew you would have a perfect cock."

"Flattery or sincerity?"

"Um, let's say both." She shifts around the pillow - that sweet little pout on her lips. Her gaze dropping from your mouth and running all along the length of your torso, lower and lower. Like her hands. And when her eyes flick up to meet yours, just when you're stroking at your cock, base and shaft, teasing yourself, well past the point of pretense, a devious smile spreads wide across her pretty, beautiful face. The implication: you aren't leaving here until you're cumming inside her.

And with a glimmer in her eyes, the sheer audacity, her fingertips ghost the underside of your cock as she draws up toward the head, "you're going to ruin me with this thing. You know that right?"

"A bit dramatic."

Nana moves to rest with the tops of her knees at the edge, her chin resting against the insides of her wrists, elbows propped up - poised, playful, everything she should be as the both of you regard each other a moment longer. "Can you blame me? It's not just that it's huge, I mean - I've barely even gotten a hold of it, and yet... god," she snorts. Her eyelids are heavy, mouth curved, almost a snarl as she drags her bottom lip through the grip of her teeth and sinks down onto the mattress.

"Say something filthy again," and this is a test, this is Nana testing you to see what exactly you'll get away with.

(Hint: it's a whole lot.)

She sighs. The image of indigence, innocence, everything pure and good you couldn't hope for. "Should I suck it or not? Or maybe, I don't know. Would you prefer me to beg for it first, ask if you'll put it in? Like, I think if you ordered me to put it in my mouth, right now, I wouldn't be able to say no."

"Really," the most sarcastic answer.

"Really," she continues. "For instance. If you came over here right now and guided me up and onto your dick and told me, specifically, that you were going to face-fuck me? I couldn't say no. No sir."

You could have her any damn way. You could have her, and you both know it.

"So tempting," you tease, mostly in earnest, "maybe another time, when my self-control isn't quite so lacking."

Nana hums a low, flippant sort of noise - like: whenever you're ready - and just how much trouble it gets you in, the mere suggestion, is what she is banking on.

"Hey," is her invitation, "I won't beg yet. You still want me to put my mouth all over it," and to emphasize, she slips her fingers between the plump pillows of her lips, smiling at how that makes you reach over the nightstand, accidentally pulling open a drawer, possibly reaching for the first aid kit, "or would you rather watch me stuff all these fingers in my wet, little hole."

A sharp inhale: it really would be fun, probably, but you can't take it.

"Nana," this voice, gravelly-ragged and harsh, "if you're planning to make me snap, you are, without question, on the right track."

"Then before that happens," she says, pulling you down into the bedsheets beside her. Your body flush against hers, the beat of her heart loud against your own; this gorgeous, pristine girl, so nakedly giving - this is an honor and a curse all rolled up together, no doubt.

And after a hot, wet kiss: "fuck me like I always thought you would."

(She was made to be like this; it's the only explanation.

Made for wanting. Made for fucking. Made to be loved and made to have her cunt fucked full - ruined by your fingers, your tongue, your cock. This absolutely perfect body, and all the delicious parts of her; this thing of desire, bashful and coy and that deserves all the world and, having none of the grace or courtesy to actually beg, orders, like she always knew she could:

"Like, right fucking now."

Or else.)

Then you're there - her hot mouth, her cunt, your fingers digging in bruising-tight all along the curve of her thighs where they meet her ass, hips, thighs, waist. She's pumping her soft palm and delicate fingers, slick with her spit and yours around the length of you and this isn't going to last long; not that there's any doubt you're going to leave her sore. But still, you drag the head of your cock across the swollen lips of her pussy, down through the plump swell of her clit until it rests where the ridge just begins and every slide, every pressure along every inch of your cock, the thought of being enveloped entirely in all that silky warmth is nearly the end of you.

A whimper, "professor."

You wrap your hands tighter around the smooth, firm muscles in her thighs; dragging your fingers back and forth across the supple skin there - just firm enough to elicit a reaction from the tension in her legs, until you have her flipped over on her stomach. Because if you're going to fuck her properly, it's going to be with her face buried deep into a pillowcase and you perched above her, holding her down against the sheets.

You watch her get her elbows underneath her, laying almost flat. Watch her trace the shape of her own jaw, her nose, her neck - the smooth expanse of her chest - as you straddle her thighs. With her ass pointed right up at you and the heel of her ankle gently grinding into the underside of your leg, you groan, placing both hands just above her ass. And once you're gripping the whole shape of her, you push your cock into her, just an inch, listening to the shift in her breathing.

She shudders, "don't tease - oh, please, sir-"

"Is this what you expected, Nana?" You grab onto her hair. Then again, when she tries to get her hands on herself. Her shoulders are high, tight. You just don't give her a chance; pushing yourself another inch, a couple. The pace, so gradual she starts making these soft, little breathless sounds as you stretch her tight pussy open. A few moments when she stops trying to bury her noises, her gasps - stops trying to angle her hips or squeeze or resist the thick shape of your cock where it is so, so hot and full inside of her - and there you stop. "What is it you had in mind, hm?"

"Ngh - oh."

Her cunt's clamping tight around just the first few inches of you. The tightness, the wet heat is staggering; how it pulls and begs with the words she seems reluctant to spill out.

So - you lift a hand, bringing it back down again onto the pale, rounded flesh of her ass with a smack, a gasp, and this wet sound from the sopping heat of her pussy, all aching and sobbing, "don't, fuck, stick it - fuck, put it - just. Just fucking get on top of me and pin me down - make it hard for me to breathe - do it, just. Like I, fuck, like I always wanted, sir, please-"

And you sink all the way in.

"Fuck." She bites into those consonants, a whole-body motion that pulls at the tension in her spine, the muscles in her legs. But her hips angle right up, and she presses her ass into the hollow of your abdomen and says, "thank you. Thank you. God."

"Don't get lazy on me," you say, grinding the tip of your cock in little circles; pulling it out and angling it down until it's prodding at all the right places to make her arch and shiver.

"Please," she says again, louder this time, almost a moan. "That. Fuck. Yes. It's."

"Yes, yes, I know. Nana, you-"

"Just use me. Whatever you like," she pants; then, once you've pulled yourself out to the tip, slowly filling her again, "use me like a fucktoy, alright. Because - fuck," Nana shivers, pushing her hips into yours. Her shoulders lower, as if by degrees, "please. Use me. Make it rough. Please, professor - use me however you want, I don't care - anything's fine with me - use me, as long and as much as you need, I. Please."

The real difference here, beyond anything else, is that this is no longer the game it was; the very instant she was sprawled across the mattress with a line of drool dripping into the sheets, all her bright, polished glory has vanished, leaving this bare edge of her exposed - the girl who lives solely to be fucked and used by your cock, her cunt leaking, begging for more. Reduced to the basics and nothing else.

"Your fucking cunt, Nana, the goddamn clench - you feel - it's-" (So fucking good, is what you can’t quite say, because she’s tight and wet and her tiny pussy is quivering like mad every time you bathe your cock in its scorching heat. Over and over.) It’s hard to think; you’re truly - truly - fucking her, but you can’t ignore the tautness in her spine either, bent below you. There are probably tears beading down her cheeks, but there's no helping the raw instinct screaming through the core of her being, pleading with you to pull yourself free, before sinking hilt-deep into her again, again, again - to a chorus of sloppy, loud, nasty, fucking whimpers and moans.

Like music.

It's easy after all, how her pussy gives way to you. How she molds around you - sleeves onto you like a glove - like there was only one cunt in the world you should ever be fucking up and fucking apart.

"It's incredible. Fuck. Just that perfect."

Nana, as best as she can, trying to stay steady, braced against her hands and knees, is raising her hips.

But it's clear with the way she's slipping all over, slicking the sweat off her palms and rocking her ass back into your thrusts, a cry falling out of her, unbidden, when she speaks and not.

"Please," she pants, through tears probably, this breathy-shivering. A renewed enthusiasm for your grip on her - where, in another place, you'd worry about leaving marks behind - for the feeling of your weight slamming down into her, driving the air from her lungs.

The sheets are a crumpled mess, pillows knocked from the mattress, where the two of you are shaking it apart.

You're pulling her apart, slowly, thrust by thrust into her sopping cunt, and in a promise of how you'll put her back together, you get your mouth on her shoulders, her neck, kisses in her hair, behind her ear - Nana just whimpers, curling her toes and ankles along the backs of your knees, her face against the pillow and gasping, "thank you - thank - thank-"

And when your palm smacks against the generous swell of her ass, again, she keens so perfectly for you.

It's a breathtaking sight, so good, so perfect: her flawless ass pitched high, round and flushed pink. The flutter of her eyelashes and the tears and drool. The outlines of her pale white cheeks sent into ripple after ripple, and then the way you can slide one hand forward between her shoulder blades and slip it into her hair, nails raking her scalp, grabbing a handful of hair in your fist and tilting her face - to the side, enough for her cheek against the pillow and the way her hips try to press against yours; try to chase the pleasure; this brash, gorgeous, slim-waisted, well-curved, exquisite young woman - like everything.

"Please," is all she says as you fit your chest up tight to her back and mouth at her neck - lick all along the sweat. "Please."

You can't take it anymore, can't keep watching this masterpiece, can't stand the molten heat wrapped around your cock every time the drag in and out of her pussy pulls sets every nerve on fire. Right in her ear: "I'm cumming, Nana, I'm cumming inside this tight, little pussy."

A short gasp, "yeah."

"Yeah. Inside, Nana. Cum inside, you -" You twist your fingers against her scalp and find purchase, an excuse - a means to yank her head around and lean into her, teeth against skin, that familiar coiling in your gut and the burning sensation that flows right alongside every slap and smack of her hips on your skin.

"Fuck me." You watch her bite down, swallow a sound, try to say: "fuck your load so deep inside me it’ll be all I think about for weeks, let me feel it, all that hot, all that sticky, fucking cum"

And you drag your hips, these final, punishing drags through her drenched cunt. Her fingers are white knuckled and fisting the sheets, until the very second you've pressed every ounce of your own body's worth into her own, when you're collapsing her spine and pushing her face into the bedspread, this wave rushes through your ears like the buzz and hum of insects and waves and things out of sync - the high, the peak -

And then:

Sobering, subjugating silence.

In fact, you're shuddering; You're cumming, spilling pools of thick cum deep inside of her. It's all in that warm, filthy sensation, a heady, hazy, desperate thrill when her own cunt seizes in its climax around you, trembling, throbbing, quivering, clenching; drawing everything out and taking your cock deeper - even while the whole of her is thrashing and bucking, all of this messy with her pleasure and her voice caught up, writhing and breathless.

"God-" is the last thing out of her mouth before you can kiss it quiet, tug on her lower lip and open her up like a present - messy and breathy, crying out, you're making this mess inside, this beautiful fucking mess - as the whisper you feel against your lips:

"Inside me, like that."

As you groan, deep and hot, "filthy fucking cumslut-"

Right on the verge, riding out every twitch of your cock and each flex of your hands at the skin around her ass, her waist, back and shoulder blades; even after you've caught your breath, you keep pumping more and more inside of her, you don't stop, won't, and even when you manage it, pulling out the head of your cock - you can feel every slick detail - just the slit and rim, resting the throbbing head of your cock at her swollen little mound, feeling the length of her fucked-out pussy spasm at the emptiness and trying to grasp around nothing - empty, tight and aching, sopping.

There's her hips, just this, right there; the line, the silhouette. Her thin waist and the curvy swell of her ass, jutting out straight - the cream-colored flesh dusted pink. The lithe, soft line of her stomach and the insides of her thighs a little farther along, sweaty and inviting.

She's so pliant in your grip, even though she's trying her best to curl herself backward - to angle your spent cock back into the ready, welcoming warmth of her slick, wet pussy - and once the afterglow has begun to wear away, that same greed and yearning takes its rightful place. A glimmer in her eyes. The unmistakable need and drive.

"One more," she says, wiggling her hips back into your stomach. "For me."

(The truth: you can't refuse her, not as she bites her lip and twists, all that soft hair splayed across her face, stuck to her tear-damp skin.

One more, because you both still want it. One more, because in the dim glow and evening air of her bedroom, everything that happens now matters just as much as anything that happened before.

One more, because you need her again.)

When she wakes in the dark, you figure her bed will be empty.

Nana will realize that you're gone. Of course you’ll be - it was never going to go differently; the sex had to end at some point. After all, if you stayed, eventually she'd start saying something you'd find a fault in or your skin would be so sensitive she couldn't stand not running a finger up your spine and maybe kissing your hip.

The reasons to go always outnumbered the reasons to stay.

The world would catch up and someone would find out and that's the sort of gossip that might leave both of your careers in shambles. Or else, you'd do something you couldn't come back from, the moment the heat of the sex left your body and her cunt, god, her perfect little cunt was spent - slackening - and the moments-after-haze, her legs locked up and her arms a bit sore, would clear up. Then you'd look at her, or else the shame would win out - the guilt and you'd call it quits. She won’t blame you. She can't.

But then again,

Her heart won't fall completely to pieces, because:

You've stayed. And it isn't an easy position, even if she is easy.

Here she is, though: sleeping on her side with her wrists crossed in front of her face - peaceful and quiet, probably tired enough to sleep without dreams. The dark has long since settled across her bedroom, save the pinpricks of stars in the sky out her window and a sliver of moonlight. You can see her, or you could reach out and run your hands all along her calves and thighs, but you don't.

Nana's shoulders slump forward in the faintest of sighs, and there it is - the slow, gentle swell and fall of her chest.

Here's how you got here:

In this scandal-in-waiting of a relationship. Here's the stupidest possible path, where a bright-eyed student with a crush fucks her older professor just once, and somehow you both find yourselves coming back for more, like maybe your very, very bodies belong together - a maddening compulsion.

Even once you've managed to work through the idea of your cum all inside of her, a seedy, twisted corner of your mind murmurs how it makes the most sense. To stick your cock inside of her again.

Where she can show you the way it can look; the mess and the texture of the slick, white spill - dribbling out of her pussy in the afterglow, onto her palm, and down the crevice in her ass and lower.

It's the phone calls probably - and not just the phone sex - late-night talking, conversation and every once in awhile, the kind of hot, hard fucking that gets you in trouble, but also a reason to be with each other again. Not just the quick fucks but the nice ones - the days, the late nights and mornings and what have you: all the casual intimacy of it. All the sweet nothings exchanged.

The after-sex cuddling, with her straddling your lap;

The sensation of her thighs sliding into place around the tops of your legs, her arms tucked around your neck;

The kisses you don't take and kisses you'd be okay with, all the promises made to love you as many times as necessary, however necessary, wherever.

That's all here too.

Again:

She is young. But, who the fuck are you to say? Who the hell can tell you she doesn't deserve the least rotten, least painful, most promising love she can find in this particularly fucked-up world?

Who else is going to keep the both of you safe and hidden?

And who else, despite everything, seems to like having a secret that they're sure only you know; every glance or accidental touch with her eyes brimming, alive, and the whole of her bent like a bow-string - all held back and wound-up tight.

To the point her spine will shiver and shake; you know how it can be.

"Are you actually going to buy those?" Nana asks one day, dangling on her toes, chin rested comfortably in the sweep of your shoulder.

When she crowds the swell of her hip and her breasts and her entire body into your back and snakes her arms around your shoulders, you think there's nothing else in the world you need.

"You called them drivel," she adds, almost pouting - which is a look you're slowly trying to inoculate yourself against because the moment it comes up, you have a knee-jerk reaction to drop anything and everything and carry her off someplace else. To have a place where she could, could, could -

"Hah," you roll your eyes, not taking the bait. There's a shelf-full of campy, smutty romance novels in the dollar bin. "It is. The story was less than complicated, but I couldn't figure out what the hell two or three characters' plotlines had to do with one another, and sometimes you just want a little guilty pleasure, you know?"

"Ooh. So," Nana smiles, the devious sort. "I guess there is some honesty in you after all."

"Come on, this one at least has an original story," and it is a shameless attempt, "plus-"

"I know, I know. Fine. And if it is so terribly bad, well, I suppose I can use your chest as a pillow to take a nap," she says, before throwing this particular glance over her shoulder.

The cashier doesn't need to ask if the two of you want your copies of 'Wild West of the Heart' or whatever-the-fuck this one is titled, scanned separately.

All of that, those paperback-cover love stories and TV drama plots, these are the sorts of things you do just for Nana; as the two of you wait in long lines, get carried along, get bumped and pushed, like every other ordinary-person thing you've done for her ever since.

("Honestly, this isn't my kind of thing either," you tell her in the aisle of a grocery store once. The fluorescent lighting only accentuates the blush high on her cheeks. "don't make me fuss over something like this."

"Have a little sympathy," she insists, nudging the handle of the shopping cart against the inside of your shins. "A girl like me isn't good for much else.")

It's not romance, really, that's such a fucked up way to go about describing any of it, but then there's Nana, bouncing on her heels and prattling on, this girl in the spring of her life who is full to the brim and bursting with the most chaotic and eclectic sorts of thoughts and passions -

So, what.

"Really," she adds - another side, another angle on an issue the two of you had an hour ago while cooking breakfast. "Just, think about it. Would you honestly put all this effort into somebody who doesn't make you laugh at least as much as they irritate you? Because like, you would never tolerate some self-obsessed jerk long enough to eat their burnt, terrible pancakes every day of the week."

"Fine. Maybe." You sit across the table. "You're right."

Nana blinks and this look of wonder crosses her face as she grins. A moment of triumph for her and that was more than the honest truth. It's still strange, admitting defeat in any argument here or there, or that the two of you make an actual decent couple - together. The kinds of things that come naturally to other people.

"Any more caveats to all of this, professor?"

"You’re gonna end up bent over that counter again if you keep pushing it, kid."

The both of you break out laughing and then you finish your coffee, or she stabs the last few pieces of cantaloupe on her plate, or you kiss her neck, and just -

Everything.

#wooah smut #nana smut #kwon nayeon smut #el7z up smut #kpop smut #male reader #capslocked kinkvember #woo ah smut #woo ah nana smut

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thatfandomslut · 2 months

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No Matter What

Regine George x Reader

Word Count: 1.1k

Trigger Warning: insecurity

Request:

Valentine's / Follower Celebration Request; Regina George w/ quote 51 and piece of chocolate 5. Or: “In my opinion, the best thing you can do is find someone who loves you for exactly what you are. Good mood, bad mood, ugly, pretty, handsome, what have you.” w/ arguing

Valentine's / Follower Celebration Requests are closed.

"So, what happened?" Cady asked as she passed (Y/n) the glass of water from her counter. What is usually the time that Cady takes to tutor (Y/n) has turned into a therapy session since (Y/n) and Regina are arguing. This was a very rare occasion as they typically settled things in private but Regina brought Karen and Gretchen into it, so (Y/n) has come to Cady. Hence why there was a math book and homework, that was twenty-five percent finished, scattered on the table.

(Y/n) accepted the water gratefully, sighing as she wiped the tears streaming down her cheeks. "I told her I felt uncomfortable with her relationship with Shane Omen. I never said they couldn't be friends. I wouldn't ever tell anyone who to be friends with or they couldn't be friends with. However, she does that for me all the time. That's why I felt like I had the right to at least let her know that the way she was still friends with her ex-boyfriend, the boy she cheated on Aaron with, makes me uncomfortable. Maybe I'm just insecure, but them having a relationship worries me." (Y/n) explained, hoping she didn't sound bitter.

There was a hum that escaped Cady as she listened, nodding carefully. (Y/n) She could see that she was thinking, which made her dread that maybe she had no one on her side. "I understand your worries. I wouldn't feel comfortable either. I think it's actually very healthy to establish boundaries. I also don't think it's fair that Regina has made you unfriend people and then get mad when you express your discomfort with her and Shane." Cady sat beside her, putting a comforting hand on her arm. (Y/n) felt validated by Cady's words, happy to finally have someone who sees the disagreement from her point of view.

"I feel like it wouldn't matter if she didn't cheat on someone else with him. I don't care that she's friends with Aaron or her other exes. It's just Shane." (Y/n) told Cady, leaning back in her seat. She felt a bit embarrassed by how insecure she was, but she knew Cady wasn't judging her. "I just sometimes don't even feel good enough for Regina. Then, I find out she's hanging out with Shane Omen. What am I supposed to think? I know it's bad for me. I'm supposed to trust her. I do trust her. I'm just being insecure. I just really love her."

Cady rubbed her back softly. She understood what (Y/n) was saying. Oftentimes, she felt insecure around the girls herself. But, she knew it was a different level since she was in an actual relationship with Regina. "In my opinion, the best thing you can do is find someone who loves you for exactly what you are. Good mood, bad mood, ugly, pretty, handsome, what have you. I honestly feel like that is the love that you and Regina have. Maybe, you two just need to sit down, and maybe you can try to be vulnerable with her like you were with me." She offered softly.

She was right, too. (Y/n) and Regina did share a love that would overcome this. (Y/n) did love Regina despite all of her moods. She loved her in the morning when her hair was messy, she loved her in the afternoon when she was at lunch looking her most confident. "You're right," (Y/n) said softly, looking at her homework. "But first, I really do need help with my homework." They shared a small fit of laughter before Cady helped her finish her work.

After tutoring, she headed to Regina, wondering what she was going to say. Admittedly, (Y/n) felt a bit nervous. She wasn't the best at confrontation. That's why she sat in her car for ten minutes. Eventually, she pried herself from the driver's seat and made her way to Regina's front door. Before (Y/n) could knock or ring the doorbell, Regina opened the door with flushed cheeks. She stared at (Y/n) for a moment before running a manicured hand through her blonde hair. "I saw you sitting in your car for a while." She confessed, looking away a bit.

There was a moment of silence between the two of them, but there was no tension. It was just a thick heaviness of nervousness in the air. "I'm sorry," the two of them said in sync before laughing softly, a bit of awkwardness lifting off their shoulders. It was nice to see their anger over their last argument has finally worn off. (Y/n) always hated when Regina was angry, and Regina always tried to make sure (Y/n) was never angry. They worked together like that, always trying to protect each other's feelings while communicating and telling the truth. Sometimes, it led to little arguments, but the Shane Omen one was one of their bigger blow-ups.

Regina led her into the house, all the way to her room. "I want you to know that I cut off Shane. I realized that you had every right to feel uncomfortable. I'm sorry for invalidating your feelings the way that I did. I hope that you'll be able to forgive me." Regina said with a soft smile. (Y/n) only saw that smile when Regina was feeling vulnerable with her. Unlike (Y/n), Regina wasn't someone who wore her heart on her sleeve. So, when she apologizes, it means she took a lot of time out of her day to consider the things that have happened.

(Y/n) sighed, noticing that Regina's hand was taken into hers still. She laced their fingers together as she got the words sorted in her mind. "I'm sorry, too. I realized that I was just jealous and insecure. I trust you, and I should've made that clear. Instead, I let my fear control me." She explained, feeling tears brim in her eyes as she began to feel embarrassed again. She grew even more embarrassed when the tears began to fall down her cheeks.

Regina wiped the tears away softly, kissing (Y/n) gently on the lips. "(Y/n), I love you. No matter what I love you. I love so much it's crazy. You were valid to feel everything that you felt. The truth is, I should've cut him off a long time ago. None of this was fair to you." She said carefully, pulling away, but letting her hands stay to rub away any stray tear that continued to cascade down her girlfriend's cheeks.

There was a soft smile that pulled at the corners of (Y/n)'s lips as she sniffed. "I love you, too, Regina. No matter what." She said softly, moving in to kiss Regina once more.

#regina george x reader #regina george #mean girls x reader #mean girls

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dixonsgirl93 · 8 months

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Daryl Dixon finding out you’re pregnant with his child and what he’d be like as a dad:

(I gotta be honest, I don’t normally like pregnancy/child tropes. They just don’t interest me in fiction HOWEVER this thought came to me. How would our sweet, traumatised boy react to having a family of his own??)

He’d be in shock, not believing you could really be carrying his baby, that he was gonna be a dad

He’d say he needs space/time to think about what this really means and he’ll disappear on “runs”. You wouldn’t hear from him for at least a couple weeks

He’d be terrified at first. Because of the idea of bringing a child into a broken world, because he fears he’d be a terrible father

He’d have to come to terms with not being able to run off and do his own thing. He’d have responsibilities now

He already knew he was never going to leave the pair of you. It was never in his mind to abandon you

He’d work even harder to protect you both, putting himself on the line more but secretly he’d enjoy it in a way, because he had something that was his and he’d give his life 1000 times over to protect what belonged to him

He’d teach them how to hunt from an early age, to fight, how to use his crossbow, the right berries and mushrooms to eat, how to fish and anything else Daryl knew, he’d pass it all on

What you wouldn’t know, was that when the child was much older, Daryl would teach them how to protect you both, should something happen to Daryl. He’d teach them to not let the grief consume them

While you were pregnant he’d kiss your belly loads, lovingly patting it and feeling the kicks. And when he first felt a kick he’d get teary eyed and it would be the first time he felt like a dad

He’d talk to his child while in your belly, telling them stories of the old world and of how badass he thinks their mom is

He’d be the first to bring you comforts, pillows, blankets, enough food so you could both stay strong

He wouldn’t be home too much, wanting better to be hunting for you, making a nursery for you but when he was home he focused his attention on you and the baby

He would be more anxious, wanting to provide for and protect you constantly but not being able to do both all the time

He would think of the family he lost and compare you and his child to himself, Merle and their dad, desperately wanting his child to have a better life than he did

When the baby was born, he’d spend a lot of time just holding and looking at them, memorising their features, looking for you and himself in them

He’d gently run his fingers over their soft skin. He couldn’t help but wonder how anyone could hurt a child, imagining his own scars and childhood

During childbirth he’d be at your side the whole time, encouraging you to be strong, giving you praises, clutching your hand and not caring that your nails were digging into his skin from the pain

When the child was older and told him that they were proud to have him as their dad, he’d sob, not caring who saw because it was something he’d been worried about for years. He was so certain he would fail any child in his care

If the child was a girl, he’d teach her not to take shit from men, he’d tell her about the certain tricks men use. He’d teach her to be strong and independent

If the child was a boy, he’d teach him how to be respectful to women, he’d teach him how to be a leader, how to protect people, how to be unbreakable but that emotional vulnerability was not weakness, but strength

He’d be a stern dad, soft sometimes but the child would quickly grow to be respectful, learn to communicate their feelings and feel safe and loved. Something Daryl never got

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 6 months

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Every Little Bit | Billy Washington x SexuallyConfident!reader

Summary: Billy has never been the confident one in the relationship. So you endeavour to make him feel how he deserves | Word Count: | Warnings below the cut!

Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Billy W Taglist

requested by @randomdragonfires, sorry it's taken me so long to get round to it 😅

Warnings: mentions of a bad past relationship, p in v sex, mentions of feeling inadequate, confidence issues, masturbation (f and m), cumplay, voyeurism, use of sex toys, overstim

Out of all the guys she’d been with, Billy Washington seemed the most innocent-looking.

He had the face for it. With those big blue eyes, messy blonde hair and the irresistible way he would nervously lick his soft pink lips when he was anxious.

She wasn’t ashamed to say that it excited her.

In complete contrast to that, he was tall, broad, with a sharp jawline and a sometimes striking gaze when his eyelids were hooded. Sometimes she found herself just looking at his hands as he wringed them, how his long, thick fingers curled around each other, tucking into his palms.

He was a somewhat introverted guy, she found out. But it was endearing. He was a listener, when he was sober, fading into the background as much as a tall guy could, his eyes darting to whoever was speaking. But when he had a drink in his hand and some beer in his belly, he began to come out of his shell a little, yet still softly spoken. Choosing his words carefully to not draw too much attention to himself.

It was a shame, she mused.

She chalked it up mostly to his ex-girlfriend, who, from what she’d heard, had done very little to quell his nerves and insecurities. In fact, it seemed like she nurtured them, in order to perhaps feel better about herself.

That was the biggest crime of all. Forcing Billy to feel lesser than he was.

Than he deserved.

In their moments of quiet within his flat, legs tangled beneath the sheets, with his head pressed between her shoulder and chest as she absent-mindedly played with his hair, he would often say.

“Why the hell are you with a guy like me?”

The question didn’t come from nowhere. It was a familiar one, and asked often.

She never knew why he’d even ask?

“You could have any guy you wanted”

But she wants him.

What about that is so difficult to understand?

She quickly discovered though, that it was because Billy thought he wasn’t satisfying her.

So often had his ex expressed disappointment, with faked orgasms or huffs of annoyance, that Billy thought himself incapable of giving a single female pleasure.

She thought it was absurd.

The way Billy approached sex was another thing.

It was clear he wasn’t confident, unclear more so if he ever had been. He’d obviously had his fair share of girlfriends, had sexual relationships with most of them, but had never really allowed himself to be vulnerable with any of them intimately.

Not to mention, she doubted he’d ever divulged what he liked.

A people pleaser, through and through.

She knew he was only human. That beneath that good boy exterior there was something. Things he liked, but wouldn’t dare to ask for. Things he might have wanted to do to her, but wouldn’t say out loud.

It was a mission, to find out what made Billy Washington click.

Being unapologetically sexual was never an issue for her. Nor communication with previous partners (at least on her side anyway). Not that she was perfect in her opinion by any stretch, but she always, always, knew what she wanted. In her eyes, there was no need to be embarrassed about what you desire, or about telling that to the person that you trust and love.

Clearly, Billy’s trust had been shattered before she came into his life.

She looked up from her phone as she heard the front door, the clanging of keys in a bowl and shuffling of long, muffled footsteps.

A mischievous smile grew on her face as she laid atop his bed, in only his long t-shirt and nothing else, one hand pressed between her mid thighs to warm and comfort the hand that wasn't scrolling through her phone.

She heard his exasperated sigh and saw his sandy, blond hair as he turned towards the bedroom, halting on the spot as his baby blue eyes locked onto her legs first, trailing upwards to where the skin was covered by his shirt.

His cheeks were flushed. He'd obviously had a pint.

"Have a good time?", she asked warmly.

She saw him swallow thickly, his full lips parting to remember to breathe, "Mmhm".

Flopping her phone onto the bedside table, she rested her head in her palm, "What's up?"

Billy had to shake his head a few times to rid himself of what he thought was a trance, no doubt doubled by the little bit of alcohol in his system, "U-uh, nothing…" he murmured, pulling off his jacket and stepping across the threshold.

"Were you uh…waiting up for me?", Billy asked with a hint of hope in his voice that was difficult to miss.

She slides off the bed, shuffling up to his tall, broad figure, having to crane her neck to look at him properly through her eyelashes. Billy shivers noticeably as her hands drift across his chest, her fingers teasing the skin of his torso through the thin fabric of his shirt.

Though they'd been together for some time, even Billy understood, there was something different about tonight.

"What if I was?", she replies, a teasing lilt to her voice that makes Billy's hairs stand up on end.

He presses his lips together, feeling increasingly pent up by the second, as if her touch is setting off a chain reaction inside him, and he is fit to burst.

“What if I was thinking about you?”, she muses in a low tone, smiling when she feels him tense under her touch.

“About me?...”

“Yeah”

“In…what way?” he asks innocently.

She thinks, feigning disinterest for a moment as she bites her lip.

“I’ve been thinking, that you don’t tell me what you want”.

She watches his brows lower a bit in confusion, “...what I want?”

“Mmhm”, she replies, “in the bedroom anyway”.

“Oh”

She smiled with delight as his cheeks warmed, the redness blooming over his face, making his deep, blue eyes gleam from beneath his sweeping blonde hair.

Almost in a trance, Billy's hands drift beneath her arms to her waist, sucking the large shirt she wore to the actual shape of her body. She watched his face as his lips parted.

Billy didn't know what to say.

"I, uh…"

"You can tell me, Billy" she reassured quietly, watching his breath hitch, and his chest move more steadily as her fingers brushed the skin beneath his shirt.

She stopped when his hands came to hers, to gently, but firmly, push them off him.

“Not tonight…” he whispered, so quiet she nearly had to strain to hear him, “...please”.

How he said it was so vulnerable, his eyes blinking quickly, that she knew and took the cue to not even go about asking what was really wrong with him. She suspected it was something much deeper, something that needed a lengthy explanation, and one that right now he couldn’t give her.

She gave him a reassuring smile, letting him know that he needn’t feel like he was disappointing her.

She thought with a warmth in her heart, that Billy had come home, wavy from only one pint, only wanting to be held, have her fingers stroking his hair until he fell asleep.

So tonight, without judgement, she gave him comfort.

And would let him come to her when he was ready.

She loved mornings like this.

Lazy, hazy Saturdays.

The middle of the weekend. Leaving the stressful memory of Friday, flung headlong into the lull that Saturday offered, and without the threat of Sunday, knowing that the work week would just continue all over again.

With the bed sheets tucked around her idly, she scrolled through her phone with heavy eyelids, she could hear the faint tapping of the shower in the background and the occasional splash of water as Billy washed his hair.

The dust was illuminated as it drifted through the air, the atmosphere one a kind of homely, cosiness. The music from one of the speakers in the other room filled the gentle silence.

It was so domestic, she could only describe it that way. One that filled a space inside her that made her feel as if she could stay like this forever.

She thought of him, in the shower, water running off of him and his blonde hair all wet and pushed back from his forehead with his fingers. And for some reason, though they’d been together a long time, the idea of that still excited her.

It was useless to ignore how she pressed her thighs together.

It had been a few days since she and Billy were last intimate. And though she tried the night before, it was clear as anything he was in no mood for anything overtly sexual, favouring instead to bask in their closeness. She didn’t mind it. She would much rather him state if he wasn’t in the mood, than for him to push it aside, and struggle to keep the momentum going and be passionate once they were in the throes of it.

Because that would only fuel the inadequacy Billy felt.

And she wasn’t having that.

Tucking her phone beneath the pillow, she sighed as her hand slipped between her legs, finding herself already wet and wanting at the mere thought of her boyfriend in the shower. If she weren’t so pent up, she would have said to herself it was slightly pathetic, to be this aroused just by thinking about someone she saw everyday naked.

But she just couldn’t help herself.

She pressed her lips together, suppressing a sound that bubbled up there as her digits moved through her slick folds, her hips jolting slightly when her middle finger began to rub in micro-movements over her bud. Imagining it was him. His long,thick fingers…

She sunk further into the bed, the idle sound of muffled music in the background granting her the confidence to part her lips and let her quiet moans rumble in her chest.

With one hand pleasuring herself, the other slipped beneath her shirt to touch her own breast, again pretending they were his, large and calloused, gripping at her flesh hungrily, squeezing her nipples between his fingers desperately.

That dull buzz began to throb between her legs, and she paid more attention to her clit where she increased her movements.

Her head whipped to the doorway, her eyes flying open and breath caught in her chest, all movements ceased.

Her first instinct was to blush in embarrassment as Billy stood in the doorway, his blue eyes slowly drifting from where her hands were tucked and then to her eyes, absorbing the hedonistic and shy expression on her face.

Billy just stood there, clad only in his sweatpants that hung lowly on his hips, and the appearance of his body so unabashedly bared, the little trail of dark blonde hair leading down from his navel beneath the waistband, made that little buzz only ache tighter inside her. His hair was towel dried and pushed back off his forehead, the sandy strands darkened with moisture and laying messily on his head.

She wanted to say something, but nothing came out.

He saw her swallow nervously, seeing her not know what to do as he’d happened upon her in a very delicate moment, so lost in her pleasure that she had not heard him turn off the shower and open the door.

Her mouth went dry as she saw beneath his dark sweatpants, that he was undeniably hard, his erection pressed against his thigh.

Billy breathed steadily, his eyes flitting down once he realised she had stopped what she’d been doing.

His throat bobbed and he wet his lips as he spoke, “Keep going”.

Heat crawled up her neck to her face, and she was certain she was blushing furiously at what he’d said.

Never in their relationship had she seen him speak to her like he just had. All low and deep in his chest, with his usually gleaming, blue eyes darkened by his pupils expanding into the colour.

After she was sure she heard him correctly, she resumed her motions slowly at first, getting back into the motion steadily as she had before. Her head felt like it was full of hot air, once she saw Billy’s large hand slip past the waistband of his sweatpants and grip his length in his palm. Even from her spot on the bed, she saw the way he fisted his erection, his eyes fixed on her core, all wet and hot, peeking out from beneath the hem of his own shirt.

It felt so erotic, pleasuring himself when he was right there watching her, annoyingly far away where she couldn’t touch him.

A sound largely between a groan of annoyance and a moan of pleasure as her movements increased tumbled past her lips. And she was sure that she saw Billy’s eyes light up as he saw how irritated she was that she couldn’t reach out to him. To touch him as she so often couldn’t help herself from doing when they were intimate with each other.

“Billy...” she breathed, hoping that her tone of voice would be enough.

“Show me” his voice was firm, but with a waver at the end as his motions beneath his sweatpants increased, his chest all tense as his core tightened with pleasure.

Feeling her face all hot with both embarrassment and arousal, she pushed her ankles apart even more, doing as he said and exposing herself to him as he pleasured herself, finally sinking her fingers inside her. Her arousal audibly clicked against her fingers as she hastened her ministrations, trying so badly to achieve fulfilment herself.

But with him in the room, so far away but within reach, all she felt was that she needed him to give it to her.

Billy sighed, his pink lips parted as his gaze returned to her weeping arousal between her legs, seeing the effect he had on her without having touched her.

Using his other hand, he pushed the waistband slightly off his hip, pulling his length from its confines to show her the effect that she had on him.

She felt her insides clench around nothing, hungrily wanting him inside her when she saw him pleasure himself, his fingers wrapped around his cock and pumping in sure, confident movements.

She thought that if she closed her eyes and opened them again, he might take pity on her and just come over to the bed and fuck her, as she so desperately wanted. In all their relationship, she’d never been left wanting for him, ever. She’d always been the one to give to him, to give him pleasure, and in the bargain have some fun for herself, as she so often enjoyed feeling as if she was the only one who could give it to him.

And right now, she thought he must look utterly pathetic, not even having the energy to beg for him to fuck her.

The ends of his hair had begun to dry and she felt her tummy do backflips as he moved from the doorway towards her. Without thinking, she had slowed her movements, expecting him to have finally caved.

The mattress dipped at her ankles where he was knelt, but other than the brush of them against her flesh, he didn’t touch her, and he certainty hadn’t ceased the movements of his hand around his length.

Now, knelt over her like this, his tall form casting somewhat of a shadow over hers, she felt her walls flutter around her own fingers with excitement, desperate to be stretched to accommodate to his length that was so close to her.

“I don’t think I said stop, did I?”

She felt her mouth go all dry, the strands of his hair moving with every tug of his fist on his cock.

Billy looked down at her, watching with a sort of curiosity as she resumed, taking his words to heart. Wanting to please him.

She’d never felt so small in her life.

And, fuck, it was exciting to see this side of him.

He began to pump his cock in earnest, a slight pinkness to his cheeks from the effort, lips parted in hurried breath. He reached over, into the bedside table and threw the mini vibrator he knew was there onto the spot next to her.

She looked up in brief confusion, he wasn’t going to use it on her?

She felt entirely pent up, just wanting him to touch her.

“Billy, please…” she caved and begged, her face warm with slight humiliation at having to ask.

He batted her hand away when she tried to touch his torso, watching with a blank expression at the brief annoyance on her face.

“You can touch me when you cum”.

He had such a serious expression on his face, it was difficult to detect any sign in him that he was actually enjoying this.

She swallowed thickly and gasped when her other hand pressed the vibrator against her clit, pleasuring herself in two separate ways as her fingers continued to shallowly slide inside her with a wet, soft smack of her arousal. Having these two sensations at once was borderline overwhelming.

And part of her was flushed, that Billy was just right there, pleasuring himself while he watched her.

She closed her eyes, but Billy was quick to it.

“Look at me”.

She felt her core tighten impossibly, her movements becoming quicker and more needy as she neared that point of no return. The point where she would lose herself entirely.

And so she pressed the vibrator against her clit harder, using her slick to move it around in micro-movements as she canted her hips up to assist the friction there. Her eyes pulled up to him, and for some reason, looking into his eyes as he stared down at her instead of watching the way he pleasured himself right in front of her, was much much more intimate and erotic.

Billy himself began to breathe heavier, his chest moving erratically up and down, a sheen of sweat over his skin there, his grip on himself tightening.

“You close?” he asked breathily, feeling as if he was about to explode with arousal.

She nodded quickly, and without noticing circled the vibe around her bud, aided by how wet she was, “Yes - yes, Billy -”

She felt her hips shift down into the bed, thighs shaking as her orgasm rolled over her in waves. Her fingers dragged through her fluttering walls, the vibrator still buzzing incessantly on her clit as the numbness flooded her limbs, warmth flooding through her to the place where she needed him the most.

She wanted to pull the vibe away, overstimulation beginning to gnaw at her pleasure, but as soon as the thought crossed her mind, she looked up at Billy again when his other hand reached down and held her wrist in place. His eyes boring down into hers, just daring her to say something in response.

But she didn’t.

“-fuck, Billy-” she whined, her stomach clenching and unclenching in brief discomfort as yet another rush threatened to overcome her. Her lips hung open, and she wanted to shut her eyes badly, to cut off at least one feeling so that she could concentrate on the other between her legs.

It was too much.

She thought with a sort of bashfulness that she wanted to cum again purely at the feeling of his fingers on her flesh.

She felt moisture around her eyes, the pleasure so closely nearing on pain, but never quite overstepping that fine line between them. It was almost as if she could feel every erratic beating of her heart through her core, the second orgasm completely draining all the energy out of her.

Billy moaned loudly, partly cut off with a full body shudder as he tugged at his length to completion. The moan lingering on his sweet voice as he painted her pussy with his cum, sighing as he continued to pump himself, as if the sight of her covered in his spend was just too erotic to comprehend.

She flinched, her hips jolting upwards to meet him when he leaned down to rub the head of his cock over her clit and entrance, smearing his cum over her pussy, in a gesture that tugged at that pleasurable spot deep in her gut.

The only sound either of them were able to make were the tired remnants of moans on their hurried breaths.

When her heavy eyelids lifted to him again, she thought he looked like a piece of art. Broad and tall, his flesh tied with wiry muscle, subtle beneath the soft surface of his skin.

And for a moment, as Billy rode out his high that seemed to take everything out of him, they simply looked at each other as if something in the dynamic of their relationship had irrevocably changed.

There was something else in his baby blue eyes she’d never seen before. A shift.

Something inside him had been awakened, like he had enjoyed exerting a power and assertiveness over her that he’d never tried before.

He reached over, his palm pressing into the space on the mattress next to her head as he leaned over her. Her lips parted in surprise and pleasure when he dipped down and slid his length past her slick folds and slowly sank inside her, stretching her already abused and tender walls out around him, moulding her insides to the shape of him.

Billy sighed, his eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of her pussy gripping him hungrily, already clenching around his overly-sensitive cock. But as soon as his eyes opened again, his face now close to hers as he pushed inside her to the hilt, the hair at the base of him brushing against her clit, she raised her legs to hook around his hips.

And felt as if she’d seen someone else she’d never met before.

Her eyes rolled shut as his palm laid flat on her tummy, drifting up and taking the shirt with it, palming needily at her breasts as he began a mercifully soft and careful pace.

One she had no doubt would become more eager.

Part of her worried she wouldn’t leave this bed for a long while. The other wanted to smile, happy that Billy had felt comfortable and confident enough, finally, to demonstrate what he really, really wanted.

It seemed trivial perhaps to some, that a confidence, even sexually, could give so much power to a person and enhance the personality that was already there. To help them feel as loved as they deserved to feel.

She’d suspected for so long that he’d been hiding something. Something he was too nervous to ask for. Fearing perhaps that she would judge him.

But as he pressed his chest to hers, his hands snaking around her waist and her buttocks to push her body up to meet his desperate thrusts, she only felt relieved and undeniably happy, that she had been able to give him this freedom.

And she thought with a hint of selfishness…

…that she could get used to this.

#billy washington #billy washington x reader #billy washington x y/n #billy washington fanfic #billy washington x oc #billy washington trigger point #trigger point billy washington #trigger point bbc #trigger point series #billy washington smut #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell characters #trigger point fanfiction #trigger point fanfic #trigger point billy #ewan nation #billy washington fanfiction

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itsabouttimex2 · 1 month

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Hi, I was wondering if you could do platonic yandere monkiefam and bull demonfam with a younger sibling/child that is blind but can sense vibrations, like toph from Atla

Monkiefam with a blind Y/N

Out of all three of them, MK struggles the most with your blindness. He means well, he really does! You didn’t grow up with the ability to sense vibrations and interpret them- you had to learn. And sometimes he thinks back to the days before you did, comforting you in his arms after a nasty spill brought on by a rearranged environment. He thinks back to getting into fistfights with bullies and pranksters, how he would see red each time someone would snatch things away from you or knock you over- and he remembers the feeling of teaching them to keep their hands off of you.

“I’m not trying to baby you,” MK loudly insists as you struggle in his grip. “But you need to take this with you if you’re going so far out!”

The two of you continue to struggle against one another as your older brother tries in vain to pin a tracking device to your backpack, notably holding back so he doesn’t hurt you. “C’mon, please?! Just let me put it on already!” MK lessens the force he’s exerting on you, deciding to try and barter instead. “You don’t even have to keep it on! Just for today, Y/N!”

Predictably, his attempts at diplomacy fail and you’re left to wrestle even more fervently in his grip, trying your absolute hardest to writhe free.

And then something slips under your shirt- a fluffy, prehensile tail that writhes against your ribs and leaves you in a giggling fit, MK free to stuff the tracker somewhere deep inside your bag. “Monkey King! Knock it off,” you wail out, fighting against his playful assault. “Stop!”

“Nope! Hate to be a joykill, bud- but I agree with MK. You’re taking the tracker if you wanna head out to that new cafe. Honestly, I don’t see why you wanna go at all when I could just whip something up with my-“

“I am not eating hair! Now get your tail off me!”

It’s incredibly frustrating, the way they treat you. It’s not quite to the point that you’d say they’re infantilizing you with their actions, but it can come very close.

MK’s babying is mostly tolerable, given that it comes from a lifetime of watching over you before you learned to sense vibrations and find your way around. He was there for you at your absolute lowest, and he’s not gonna forget all the people that messed with you because you looked like an easy target. Still, as you grow older his actions feel less ‘protective’ and more ‘stifling’.

Sun Wukong is far, far more irritating. You’re just too easy to scoop up! He can sneak up behind you on his cloud and sweep you into his arms and keep you there for hours on end as you struggle and kick, futilely trying to escape his furry grip. No vibrations can travel through the misty mounds of his nimbus mount, leaving you well and truly helpless in his arms.

The Great Sage’s intention isn’t to make you feel weak or vulnerable, but he certainly won’t raise a fuss as you squirm into his lap so you can at least feel the vibrations that race through his body with each breath he takes- it’s something, at least. Wukong twists around a little to accommodate your body, letting your head rest again this chest, listening to his thrumming heartbeat. The outline of his body flashes in your eyes, something to ground and settle you.

“Dad’s gotcha, bud/hun… I’ve gotcha…”

As for your other ‘dad’, Macaque mostly watches you from afar when you’re with Wukong and MK. He prefers to step in when he has the chance to have you all to himself, springing umbral portals underneath your feet, the shadowy pit dropping you from the ceiling and into his arms with a smug: “Hey kiddo-going somewhere?”

And before you can yell at him for springing this nonsense with you again, you pause, because… hey, why not use a chance when you’ve got it?

“Dad,” you start, forcing the awkward word off your tongue. Already, the sable simian perks up, his ego stroked at your acknowledgement of the role he wishes to take. “I’m heading to a café. You want me to bring you something back?”

Macaque traces a clawed finger across the bottom of your face, curving up in a semi-circle motion: cheek to chin to cheek. His way of telling you: ‘I’m smiling’. Softly, his palm comes to cup your cheek.

“I’ll take you there myself, kiddo.”

It’s not that he’s a better person than MK or Sun Wukong. In fact, he’s a lot worse. He was a vindictive, egotistical villain not too long ago. You think of the Dragon Palace of the East Sea, smashed to pieces, it’s residents displaced and it’s people injured. Men. Women. Children. Each of them, innocent. Mere collateral damage to the simian.

He’s displayed no remorse or regret for his actions. The only thing he’s felt shame for is his long-ago submissiveness to his sworn brothers.

He’s not a good person. Not in the slightest.

But he’ll try to be one. If only for your sake.

Bullfam with a blind Y/N

It’s easy to feel out of place here. Your parents and brother are demon warriors, powerful celestials, prideful members of their esteemed and feared clan. Your vibration technique is nothing short of impressive, if not outright groundbreaking, but it hardly holds to the level your kin can reach.

It doesn’t help that you are rarely given the opportunity to prove your worth, no matter how you strive and fight for those precious chances.

Instead, you’re often relegated to support and menial chores, your family finding worth in your services by putting you to task with (safe) time-consuming labor. And you… kind of enjoy it? Because instead of “Don’t touch the laundry machine, you don’t know what you’re doing”, it’s “Y/N, clear the table and bring us the grimoire we unearthed last month,” Princess Iron Fan says, brushing some hair behind your ears and clipping it into place.

You shouldn’t be so happy about such a mild thing, shouldn’t be happy to be commanded and directed. But it’s proof that they don’t see you as entirely helpless, and allow you to contribute in some way, even if it’s small.

There’s a degree of normalcy in it, something you crave. To be treated like a regular member of the family, responsibilities and all.

Unlike the Monkiefam, Y/N doesn’t have much freedom before they learn their vibration technique. The Bullfam keeps you on a much shorter leash, often locking you in your room during fights or training, refusing to let you potentially wander into harm’s way. MK would carry you across the street to keep you safe while still giving you a chance to explore the city with him, Red Son would lock you in your room and serve you exclusively blended meals to keep you from making a mess and spilling things on yourself.

Secretly, he misses making those drinks for you. It was a very strange and unwanted; if surprisingly heartfelt, way of caring for you.

After all, they got used to the ways they took care of you. Learning to utilize the vibration technique teaches you how to be independent, but also shakes up the dynamics you have with your family. No more being gently bundled around the fortress on the Demon Bull King’s hands, for example. He used to scoop you into his palms and let you sit there, safely nestled into plush purple fur. His steps grow more cautious now that you absolutely insist on walking on your own (and your father does want to make you happy, so he begrudgingly allows you to wander the walls alone) the taurine warlord doing his best to keep from crushing you underfoot.

Not that they’re suddenly going to stop being obsessed with your safety and welfare. You are still under strict orders and schedules, and they don’t go easy on you for breaking them.

And if you ever do step out of line?

Red Son has an incredibly devious method of punishment for you- snow boots.

Sounds like a joke, right? It sounds funny, almost. Your parents don’t seem to mind all too much, and Red certainly derives are least a little bit of amusement from the scenario.

It’s not funny to you, though.

The matter of getting punished for exerting basic control over your life aside- they’re taking away your crutch. Without a thought of how helpless and vulnerable you feel as result, how terrified you are to be plunged into darkness again, how bad it hurts to remember the days you spent crying as child, scared and alone when you got lost, no way to find the path home.

He’ll feel bad for doing this to you, eventually. He always does, no matter how many times he swears that this will be the time he’ll “Make you wear them for a full hour, and it will be raised to two if you complain, Y/N!”

You’re wrapped in a blanket and drinking tea with him by the time a half-hour has passed.

He loves you, after all. Even if he thinks of you as a blithering little idiot sometimes- you’re still his cherished little sibling.

#Platonic Yandere #Yandere Lego Monkie Kid #Yandere LMK #Yandere MK #Yandere Sun Wukong #Yandere Macaque #Yandere Red Son #Yandere Princess Iron Fan #Yandere Demon Bull King #Monkiefam #Bullfam #Yandere Brother #Yandere Father #Yandere Mother

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spooky-pomegranate · 11 months

Text

Falling Apart:

Captain Price x F Reader (18+) 🔥 Word Count: 2.5k

Summary: After Price wakes up from a violent nightmare you find creative ways to help him get some much-needed sleep.

————————————————————————

“Do you want to try and sleep?”

Price looked so exhausted, the bags under his eyes were almost a greyish hue.

“Mmm, not sure I’ll be able to. But you go ahead, sweetheart. I’ll be alright.”

An idea popped into your head. You hoped he’d be open to it.

“Is it okay if I try something? It’s just something I do when I have nightmares. It might not work for you, but maybe it could?”

A soft smile spread across Price's face.

“Okay. Go on then.”

“Stay here. I’ll be back, just give me a minute or two.”

————————————————————————

You held Price’s hand as you led him back into the living room. But instead of heading for his bedroom, you turned to his office.

You pushed open the door and inside, behind Price’s large oak desk and underneath a large open window, you had created a bed on the floor. It looked like you had gathered every blanket and pillow he owned.

“I would have set it up in the living room, it’s just that you have wood floors in there and I didn’t want your back to hurt in the morning if you do try and sleep here. Sometimes a change in scenery can help. It helps me at least… I hope this is okay.”

Price walked around his desk to get a closer look at your setup. You had lined some of the pillows up against a bookcase to create a soft wall probably in case he rolled over in the night and you even brought in the small glass of water he kept on his bedside table.

“I can put it back if you-” Price didn’t let you finish.

“Come on sweet girl. Lay with me,” he said with a smile.

It was only a matter of minutes before you fell asleep draped across Price’s body, one of your arms strung across his chest while one of your legs slotted in between his thighs. Your head was nuzzled sweetly into the crook of his neck. With every breath, Price inhaled your sweet aroma of honey and cherries.

“I’m not sure I deserve you.” Price whispered softly, before kissing the top of your head.

As he stared at the ceiling he wondered if you knew just how vulnerable he had been with you tonight. Price didn’t open up like that with people. That type of conversation, talking about things that made him weak… it wasn’t something he did regularly and it was something he never offered to people he had been intimate with.

Price’s head swam. What was happening to him? Was he falling apart? Was that what this inexplicable feeling was?

He had only taken you to his apartment in the first place to keep you protected. But over time something had changed. Whatever this burgeoning thing was between you both it was taking on a life of its own with every passing moment. It was morphing and changing into something else entirely.

Price was used to being the giver in all his relationships, both intimate and fraternal. But you weren’t letting him give one-sidely like he was used to. You continuously took care of him. Every time you received any ounce of his kindness you returned it ten-fold. This was a balance and equality. This was give and take. This was unfamiliar territory.

His thoughts drifted back to earlier in the day when on the couch… that same couch where Price had felt all of you for the first time, where you had looked so perfect coming undone for him, and where you had said his name over and over again so fucking sweetly… on that same couch you had demanded to take care of Price. You demanded to look after his needs in such a vulnerable and intimate way… and it shocked him.

He thought about how absolutely nothing could have prepared him for that moment. Nothing in him had expected you to shove him on his back and sink down onto his cock with such command… and that look in your eyes. It was so unanticipated but fuck was it ever so good.

And his own reaction to it… what the hell was that?!

Price was used to using his strength to split others open. He was used to being in complete control during sex. It’s what he had done for years with the people he would take home from the shitty dive bars he visited. He would chase his own high while his partners would take willingly from him. But earlier today he had let you take total control of him. He had just given in. You were different. This was different.

Suddenly it hit him.

He was falling in…

“You asleep Price?” You grumbled sleepily against his skin.

“No. I’m still awake.” He answered, wondering if his racing thoughts had woken you up.

“We can go back to your room if this isn’t helping.” You slowly blinked opened your eyes and stared up at Price. He felt his hand twitch against your side when a small yawn escaped your lips.

“No. No, that’s alright. I don’t want to move. Too comfortable here with you anyway.”

“This is comfy isn’t it?” You slid your leg higher up Price’s thigh, your knee positioned just inches from his cock. A part of Price hoped you would move slightly higher so he could feel you press against him there. But he also knew you were probably too tired for another round and he’d never get to sleep if you did fall asleep on him like that.

“Yeah, it is.”

His hand drifted from your ribs down to your waist, flexing slightly against your soft skin.

“You have really nice hands you know. I love how they feel against my skin.” You nuzzled further into Price’s neck, brushing against his beard as you kissed him with a gentle and fleeting peck.

“Easy, love. You’re going to get me going if you keep talking like that.” Price’s grip on your hip tightened ever so slightly.

“Maybe I want to ‘get you going.’” You imitated his gruff accent. “Might help you sleep. Don’t you think?”

Price took a deep breath. He tried to settle his mind and his urges.

“Why are you so kind to me?”

You pulled away from his neck and looked into his eyes. Surprise colored your face.

“Do you think you aren’t worthy of kindness?”

He didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure he even knew the honest answer. Maybe he was? Maybe he wasn’t? He certainly lived a complicated life.

You reached up and rested your hand against the soft whiskers of his salt-and-pepper beard. Price felt like the earth stood still.

“John Price, you are worthy of all of my kindness.”

Something made Price snap and in one fell swoop he rolled you over so you were on your side, your back firmly pressed up against his chest. His cock was hardening quickly against your ass as he kissed up and down your neck. He reached under the covers and pulled down your tight sleep shorts. His fingers slipped in between your folds. He was happily surprised to find that you were already dripping wet for him.

Price heard your breath catch as he gathered the wetness and teased around your entrance in small circles.

“You deserve to be taken care of too,” you whispered.

Fuck. Every single time you opened your mouth Price was getting more and more riled up. Your voice was fuel to his already raging fire. He slipped two of his thick fingers inside of you and you whimpered.

“You are a good man.”

Another sweet sentence from your sweet voice. The inferno spread inside Price and he bit down on your neck as he started to slowly fuck you with his middle and ring fingers, curling them upward in a come hither motion. The sound of your tight wet pussy slowly opening up for him made him lightheaded.

“I don’t know why you…” you moaned as Price found that sweet spot inside you. “I don’t know why you… think I should be scared of you.” His cock was rock hard against your back as you twitched and withered against his hand. He continued his strokes, fucking you with his dexterous fingers back and forth.

“But I’m not scared.” You managed to breathe out as Price used his other thumb to circle your bundle of nerves. He could feel your walls tighten and flex as he varied his pressure against your clit.

“Fuck, love. You don’t know what you are doing to me when you say things like that,” Price growled.

But then suddenly you reached down in between your thighs and grabbed his hand yanking it away from your center.

He stilled. Was this too much? You were so close, he could feel it. Just a little bit more and you would have been putty in his hand. Why did you pull away from him now?

Slowly, by the wrist, you brought Price's hand higher and higher, dragging his wet digits across your stomach, your breasts, and your collarbone until you held his hand just in front of your face. Your slick coating on his fingers was shiny in the moonlight streaking in from the open window.

Price closed his eyes for a moment… until he felt your soft wet tongue lick a strip from the middle of his soaked palm up to the tip of his middle finger. His eyes shot open and a low guttural groan escaped his lips as you took his entire finger into your mouth, swirling your tongue around him.

“Taste me, Price.” You said, moving Price's hand back out of your mouth so it was just in front of his face. He greedily sucked on his own fingers, drinking in every drop of you left behind on his skin.

And as Price got lost in the mess he’d made, you reach back and slipped your own hand inside of his boxers. You stroked him slow and lazily. It was perfect. You were perfect.

Price pulled his fingers out from inside his mouth and grabbed your hips. He had to be inside you now.

“I need to fuck you, sweetheart.”

“I’m yours.”

Price shifted his hips until he was lined up and then pushed his cock inside of you. He groaned and you whimpered at the sensation. You were squeezing him so perfectly so tightly. It was like your walls were holding him in a strong hug.

Price set a slow and lazy pace. He wanted to feel every inch of you drag up and down on his hard cock. This wasn’t going to be a race to the finish line. He understood now why you had pulled his hand away earlier. This pace, here with you, in this room, was all you both needed.

As Price fully sheathed himself inside of you he stopped moving completely. You cried out and reached down to interlock your fingers with his on your hip. He knew that taking him fully like this was a lot for you. He was aware that he was bigger than most men. But you were just so pretty like this. And fuck… you were doing such a good job.

He whispered softly in your ear, “You are perfect.”

Price started to move again after he caught your earlobe between his teeth and gently yanked.

“You feel so gooooood.” You whined.

Something about the angle in which Price was fucking you was driving him mad. Maybe it was the way your ass slapped against his thighs or maybe it was because he could reach deep inside you taking you from behind like this… but either way, it was clearly having a maddening effect on you too. Price could hear that your breathing was becoming more erratic with every thrust of his hips. Your whines and whimpers were growing louder too, but Price wanted more.

So he curled an arm around you and found your breast under your sports bra, rolling your peaked nippled back and forth in between his fingers. The added pleasure made you twitch and seize around Price’s cock.

If he wanted to Price knew he could have you coming apart for him in an instant. All it would take would be a particularly vicious snap of his hips or his thumb pressing a few tight little circles against your clit… but he restrained himself. He wanted to draw this out for as long as he possibly could. If you’d let him he’d fuck you, slow and lazy like this until the sun came up.

But then you reached up behind his head and pulled Price forward into a heady and wet kiss. Your tongue swirled in his mouth in delicious motions, perfectly matching the pace of his drawn-out thrusts.

Price closed his eyes and let the moment wash over him. He focused on the feeling of your mouth desperately seeking out his. He concentrated on your sickly sweet whines he swallowed whole. He fixated on the way your cunt formed so beautifully around his cock.

This was it. This was immaculate. This was everything. This was nirvana.

Price had a revelation.

This wasn’t falling apart. This was falling in love.

He slid his hand from your breast down your body until it reached your center. He formed tiny circles over your clit, using pressure in ways he knew would push you past your edge. He needed to share your bliss. He needed the give-and-take you both had established.

Your lips parted.

“I’m going to…”

“Cum for me.”

And you did.

Price felt your orgasm take claim of your body. The pulsing waves were sluggish and each undulation took its time washing over you in long drawn-out swells. Price buried his head into the back of your neck. Your powerful throbbing cunt squeezed him so tightly that he couldn’t hold back his own climax. Price pulled you closer as he buried his cock deep within you. He twitched as he came and much like your own orgasm, Price’s was slow and lengthy. It shuddered his breath and drew a prolonged groan from his lips.

As Price’s spasms started to dwindle he craned his head forward to kiss your cheek.

“That was…”

“Amazing.”

And perfect, and different, and unforgettable… Price thought to himself.

His sticky cock slipped out from you as you rolled over in his arms. Your face was inches from his. Your eyes were glassy like tears could slip down your face at any moment and he knew right then you felt it too. The shift, the change in the air. This thing between you becoming something more. Becoming something real.

Price pressed his forehead to yours. You both closed your eyes. And as you clung to one another, sleep finally came to you both.

———————————————————————

This is an excerpt from my much larger work on AO3. If you would like to read the whole story thus far here is the link. If you are just here for the *spicy bits* I have two other excerpts here on Tumblr called "Testing His Will" and “Violence and Timing.”

#call of duty #captain john price x reader #captain price x you #captain john price #captain price #captain price x reader #john price #captain john price x you #captain john price x female reader #call of duty mw2 #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty fic #cod fanfic #cod mw2 #john price x reader

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nocturnal-world · 7 months

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The push - Remus Lupin x female reader

The idea is...imagine Remus witnessing that your patronus has changed its form.

I'm missing older Remus stories, and I need to scroll way down to find them. Tumblr refreshes every so often and brings me to the first post. So I had enough and wrote a few things. Once again, maybe someone will like it...enjoy if you do <3. I plan on making a part two, and we'll see how that goes.

There are no warnings, except a larger age gap (reader is 22, Remus is 38) .

Imagine Remus seeing that your patronus has changed its shape. You were surprised as well. Whatever has been going on between you two was never given a name other than friendship. A denial of feelings is what I would call it.

For Remus it was also a feeling of not being enough for you. Of being too old for you. What could he possibly give you, he thought. Living from one paycheck to another? Never knowing where you will live next month? Having to suffer all sorts of slurs and insults once people found out he was the creature you chose as your partner? You had a life in front of you. He would not let you waste it.

And yourself? Apparently you were both presuming how the other would react without even asking for the other's opinion. There was a different pattern of thought in your mind, Of course you would not allow him to settle for you. Remus could do better than that. What could you possibly offer him? See, you believed that all your conversations were on surface level (they were not). You thought that once he would try to get to know you on a deeper level...he would find nothing there (Sirius teased him over how enamoured he looked every time you spoke). You did not see much worth in yourself at all. Oh, yes you hid that well. But, if you saw no worth in yourself, how could you possibly believe anyone else would find any. Remus would have spent hours proving you wrong if he knew. Just as you would spend hours proving him wrong.

There was another problem. To be with him would require of you to open up. And that thought alone frightened you. Yes, you two might have spent hours talking about everything. Or nothing sometimes. So, it is strange that it suddenly became something to fear. But perhaps for many it is not strange at all. Anyhow. If you suffered with such thoughts, why would you put Remus through all of that as well? He deserved someone better for himself.

Strange how similar you both were in that regard.

Well, apparently denial of feelings is how it would be between the two. Without a push, nothing would happen except longing gazes, and too long embraces when one came back safe from a mission. Or throwing oneself in front of the other to defend them against a dozen of dementors. It was the strongest patronus you ever casted. A bear that tore down every dementor which tried to get to Remus. Some got to you. Not many. But at least, Remus was safe.

As for that push - Well it just so happened, there was no need for long waiting. It's strange how fate works yes? I wish Umbridge had nothing to do to contribute to this, but sadly she did in a way. After coming to Hogwarts, she did a marvelous job at teaching the students absolutely nothing. With Voldemort returning, the students were vulnerable if there was no one to teach them how to properly defend themselves. Harry, Ron and Hermione had a brilliant idea. Dumbledore's army. Not everyone believed the Ministry's lies. Soon there was quite a few students joining the initiative.

All in all they planned it quite well. But it was always good to get a second opinion. So, when Harry came to the Grimmauld place, it only felt right to ask the three residents of the house for assistance. Sirius was there constantly. He didn't need any convincing. Spending time with Harry, breaking some school rules, aiding in fighting Voldemort...and getting to call Umbridge a cunt as much as he liked. ...He would have done so regardless. But still.

Remus was there at the insistence of Sirius. The last few months have been difficult after his previous colleagues found out what he was. He defended himself when a hex came his way before he left that shop. See, even with witnessing that, he still thought of himself as a monster. After Sirius found out, he would have it no other way than Remus staying with him. And if the previous coworker somehow got too ill from eating one of Fred and George's experiments well...the twins left their things around constantly. It was an honest accident.

The girl? Well, she had a home of her own. Small place. Hidden. Cozy and simple. Sirius insisted here as well. She didn't know why exactly. And she couldn't be at Grimmauld all the time. But she did stop by as often as she could. After finding out about the hexing, it was more than other members of the Order. Good thing that Sirius handled it (it was an accident I swear), or she would have used something far more darker.

With Harry's arrival it was the four of them in the house. Planning which spells would be the most useful ones to teach. Considering they had cleaned the attic, it was as good a place as any to let Harry practice those spells with their supervision. That way he could get a better feeling on what should he pay attention to.

Spell by spell. Expelliarmus. Reducto. Stupefy. Expecto patronum. The push.

„I think that is a break for me. Anyone wants some tea?“ Sirius asked after an hour of dueling. James would be so proud of Harry. Remus was leaning back on one of the tables observing it all. Your dog was begging for food so you kept to the sidelines as well.

„I'm going back in three days. There is no time for breaks. I cannot let them down.“ Harry on the other hand was not backing down. He would not let anyone be unprepared. He would not let anyone lose a friend in front of their eyes. He needed to practice more.

„Harry, you will not be able to teach them anything if you fall unconscious from exhaustion.“

„Then I need to practice more, to endure as much as I can. The death eaters won't stop because I am tired. Voldemort will kill someone else while I am catching my breath!“

The others could only look at each other. One way or another, he would continue. With or without them. So it was decided, that while Sirius went to get tea, they'd practice something other than dueling. It was your time to step to the centre of the room. You agreed that you would cast the patronus. You would make random mistakes, which Harry would have to notice and correct properly. Remus would give him advice in case he missed something.

Considering she did well when casting a full bodied patronus, she didn't think there would be anything unexpected. First try, she moved her hand in a slightly different direction, which Harry noticed quickly. Second time, she didn't cast a powerful enough memory. Harry gave her some ideas. He would do well, they knew it. Third time, she decided to allow for some wisps to flow from the wand. Still not strong enough. Even here, Harry would give words of encouragement. She thought she saw Remus softly smiling in the corner of her eyes. She thought of that. The last time she saw him like that. It was after the Full Moon. Despite Wolfsbane, she found him pale in bed, wrapped up in blankets. With tea on his bedside table, she put a vinyl on. He mentioned he was fond of Cohen. He was a favourite of his mum's. A muggle store had that vinyl. She didn't have to think twice.

He mentioned that vinyl around six months ago.

If he had more strength in him, he'd get up and carry her with him to his bed in that moment. Nothing sexual. Just to hug her closer. To kiss her on the forehead. To nudge his nose to hers, until she gazed at him with that look. A look which left him thinking that it did not matter at all to her that he was a werewolf. Or 17 years older than her. Poor. Broken. At that moment he would know there was more to him. He'd nudge her nose once again until she blushed. Then he would press his lips to hers. And she would brush the hair away from his forehead. No, they would not let each other go. If only he had more strength. And courage.

She thought of him at that moment. At how she still managed to make him laugh to tears, even after that Full Moon. At how they both hummed to the songs. At what could be. The wisps got stronger this time. She saw the outlines of paws, only they were smaller this time. Strange. The whole bear seemed to be a bit smaller than it usually was. Remus's smile faltered, as he noticed what creature was forming in the room. The realisation was slowly dawning on her as well. It was not the bear she has come to expect, it was a wolf. She could lie to herself only so many times, but here was the proof. Right in front of him. A wolf making a circle around Harry. Coming to greet her dog. Harry was busy looking at the beautiful creature to notice two figures standing frozen in the room.

And sure, he hoped that it was him this wolf represented. She would not stop lying to herself, but she still hoped he understood now. What did each of them see though? He saw her carefree look fading. He saw her standing rigid in the centre. Was she ashamed? Angry? What if the wolf was not connected to him at all? He didn't want to meddle in her love life. If only to hide the jealousy of which he had no right to feel. What if there was someone with whom she felt as comfortable as she had with him the night that vinyl played. He had no right to wish it was him alone who would get to see her like that.

She saw him straightening up. She saw his smile fade. The clenched jaw. He was angry. A girl, barely out of Hogwarts fell in love with him. Just what he needed.

Sirius came up with tea. She was quick to apologize, saying all the practice made her a bit dizzy. Remus still stood next to the table. After a moment he excused himself as well. One could sense something went wrong.

„I suppose no one is in the mood for tea anymore. What happened here?“

„I'm not sure. The patronus appeared and right after they both left.“

A push needed to happen. However, that push can move events in any direction. Sirius had no idea what had transpired in that room. But he would do his best to find out.

#harry potter #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin x you #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #professor lupin x reader #older remus lupin #harry potter fanfiction

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tired-fandom-ndn · 5 months

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I completely agree with gravecest having a breeding kink but I'm so obsessed with an AU where they break into the house and learn that their parents decided to try one more time with having kids and they run into a baby in their parents new place, clearly left to fend for itself while their mom was doing that grocery run. So many mixed emotions about being replaced but also knowing that even with this one they were fucking up, and wanting to prove they were better than their parents by raising the kid together (which also sells them as "Mr. and Mrs. Graves). And also makes them weird dark mirror reflections to A Series of Unfortunate Events :)

ANON YOU GET MEEEEEEEE

But god, the Graves parents completely restarting EVERYTHING. They have new jobs, a new house, new lives, why shouldn't they have a new child too? A perfect, normal child for their new, perfect lives? One that isn't fucked up like their other two, because obviously the problem was that Andrew and Ashley just Weren't Right, the Graves parents would never consider that their own parenting could've played a role in how their children turned out. Everything will be right now.

(They adopt instead of trying to have another on their own; pregnancy sucks and the agency was more than happy to help a pair of grieving parents start over.)

Except babies are loud and they're gross and they're annoying and they're so needy. They can tolerate working from home on alternating days, because they don't have an older child to dump their baby on and a babysitter is just a waste of money, but neither of them like it and the baby is left to cry in its crib more often than not, the monitor turned off because it's just so annoying. And sometimes Mrs. Graves just needs a break. Babies are sturdy, it'll be fine if she just runs out for a quick grocery run, 30 minutes, an hour at the absolute most.

When Andrew and Ashley find the baby, it's obvious that this isn't the first time it's been left alone like that and that the abandonment isn't the only way it's been neglected. The nursery is half-finished and nearly empty compared to the master bedroom and living room, it needs a diaper change badly, and it clearly hasn't been washed or fed as regularly as it needs to be. This baby is an uncomfortable look into their own childhoods but somehow worse and it makes both of them see red.

Keeping that baby is so fucking stupid, they both know it would be smarter to leave it at a hospital or on a neighbor's doorstep, but. . . they want so badly to be better than their parents. They want to prove that they're capable of the love and kindness that their parents refused to give them, and it'll sell their story better! People are always more sympathetic to a young couple with a baby, even if it'll be more expensive and make them more vulnerable. Their parents had enough basic supplies, formula and a car seat and a baby carrier and all that crap, that they won't have to spend too much of the money on baby stuff right away at least.

(Andrew is frantically googling infant care and trying to figure out the logistics of raising that baby, meanwhile Ashley has a dozen tabs about inducing lactation and thinking about how the more like a "real" family they seem, the harder it would be for Andrew to abandon them.)

At dinner, Ashley gives the baby a few tiny sips of broth from the soup, wanting it to experience something it wouldn't get a chance to later, consuming their shitty parents like its older siblings and new parents get to. Andrew just sighs and reminds her to cool the broth first and not too much, damn it Ashley, it's not old enough!

#Anonymous #tcoaal #coffincest #gravecest #child neglect tw #child abuse tw #ask to tag #shipcest

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sixthwater · 6 months

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Hello! Have you been feeling a bit lost recently? Especially with all of the eclipses that we've been experiencing? Well, here is some short advice from your spirit guides and angels to help get things sorted out.

Left → Right / Pile 1 → Pile 4)

Decks Used: The Psychic Oracle, Fairies Oracle Deck, Elle Qui Oracle, Woodland Wardens Oracle, Sacred Creators Oracle, Sea Melodies, Language of Flowers, Wild Unknown Animal Spirits,

Disclaimer | Pinned | Tip Jar | Paid Readings

Pile One

I began your reading and my back started killing me; make sure you’re doing proper stretches or you’re not pushing yourself too hard to wear yourself out.

There is a sense of holding your tongue or keeping yourself trapped in the closet. I just got an image of The Little Mermaid when she signed away her voice but it’s not the Disney version it’s the legitimate fairy tale, it’s also more of a choice? It’s difficult to describe; it’s not that you prefer to be uncomfortable and to hide under a mask blah blah blah, but there’s experience of pain and loss so you don’t want to do it again. Maybe you haven’t expressed certain emotions or identities, but you overheard them being looked down upon or it was made fun of, so instead you locked these emotions up and threw away the key (ex; someone laughing at you having feelings for them when brought up as a joke or someone disrespecting a sexual orientation/identity, etc). Your pile is the very first, in all of my history of reading, where I want to be completely silent and only listen to certain frequencies as well.

The advice: You need to listen to yourself and the world (in a way). You already have the answers to your questions/concerns inside of you, but you do need some help finding them obviously. You’re looking for external answers, but it’s only causing more confusion because...well everyone sees the world differently. So when you try to put yourself in those shoes, it causes more scratches on the Vinyl record that is your life, you know? It’s funny to say this but they’re kind of asking you to pull back and not move on so fast from what’s going on because you haven’t really sat with your feelings and gone through the process. What’s been upsetting you and why did it bother you. Why did you react that way. Well how did you get to Point E from Point B? Take a time out and sort these things out when you can because it’ll get you some clarity. There’s also a piece here about communicating and becoming vulnerable. It’s not exactly the same, but I need to figure myself out sometimes with talking and I end up stumbling upon revelations through discussions. You might need to have a low energy discussion with someone you feel comfortable with you so can get to these answers. You don’t need to immediately express or explain these things, but it will help you out. Some of you might need to re-route yourselves because you are lost and you took the wrong exit; it’s fine, that’s life and it’ll happen constantly. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, if you weren’t here to make mistakes then what are you even here for. Confide in other people, ask for help, get some guidance. You can rely on those around you, not everyone will want to hurt you. I keep being nudged to an issue with identity and — for some it’s just figuring out who you are but there’s pain so if it is what i mentioned earlier, only you know yourself. People can help, but do not let them police who you are and decide what’s ‘correct’ and what’s not. The main message overall is that there is a need for you to be vulnerable with people — or at least someone. There is either embarrassment or pride here holding you back and it’s smothering emotions that end up causing inner turmoil. I would say this points to seeking out a therapist but there are no swords here, so I believe this could just point to finding people to confide in or making peace with the softer aspects of yourself that you might find shameful.

With ‘Chance’ and ‘Dive’, I believe it’s just pointing more towards diving deeper into unknown territory which would be emotions you haven’t explored yet. ‘You cant live your life dealing with surface level things’ is the phrase I’m getting.

Pile Two

Pretty simple so this might be short. The energy check is a bit out of reach despite how simple it seems. I think the first two songs might sum it up a lot better than I can. I don’t believe it deals directly with love, but the idea remains.

I think the advice here is to not teeter too much to one side. You’re not lacking in passion, but you might pull back too much if something fails. There’s a slim piece about being a bit scattered in where you want to go, but we’ll touch on that later. For now, it’s being enveloped by how alive you feel when you’re going after your dreams. How happy it makes you and the rush you get. I keep being drawn back to Passion Ignited as well as Aylis because they’re similar; a glowing ‘orb’ that’s placed over the chest somewhat. Ah that reminds me of The Greatest Showman. Just it’s song ‘Come Alive’, I think that fits this pile quite well. You just have to be comfortable diving into your passion and not be embarrassed, and even when making mistakes, to laugh it off and keep chasing after it. It doesn’t even have to be a dream — people call nearly everything cringe these days. Are we not supposed to have hobbies? Enjoy your hobbies, that’s the point of living. What does it matter. Express yourself and be a bit goofy, you’re a bit tense and scared of messing up right now, but it’s okay. Now before I mentioned being scattered — there’s a small message of getting a clear view of what you want in your life. Do you want to be an influencer or do you just want a good work-life balance. Or a remote job. It’s the general idea that you have which might not really be what you want at the end of the day, and they’re just asking you to clarify, because you can make certain things come true if that’s what you want. However, with just as many ‘let loose’ cards you have, they’re balanced with some grounded cards here. Also, if you haven’t reached your goal yet, don’t give up. We never reach our goal with just one attempt or in just one chapter. You will get there.

Tiger Lily...maybe my job example was on point? If you’re thinking of jumping into something headfirst with no back-up, really think about it. Make sure you have savings, you have a safety-net, you have all your bases covered, etc. There are plenty of people who can afford to take a risky route of income because other people are covering bills with an insane paycheck, or they’ve had years to build up a base. Be patient, and work dutifully to get to that place. It’s difficult, but with these really precious spread I believe that you will have much to offer people if you take your time. This doesn’t mean give up, it just means be smart and take your time.

Associated Songs: Passion – Utada Hikaru, All My Heart – Sleeping with Sirens, Tonight – Kesha

Pile Three

This is gorgeous. The energy while pulling cards was light and goofy and I’m understanding why now. The meaning of these cards would usually give off a blue/purple aura, since there are a lot of messages alluding to soul searching, but I believe this is more...personable? How do I explain this.

Usually when you think of soul searching, you think of The Hermit. Someone who pulls back from socializing and focuses on themselves. However with this combination, it feels more like really thinking about- I’m sorry the strongest smell just popped through my vents and it smells like Cinnamon. It is not my favorite but it reminds me of gatherings late at night, anyway — It feels like thinking about the people around you and how they reflect you and what you want in your life. You figure yourself out and what you want out of life by interacting with others. It’s not that you need others to do this, but they shine a light on certain aspects of yourself or they bring you to do activities that you wouldn’t have done on your own, thus making you have these realizations. So the advice itself is saying that you should sit on these moments and really let them seep in. They’re not necessarily telling you to isolate and do some introspective thinking, but when you have these moments, don’t push them aside to keep up with others. You have a knack for knowing yourself inside and out, and what’s best for you. I know that seems pretty normal, but it’s not necessarily common. Knowing who or what you want VS what you don’t is a good gift and you should be utilizing it right now. I keep hearing ‘don’t be satisfied’. Keep looking for things that really make you happy. It’s not in a greedy sense, but don’t think ‘well that’ll do’, go seek out experiences or hobbies that make you feel whole! I don’t deal with chakras, but all this green is hard to ignore considering it stands for the Heart and I’ve felt happy and calm the entire reading. There’s not much advice here because you might already have the answer inside of you but more like recommendations; such as going for walks, or having calm hangouts with friends or family. I think you’re already doing what’s being said here, but do your best to keep a balance of focusing on those revelations of what’s best for you and healthy doses of engagement with those around you. I don’t have to pull extra cards either, you seem to be doing quite fine honestly

(There are no songs here, a lot of light-hearted songs. Some goofy mixes. Good Time by Carly Rae Jepsen & Owl City as well as chill songs that don’t really have messages in them)

Pile Four

Confidence. That sums up your whole reading. Well that and some change. Right now it doesn’t necessarily feel like doubt or naysayers, but you don’t really have people to boost you up. Or you need to feel extremely safe/supported in order to really go after something — which feels more physical than spiritual. So it could be a change in majors, career, personal expression, hell maybe just changing direction with your life in terms of dropping out or not using your degree in pursuit of something else entirely. The flowers in the Deceit card resemble horns right now and it’s like opinions or external thoughts regarding the situation that can make you overthink your next steps or how you feel about the topic in general. Gosh I’m forgetting the term but in a way, they could end up being right in a sense that they affect your natural ability and make you way too anxious to perform naturally, thus making you fail. So it’s the ‘well I’m going to fail so I’m not even going to do my very best’ so when you fail you think it was destined to happen.

Your guides and angels are asking you to just take a chance and trust in the adventure. You have to move with confidence, you can’t be sheepish with this. You could be new to this change, so obviously mistakes will happen, but you can’t go into this with a pessimistic attitude. I’m seriously not getting any negative energy around you so don’t worry about that. If the world around you is dull, explore different avenues that give you joy. I’m always going to say to never just leap into the unknown without any thought, but you seem extremely hesitant and it’s holding you back from a new chapter and great experiences that are meant for you. This could be in the shape of a new job or merely just new friends who could help you gain more confidence within yourself. Again though, this pile seems more material based than the others, so I’m thinking it’s related to money matters or at the most, possibly moving but that’s a stretch. There’s a small piece of being scared to take up new opportunities because you’re not well versed in them but, you won’t know everything in the world? The only way to gain experience is to test it out. If it’s for you, then you’ll know once you try it, right?

Haha the Bear! Yeah, this is an uncomfortable time for you, but it’s urging you to sort of learn how to walk, and embrace the natural calmness yet underlying formidable strength of this animal. I’m thinking of when someone was arguing that the bear was one of the scariest predators in the world, but this card also stands for inner strength and you literally have Strength here so, you just have to be comfortable entering this new stage of life (transitions, which there are too many examples for me to list here). Don’t be hard on yourself, everyone has been in your place before.

(Not many songs, just Bends by Carly Rae Jepsen stood out)

#pick a card #pick a card reading #tarot reading #tarot readings #pac #pick a pile #tarotblr #mysticalcreations

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ineffable-endearments · 6 months

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I keep going back and forth on how much I think Aziraphale understood the Metatron's offer as an implicit threat right off the bat. How much of 'Heaven is the side of Good' was sincere, felt-it-in-his-marrow sentiment, and how much of it was a desperate lie, or a desperate attempt to convince himself that he and Crowley were about to be given what he wanted, or a desperate attempt to harness Heaven's power for his own purposes.

I have kind of shifted to believe, though, that maybe Aziraphale's character development doesn't have to be exactly "learning that Heaven is bad." Maybe it's OK, from a character development standpoint, if he already knows that, at least 75% of the way.

Because I actually think there's something deeper than just "Heaven isn't good" that Aziraphale has to go through: "You can't violate free will even if your intentions for people are one thousand percent good and pure and kind." This is the core reason why Heaven is "irredeemable," so to speak: its whole purpose is to "mess people around," as Adam Young would say. Even if Aziraphale could walk in there, instantly dominate the Metatron, stop the Second Coming, and dedicate all of Heaven's operations to Making Humanity Good, it still wouldn't be okay.

Like, Aziraphale needs to value free will for its own sake, rather than as a means to a Good end. This feels more all-encompassing of both the philosophical conflict between Aziraphale and Crowley and the alarming behavior we've seen from Aziraphale this past season (controlling people's mood and behavior at the ball, for example).

It's also a compelling philosophical conflict because accepting free will for what it really is is frightening. Sometimes you will watch people be self-destructive. Sometimes you will make yourself vulnerable to other people's choices and they could hurt you or your loved ones. Heck, when Crowley had a chance to give a bunch of humans the ability to kill each other to prove a point about human nature, he protected them from themselves!

But on the scale of the whole universe, for free will to work like it's "supposed to," like Aziraphale says out loud it's supposed to (just before Armageddon), it has to be absolute. Having humanity pushed into the middle of a cosmic battle between Above and Below doesn't actually enable free will or any of the other qualities Aziraphale admires in the world of humanity (and Crowley).

Forcing people to choose between two sides isn't really free will.

Heck, even if the Final Fifteen of Season 2 was merely one big miscommunication, a failed bullet catch trick, that in itself could be part of the lesson. Trying to use your power (relationship) to push your loved ones (Crowley) into doing things (becoming an angel again) you believe are For Their Own Good WILL hurt them, no matter how pure your intentions are.

Evil/cruelty in Heaven will be an important part of the main conflict, I think we can say that's obvious, but Heaven's whole...thing is moving people, humans and angels and probably Hell's demons too, around like pieces on a chessboard. The entire mission of the organization would be wrong even if everyone was perfectly well-intended and nobody ever engaged in intentional cruelty and Heaven decided not to destroy Earth after all.

So, while I really can't say I'm confident in making predictions about it, I would find it narratively satisfying for Aziraphale to go up there, immediately know what's going on, and make real trouble for Heaven while still finding lots of compelling ways to grow as a character.

And lots of ways to bumble around charmingly, too. Remember that Aziraphale very smartly figured out something he was never supposed to figure out, the location of the Antichrist, and looked like a complete ding dong (I am saying this in the most loving tone imaginable) the whole time.

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unbidden-yidden · 4 months

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I feel myself having so much less patience these days, and I don't like it.

Patience and compassion and kindness are things that must be cultivated like tender plants - they grow by the inch and die by the foot.

Seeing into someone's heart is something that takes a little effort, but the way to do it is by reframing your outlook, like you might adjust your vision to see through water. There are layers to a person, and you have to look past what they say or do on the surface in order to get to their true motivations.

And it takes patience and holding space for people, because they are used to operating in an unsafe environment. It's like when you go to the pond, you're not likely to see frogs right away. You might need to sit quietly for a half hour before the frogs re-emerge and float to the surface. But once you see them, suddenly there are frogs everywhere! You just had to wait until your mind allowed you to take them in. People's vulnerabilities and intentions are the same way. You might need to wait a while until the person is sure you are safe to be around, or they might have been exhibiting all of those vulnerabilities and motivations pretty openly; you just couldn't tell until you knew what you were looking for.

This gets much, much harder to do when you yourself don't feel safe, especially when you aren't (or feel like you aren't) being seen as human. You also (obviously) must see the other person as equally human to yourself, or this doesn't work. Perhaps a broken, deeply flawed person; but a person nonetheless.

I work in the domestic violence field, and so I end up talking to a lot of abusers in my professional life on behalf of my clients. I've found that it helps a lot to be kind. Why? Not because it's deserved, but because it's unexpected. They come into the situation ready to fight and argue, and instead, I speak to them kindly and explain why what my clients are asking for is in everyone's best interests. This seems to deflate them pretty immediately. They come into the situation thinking I'm the boss level for "fights with my ex (or whatever)" and then I listen. I take them out of earshot of my client, I let them vent (which helps me figure out what they actually want) and then I patiently explain our position and how we're offering to resolve the situation. And you know what? It works. A lot of the time, they were expecting me to treat them like a monster. But they're not a monster; they're a person who has done some inexcusable and horrific things, but they remain a person. I think about both my abusive exes, and the truth is that they're both people I loved, and loved for a reason. I wouldn't want someone else to hurt them (even if it was in cruel words only) just because they hurt me. Sometimes, the abuser is the father (or mother) of the client's children. There is typically always anger, but what good does it do for me to vent that anger for my client? Who does it help? Nobody. If we can't agree, then fine. I will do my job of asking the tough questions without mercy. But before that? Far better to de-escalate if possible.

Another conflict resolution thing: you have to remove the aggressive third parties that are angry on one side or the other's behalf. They tend to aggravate the party and escalate the situation by talking in the person's ear and saying how unfair this is and generally making it about their own feelings rather than problem solving.

But here too, finding out where the third parties who have involved themselves in the situation actually want is critical to diffusing this as well. They are people who are righteously (at least in their mind) angry on behalf of one of the parties because they love them and this has activated their protective side. And sometimes people really do need an advocate, yes. But sometimes (a lot of times) these third parties actually get in the way of de-escalation and problem solving.

All of this requires patience, effort, cultivation. And I work hard to do that. But lately my patience has been worn thin by too many people seeing me as subhuman, and it's really starting to wear on me.

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gojos-thot-patrol · 1 year

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For the jjk boys, can you please do kissing hcs? How do they like to smooch 😘

I just lover imagining how our boys love and how they express that love, however healthy (or toxic) it may be

Now Presenting....

Starring: Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Kento Nanami, and Ryomen Sukuna

Satoru Gojo

Gojo kissed excited and passionately

Gojo kisses like he’s never kissed before no matter how many times you’ve kissed

Gojo kissed you like he can’t get enough of you, pulling you impossibly close

There's a 40% chance that he just starts giggling cause he’s so happy and can’t contain himself

He kissed you whenever he can, sometimes looking for you for no other reason than to kiss you

And he can never leave it at just one kiss. It’s always at least 2

All of that being said though his favorite place to kiss you is your forehead.

It’s so sweet and gentle, and very intimate. Its pure

He’ll kiss your forehead to comfort himself man

He pours his sweet, excited, purest form of love into every kiss.

You can feel his adoration for you in the way his soft lips move against yours.

He pours affection into every kiss he’d ever give you

Fluffy man, when I think of Gojo’s kisses I just think fluffy

It’s the truest form of love in his kiss, because he’s very choosy about the people he kisses

If Gojo lets infinity down long enough to kiss you, you know you’re dear to him.

Suguru Geto

Sugurus kisses are loud in a quiet way. Let me explain

He’s more the words of affirmation type, less the touch-y feel-y type

So when he kisses you, it’s normally slow and measured

He really likes to take his time with it, and really savor it

He’s not gentle by any means, nay nay

He holds you close and tight, like holding onto you is the only thing keeping him grounded to this earth

And he’s a little desperate, a little needy.

Like he desperately needs you to feel this love in the same way he does, to justify the flurry of emotions every time he’s near you.

But he doesn’t want to say all of that outloud, that would feel too raw.

So. he says all of that in the way he kisses you. Begging you to say ‘I love you too’ in a way he’d understand

And he tries to get all of that across in a singular, tender kiss.

It’s tender and loving but is screaming so many things he can’t force himself to say.

His kisses may not happen as often as you’d like but when they do they mean something

He finds kissing vulnerable, so feel special you get to kiss him

….Is it just me or did this turn out weirdly angst???

Kento Nanami

Nanami is probably the most casual kisser of the bunch ngl

He probably kisses you the second most out of all of them though (No one’s beating Gojo.)

He kisses you whenever he gets a chance.

Going to work, getting home from work, before bed, waking up in the morning

Almost every new part of your day is started with a quick kiss

Nanami's kisses are warm and familiar.

Kinda like wrapping up in your childhood blanket

He almost always tastes like black tea

He doesn’t see kissing as some sort of grand statement or thesis for a relationship. He just sees it as another way to express fondness

This does not mean he is above getting lost in a good make out session though, nay nay. He believes a good make out session can make a shitty day wonderful

Loves to kiss your forehead and cheeks.

Just any way he can to express these small forms of affection.

It’s a casual and quiet kiss yes

But it’s also intensely tender and caring and full of adoration

A friendly reminder of just how much you mean to him

Ryomen Sukuna

If I were you I would simply not kiss Ryomen Sukuna.

Choose self love instead bestie, this man is not it

Ryomens kisses are all teeth and tongues

It’s rough and dominating, He’s kissing to own you, not love you

His kisses are made up of lust and obsession.

He never kisses without a motive. That motive is almost always either to fuck you or own you

He’ll kiss you whenever there are any potential “Threats” (as he likes to call them) around, just to make sure they know you’re his

To his credit, his kisses are extremely passionate. They’re heated and in a fucked up kinda way intoxicating.

It’s hard not to get caught up in his fire when he’s kissing you like it’s the last thing the two of you will ever do

He’ll kiss any part of you he can in order to mark you. Gotta mark what's his

Sukuna’s kiss is wicked and possessive, just like how he loves, just like how he is

I do think he can and has kisses you tenderly, mostly in moments of true vulnerability

But those moments are very few and far between!

And he gets upset both with himself and you for those moments ever happening

Anyways, choose love not Sukuna my friends.

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f3mme-f4tale · 2 months

Text

☾ bound by bloodshed ☾

part two

⇠ part one - part three ⇢ word count: 2.6k potential warnings: explicit language, mentions of blood pairing: seattle!ellie x female reader ☾ mood board authors note: shorter chapter this time around, next one is gonna be at least 5k and will include smut, so buckle up :3

important information regarding palestine

It's three days later when Maria begrudgingly finally gives the go ahead for you and Ellie to track down the group. It’s dawn when Ellie re-enters Joel’s house, feeling the tension crackling in the air between them, a silent storm brewing beneath the surface.

Joel looks up as Ellie approaches, his gaze meeting hers with a mixture of concern and frustration. "You sure about this, Ellie?" he asks, his voice gruff with worry. "Heading out on some wild goose chase into enemy territory?" Ellie bristles at his words, her frustration boiling over as she meets his gaze head-on.

"Yeah, I'm sure," she retorts, her tone sharp with defiance. "I'm not gonna sit around and wait for trouble to come knocking on our door. We need to take the fight to them." Joel shakes his head, his expression pained as he reaches out to grasp Ellie's arm, his touch gentle yet firm.

"You're being reckless, Ellie," he insists, his voice low and urgent. "You don't know what you're up against out there. You could get yourself killed." Ellie jerks her arm away, her anger flashing in her eyes as she squares her shoulders, refusing to back down.

"I can handle myself, Joel," she snaps, her voice trembling with frustration. "I'm not some helpless kid anymore. I know what I'm doing. You don’t get to make this decision, not after what happened with the fireflies." Joel's jaw tightens, his own frustration evident as he stands up from the table, his hands clenched into fists at his sides as Ellie hits a nerve.

"You think this is about you proving something?" he demands, his voice rising with emotion. "This isn't a game, Ellie. People's lives are at stake here, including yours." Ellie meets Joel's gaze, her eyes blazing with defiance even as her resolve wavers.

"I know that," she replies, her voice softer now, tinged with uncertainty. "But I can't just sit back and do nothing. I have to try." Joel's expression softens, his frustration giving way to concern as he reaches out to cup Ellie's cheek, his touch gentle and reassuring.

"I know, kiddo," he murmurs, his voice filled with a fatherly tenderness that catches her off guard. Ellie hesitates, torn between her desire for independence and her need for Joel's guidance and support. She knows he's only trying to protect her, but the thought of backing down now fills her with a sense of defeat she can't bear.

"I can't just walk away from this, Joel," she whispers, her voice breaking with emotion. "I have to try." Joel sighs heavily, his shoulders slumping in resignation as he pulls Ellie into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around her with a strength that belies his vulnerability.

"I know, kiddo," he reiterates against her hair, his voice thick with emotion. "I know."

As the silence stretches on, Ellie finds herself lost in her own thoughts, the weight of Joel's trust heavy on her shoulders. She wants to shake off the feeling of resentment that had bubbled up inside her, but it lingers, gnawing at her conscience. Finally, unable to bear the tension any longer, Ellie breaks from the hug.

"I'm gonna go check on my gear," she mumbles, her voice strained as she avoids Joel's gaze. He nods silently in response, his expression unreadable as he watches her retreat from the room.

Alone in the hallway, Ellie leans against the wall, her heart pounding in her chest as she tries to shake off the lingering frustration. She knows Joel means well, knows he's only looking out for her, but sometimes it feels like he's holding her back, like he doesn't trust her to make her own decisions.

With a frustrated sigh, Ellie pushes herself off the wall and exits through the back door, determined to focus on the task at hand. She rifles through her belongings, double-checking her supplies and ensuring everything is in order for the journey ahead.

But no matter how hard she tries to push the feeling aside, the tension between her and Joel still hangs in the air, a silent reminder of the rift that seems to grow wider with each passing day. It's not just about finding supplies or confronting their enemies—it's about proving to herself that she's capable, that she can handle whatever challenges come her way.

⭒⭒⭒⭒

As Ellie adjusts the bridle on Shimmer’s face, you double check the supplies in your bag. A stablehand passes Ellie a bag to attach to the saddle that holds supplements and extra supplies. As you count the number of bullets and canned food in your possession, you watch as Ellie skillfully tacks Shimmer. You knew how to ride, but you had to admit that Ellie was far better.

Despite feeling a twinge of envy at Ellie's expertise, you remind yourself that everyone has their strengths, and yours lies in other areas. "Ready to go?" Ellie asks, flashing you a grin as she swings her bag over her shoulder. You nod, following suit as Ellie leads the horse out of the barn. Joel is waiting at the gate with Tommy, the older man sighing as Ellie refuses to look him in the eyes.

“Y’all be careful out there, yeah?” Tommy lectures, putting a reassuring hand on your shoulder. You offer him a small smile and nod again.

“No Jesse or Dina?” Joel questions, eyebrows furrowing. You glance over at Ellie and see her bite down on her tongue to keep from lashing out at the man.

“No,” you reply, sighing. “They’re needed on patrols, since we’ll be gone and Eugene retired.” Joel doesn’t seem pleased with the answer, but doesn’t add anything and moves aside to let you both through.

“Be safe out there kiddo,” he says, his face searching for any source of response from Ellie. She hands you Shimmer, turning around to give Joel a bone-crushing hug. He melts into it, placing his head on top of hers. She doesn’t say anything as she pulls away, moving to mount the horse. She offers you a hand as you hop up behind her, arms instinctively wrapping around her waist, to which Ellie can feel a blush creeping in.

With a gentle nudge of your heels, Shimmer begins to move forward, her hooves crunching on the gravel pathway leading out of Jackson. You steal a glance at Ellie, noticing the stress in her brow as she guides the horse forward.

The weight of Joel's unspoken concern lingers in your mind, and you can't help but wonder what's really going on between him and Ellie. But now isn't the time for probing questions or confrontations. You're on a mission, and your focus needs to be on the task at hand.

The rhythm of Shimmer's gait beneath you soothes your nerves, and you find yourself falling into an uncomfortable silence, each lost in your own thoughts. The landscape around you gradually shifts from the familiar surroundings of Jackson into the rugged terrain beyond its borders. Tall trees loom overhead, casting dappled shadows across the forest floor as you navigate the winding paths.

But just as you start to relax into the journey, a distant sound breaks the quiet tranquility of the morning—a low, guttural growl that sends a shiver down your spine. Ellie tenses beside you, her grip on the reins tightening as she scans the surrounding woods with a wary gaze.

"Infected," she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper as she urges Shimmer to move faster. Your heart pounds in your chest as you peer into the dense underbrush, straining to catch any movement amidst the trees.

And then, they emerge—a horde of infected, their twisted forms lurching forward with a frenzied hunger in their eyes. Panic surges through you as you realize you're completely outnumbered, with nowhere to run and nowhere to hide.

Ellie's jaw sets in determination as she steers Shimmer off the main path, veering into the thick undergrowth in a desperate bid to escape the oncoming horde. Branches scrape against your arms as you duck low to avoid detection, the thudding footsteps of the infected echoing ominously behind you.

As the horde draws closer, Ellie's quick thinking guides Shimmer through a narrow gap between the trees, narrowly avoiding the grasp of the infected reaching out for you. The foliage tears at your clothes as you push through, adrenaline surging through your veins. With each passing moment, the sounds of pursuit grow fainter, indicating that you might have outpaced the infected, at least for now. Ellie slows Shimmer to a halt, dismounting and allowing both of you to catch your breath and assess the situation.

"That was too close," you mutter, wiping your clammy palms against your jeans as you scan the surroundings for any signs of danger. Ellie nods in agreement, her expression grim as she surveys the area.

"We need to keep moving," she says, her voice firm with resolve. "We can't risk getting caught out here again."

"Well, I guess you could say that was an unexpected twist," you remark, a playful glint in your eye as you steal a glance at Ellie.

She grins, her smile infectious as she meets your gaze. "Just another thrilling adventure with you," she replies, her tone teasing.

You chuckle, feeling a warmth spreading through you at the sight of her smile. "Hey, what can I say? I aim to keep things interesting," you quip, nudging her gently with your elbow.

Ellie laughs, the sound like music to your ears as she leans in closer. "Well, you certainly succeeded," she says, her voice soft but playful.

You find yourself drawn to her energy, unable to resist the urge to flirt back. "Glad to hear it. I wouldn't want you getting bored on our little escapades," you tease, a smirk playing on your lips.

Ellie's eyes sparkle with amusement as she leans in even closer, her breath warm against your ear. "Trust me, with you around, I don't think boredom will ever be an issue," she whispers, a hint of mischief in her voice.

You feel a rush of warmth at her words, the air between you charged with a newfound energy. "Well then, I guess we'll just have to keep each other entertained," you reply, unable to hide the smile tugging at your lips. And with an arm outstretched, you help her up into the saddle.

Silence falls between you again, this time a welcome presence. You have to physically resist the urge to rest your forehead against her shoulder – because friends don’t do that. Instead, you opt to analyze the fern inked on her forearm, the way her fingers hold the leather reins. Her skin is pale, covered in dainty freckles that dance across her surprisingly toned arms. You pull your lips between your teeth, shaking away words that threaten to spill out of your mouth.

Ellie slows Shimmer down to a walk upon reaching a small, seemingly torn apart town. As her hooves echo against the weed-infested pavement, you take in your surroundings. The sight of a tree growing out of the roof of a building catches your attention, its branches reaching skyward as if in defiance of the decay surrounding it. The windows of the buildings along the street are boarded up or covered in newspapers. A police car is resting upside down, becoming a home for a band of squirrels.

Despite the desolation of the town, you can't shake the feeling of being watched, as if unseen eyes are tracking your every move from the shadows. You’re sure that if you go looking, there’s bound to be infected looming somewhere. So when Ellie suggests stopping for supplies, you hesitantly agree.

Ellie pulls Shimmer to a halt, her gaze fixed on a nearby storefront. "There," she says, her voice barely above a whisper as she points to a dusty sign hanging above the entrance. "Looks like a general store. Might have something useful inside."

You falter slightly, your instincts screaming at you to turn and run, to leave this forsaken place behind and never look back. But you know that's not an option. With a heavy sigh, you dismount, your steps cautious as you approach the storefront. The door creaks open with a protest, revealing a dim interior filled with dilapidated shelves.

Ellie wastes no time in searching the aisles, her movements quick and efficient as she gathers the sparse supplies into her pack. You follow suit, your eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of movement as you work to collect what you can.

But just as you start to relax into the task, a low cry echoes through the silence, freezing you in place. The noise is coming from the back room, sending you into a crouch. It has to be a runner, otherwise the door opening would have alerted the creature.

This is a routine kill, you think to yourself. No use in alerting or worrying Ellie. With a steady hand, you open the door to the office. And there, huddled in the corner, you see it; a lone infected, its twisted form writhing in pain as it claws at its own flesh. It’s mumbling incoherent words, a cruel sob racking its body.

A piece of shattered glass finds its way to your dominant hand as you slowly approach the infected. In one swift movement, your hand is brought to its neck and drags the glass across its jugular. The runner lets out a sharp, shrieking cry as the glass slices into its skin, blood oozing onto your hands. The silence that follows is deafening, broken only by the sound of your own ragged breathing.

After a moment, you’re brought back to reality and quickly scavenge the few stray bullets on the floor and a roll of duct tape on the desk. “Ellie?” You shout, after hearing something loud drop in the store a few aisles away. The silence and stillness of the building fills you with dread, and you search for her with mounting anxiety. Suddenly, you hear the sound of a body hitting the ground in the distance, followed by a soft gasp of breath.

And then, you see her—a flash of red hair amidst the chaos, her form hunched over as she fends off another runner with a ferocity that takes your breath away. Where did it come from? But before you can reach her, you hear a cry of pain, and your heart stops.

"Ellie!" you shout again, rushing to her side as she collapses to the ground, clutching her arm in agony. Blood seeps through her fingers, staining the fabric of her shirt as she grits her teeth against the pain. You kneel beside her, your hands trembling as you assess the wound. It's deep—a nasty gash along her forearm, pink supple skin exposed to the elements.

“Have you always had such pretty eyes?” She whispers, staring up at you despite the blood flowing down her arm. You’re taken aback by the statement, eyeing her carefully and raising your eyebrows.

“You’re a loser,” you quip back, rolling your eyes.

“Worth a try,” she sarcastically responds, hastily wrapping a bandage around her wound, using her teeth to tie it in place. The entire time her eyes are on you, crimson staining her jaw and teeth. Something animalistic awakens in you at the sight, to which you tear your eyes away and struggle to stand back up, heat flooding your face.

Taglist: @seraphicsentences @onlinelesbo @yumimak (comment if u want to be added!)

#lesbian #ellie williams #tlou #tlou2 #fanfic #ellie x reader #wlw #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams fic #ellie tlou #ellie williams x reader #wlw fanfic #fanfiction

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