#or maybe less than 3 months not sure what time is anymore

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ JUST YOURS — LYNEY.

contents. archon quest spoilers, reader finds out lyney is from the house of the hearth—and all the drama + betrayal that comes from that </3 so big rip </3 but it has a hopeful ending tho !!

lyney has knocked on your door three times today—you haven’t opened up once. you can’t.

“please,” you can hear his muffled voice, “i just want to talk. will you let me explain?”

magicians must always make their audience believe in the impossible, he’s always told you with that sweet, alluring little smile on his face that makes you hang onto every word of his. he’s right, you think—magicians are simply those who have mastered the art of deception, and lyney is no exception. he’s deceiving you even now, with that broken voice as if he’s the one who’s hurt.

word spreads fast in fontaine—lyney, your sweet, romantic, devoted lyney, is of the house of the hearth. his trial mortifies you at first—but deep down, you know in your heart that lyney is no murderer. and then, in an instant, you’re not so sure anymore when somehow, within less than a day, lady furina is able to uncover more about your boyfriend than you have in months.

lyney is of the house of the hearth. he’s of the fatui.

“i’m sorry,” you hear a thud of his forehead resting against the door, “you’re mad, i know—but let me explain the—”

for the first time all day, you open the door. you’re not sure why—somehow, you need him to know you’re not just mad. you’ve been mad at lyney before, being mad is easy. being mad means he’ll pull a rose from behind your ear and make you smile against your will. being mad means you’ll realize you can’t stay mad at him for long, not when he looks at you like that. being mad is temporary—but this? this feels permanent.

you’re not mad at lyney. you simply can’t trust him anymore, and he needs to know that, needs to understand that he should stay away and never find you again.

you’re glaring at him, staring at the face that has always done nothing but make you smile. you wonder, for a small, doubtful moment, if every smile lyney has ever pulled from you has been built off of pure lies and half truths and withheld information.

you’ve given him every bit of yourself, told him everything there is to tell and then some, let him discover things himself that no one has yet to learn. and lyney, as you learn, is someone you can’t even begin to know, not really—maybe not ever.

“you’re with the fatui,” your voice is cold, but you know he can hear the waver—you hate him for that. for being able to pick you apart when you don’t know the first thing about him, “you’ve lied to me all this time—”

“i didn’t lie,” he says quickly, “i just…didn’t tell you everything—”

“that’s not any better,” you cut him off, finality in your voice that makes his eyes widen a fraction, “i have no business with someone of the—”

“wait,” his foot stops the door before it can close, stepping in despite your protests as he inches closer and closer. you take a step back every time—the hurt on his face is palpable. “can…can i explain? please?”

“explain what?” you furrow your eyebrows, “explain that you’re with the fatui? how is there any explaining that? how can you look me in the eye and tell me you’re not bad—”

“i’m not,” he insists, “i’m not bad.”

lyney has never looked at you like that—like you’ve hurt him right where he’s most vulnerable, right where he’s weak and fragile and can’t bear to be hurt. you hate that you want to apologize for a moment, that you want to cradle his face and kiss the tremble off of his lips.

“then what are you?” you challenge, crossing your arms.

“i’m trying to save people,” he croaks, “our organization has a lot of people—a lot of goals. father and i want to—”

“your father has hurt people,” you cut him off.

“father saved me,” he says firmly, “and lynette. she gave us a home. and she wants to save the people of this nation—”

“she’s taken advantage of your weakness and—”

“she did what no one else would for me and my family.”

“then go,” you spit, “go to her and do her bidding. but i can’t turn a blind eye to the fact that you’re with the fatui.”

“even as a member of the house, my decisions are my own,” his hand grabs yours—you can’t find it in yourself to pull it away. it’s familiar, warm—it’s lyney. your lyney. “i’m doing what i believe is right. to break the prophecy.”

“i don’t know what you’re trying to do,” you admit, tired, defeated, “or who you are, frankly. but i’m tired of lies, lyney.”

“then i’ll tell you the truth,” his voice trembles, “anything you ask.”

“i’m not sure that’ll help,” you say quietly.

and then his arms are wrapped tightly around you, his head tucking into the crook of your neck as he pulls you close. you want to push him away. you want to melt into his arms. you want to tell him to leave. you want to ask him to always stay.

lyney is of the house of the hearth, the fatui. but he’s also your lyney—the one who brings you flowers and tucks them behind your ear, the one who does tricks for children and makes them smile, the one who gives his heart and soul for his family to keep them safe.

you don’t know if the two can coexist as one, but you know despite it all, you still love lyney, and you don’t know if you can stop. the thought is haunting.

“i’ve always done what i believe is right,” he promises, “i’ve never hurt someone innocent. you have to know that much.”

“lyney—”

“i love you,” his voice breaks, “i’ve always loved you as just lyney. i promise.”

“i’m scared of who you are when you’re not just lyney,” you whisper—and you suppose you’re also weak, because your hand slips into his hair, stroking through the strands so that if it’s the last time, maybe you can commit the feeling of him to memory.

you can feel his tears fall onto your skin, and you can feel his fingers grip your shirt as he clings onto you, onto the last bit of hope that you’re his—that he’s yours. your lyney, the one you’ve always known and loved.

“i’m always just lyney,” he promises, “no matter who i’m with.”

“i just…need time,” you sniffle, “to think.”

“okay,” he says quietly. you can feel his lip quiver against your skin as he presses a kiss to your neck, “i’ll wait. however long you need, i’ll wait. i love you.”

“i know, lyney,” you sigh, caving and pressing a gentle kiss to the side of his head. you savor the feeling—just in case you’ll never feel it again.

maybe you can—maybe he’s telling the truth. maybe lyney has always been yours, the one you think you know. you don’t know, but you hope you’ll find out.

i would forgive him i can’t lie to you no amount of fatui crimes could outweigh how badly i need to kiss this little shrimp of mine

#teepods.writings #drabbles. #lyney x reader #lyney x you #lyney angst #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin angst #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact angst

[astolfofo]

…I had a thought about the halovians(specifically sunday) and want to know peoples opinions. do u think he has nesting instincts? :3 thank u for listening to my ted talk.

hi (i did say i was gonna answer this 2 weeks ago unfortunately I forgot i'm so sorry.) But anyways, thank you for your ask, and 100% he does.

tw: non-con, forced pregnancy, dark content. truly the unedited sleep deprived trying to write.

Okay i finished writing this i know you didn't ask for acutal writing but i went ahead and did it anyways because why not hope u don't mind

also excuse the fact that thus was posted at 4am and I was half falling asleep already while writing this.

There were three days in your life that you could have called the worst.

The first one was the day when Sunday took your life away from you, and claimed you to be his "wife". The second was when first time he chose to be intimate. The third was when you got pregnant as a result.

Nothing had ever stuck to you like the day after that. You felt like washing the sheets until your hands would bleed. You wanted to submerge yourself in bleach until every fiber of your body burned, shriveled up, and died.

You wanted to forget that it happened. That the events in the previous night ever happened at all.

But the soreness between your legs was a constant reminder. And even though the pain went away after a few days, it was replaced by something much worse. Something you feared.

You saw the signs from the second you got them. Your body felt heavy. You were constantly tired. You had lost interest in eating. It was obvious what was going on.

And for a few days, you tried to hide it. The longer Sunday didn't know, the better it was for you. That way, you could slowly while away your last few moments in peace before everything was taken from you in entirety.

After a few weeks, you couldn't hide it anymore. You remember staring at the double line on the pregnancy test.

You almost instantly broke down into tears. It wasn't anything that you hadn't already know n, but maybe part of you still just believed you were ill, that maybe there was another reason why you had missed your period that month. That the pain you kept experiencing was just from some kind of illness.

The last thing you could keep away from Sunday was taken away from you that day. The sense of freedom you could've had.

To Sunday, you suppose this was the final step he needed to take to bind you to him. Another way to control you. Another way to keep you in his arms, and make sure you wouldn't let go.

And if you didn't want to get murdered by the press, if you didn't want to further sabotage both your own and Sunday's public image, you knew to take it.

You had no choice but to take it. You were no more than an insect trapped under his thumb.

-

out of the two of you, there was only one person that was particularly enthusiastic about having a child.

It certainly wasn't you.

Ever since you had first found out about the pregnancy, you had felt empty. As if someone directly sucked the soul out of your body.

You weren't yourself anymore. You hadn't been for a long time.

Sunday didn't seem too bothered by it though.

You weren't sure if it was just his own parental instincts, or whether he could tell that it was almost time for you go into labour. Maybe it was a combination of both. You didn't care. You couldn't care less.

All you knew was that his presence was suffocating. Overbearing. Invasive, even.

You couldn't do anything by yourself. Sunday felt the need to assist you with everything you did. Even basic tasks such as grabbing an object, he insisted that he would get for you.

But what set you off the most, was his intense urge to keep the house in order. You had never seen him having such intense urges to organize a room even when just the slightest thing was out of order. He couldn't stand seeing the slightest speck of dust, he couldn't stand seeing the furniture just an inch out of place.

It drove you to madness.

If you had even slightly misplaced something Sunday you would notice Sunday getting slightly agitated.

From the moment he came home, to the moment he would fall asleep, he spent every waking second making sure the house was perfectly in order, before obsessing over you. At some point you just wanted to wave him off. Lock yourself in the bathroom and sleep for a long period of time, until you had no concept of reality anymore.

You didn't have it in you to keep going. week after week, month after month, Sunday's final goal had always to perfect you into an obedient wife that would do as they were told. And no matter how you tried to fight it... you were always forced back into obedience.

There's two cold fingers touching your chin, and lifting your face up, until you're forced to meet a pair of eyes.

They're bright. Everytime you see them, you can't help but try to look away. They were as bright as the sun, and just like the sun, you felt as if you were going to be blinded jfyou looked at them for too long. You guess it could've also been a sentiment to the power he held over you too.

"Dear, did you hear a word I just said?"

It's an obvious answer. But, you know better by now just to answer the question. You slightly shake your head, which supposedly satisfied him enough, to let go of the fi gers holding your head up.

He sighs, you're not sure in annoyance or in disappointment.

"If you keep acting like this, I'm going to need to resort to drastic measures..."

You look at him one more time. You remember how when you first saw him, you thought of him to be beautiful. To be almost ethereal.

You regret falling into that hypnosis. You regret looking at him at all.

Look at where it got you.

#yandere sunday x reader #yandere sunday #sunday x reader #sunday smut #yandere hsr #yandere x reader #hsr smut #hsr x reader #sorry if i butchered your ask its like. late rn. 💀

[fl4r3z]

𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡. 𝐈 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

(𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐜, 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫?)

𝐘𝐮𝐭𝐚 (乙骨 憂太) 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Yandere! Yuta Okkotsu, AFAB! Reader, smut MDNI!, Cheating, Cunnilingus, P in V, Jealousy, Stalking, Dark Themes, Somnophilia, Non-con, Dead body, Cum

𝐀/𝐍: Hi my super awesome babies :3 I'm back after dying and i wanna feed you all with a Yuta fic :3 didn't specify any looks for 'boyfriend' so you can insert a character or so!

ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▯▯▯▯▯▯ 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭? 𝐘𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐘𝐞𝐬.

Your eyes were gleaming under the moonlight, looking like beautiful pieces of glass. It had been a month since you and Yuta Okkotsu had broken up with each other. It was late into the relationship when you realized how possessive and manipulative of a man he was.

You and Okkotsu met under the terms of working together. You both engaged a wonderful team, leading to both of you sharing feelings with one another. Yuta was an absolute sweetheart, he'd do anything for you and your sake. He made sure that everything you want, you get. And of course, he gave you an absolute wonderful sex life.

You were blinded by his sweetness and innocent gaze that you didn't realize what troubles were waiting for you. You thought he was everything you had wished for your entire life.

But lately then, you had realized just how possessive he was. And by the means of that, meaning he scolds you for talking to a cashier of an opposite gender. It irritates him, saying only he should be able to look and speak to you. He wants to control everything you do. And that's where everything goes wrong.

Every day with Yuta Okkotsu felt like hours with him ranting about all of the people staring at you, it makes him so irritated. Only he was allowed to admire you. You eventually realized everything and talked to him into breaking up. You could've swore you saw tears streaming down his 'innocent' eyes. He was begging you not to leave him.

But you knew nothing could have changed your mind anymore, you knew you still loved him. But his actions make it so hard to continue your love for him. You hated it.

So then here you were in your apartments balcony, with your so called new 'boyfriend'. Yeah,— you love him, yes. But mostly of the reason was to forget Yuta. You met him when you first moved into your apartment.

But still,— a part of your mind lingers around Yuta. You still couldn't get your mind out of him despite it being a month, and you have a boyfriend already. Maybe you still love him, you've sometimes wondered if he'd already found someone else to manipulate. You often found yourself laying onto your bed often thinking about what Yuta was into right now.

You weren't mindful enough though, the way how Yuta would watch you from your windows, watching every step you make. It makes him sane, you make him sane. He watched you cook, sleep, shower and go so far to even watch you pleasure your self. It makes his cock ache.

Of course, Yuta takes lovely pictures of your body. It was the least he could do. He pastes it on his board, only to see it after waking up. Oh, it makes his cock ache so hard for you. He misses the way your soft walls hugs his desperate cock, because he knows only he could do it.

Yuta had memorized your routine for everyday, like how you act during the day, the time you leave, and even the sound of your floors creaking when you step on them. If people were to be asked about your house, Yuta would be able to answer all of them in less than a second or so.

He thinks watching you is on top of his priorities, he wastes no time when it comes to you.

And that's why he's infront of you, in your room. His eyes were glimmering into the dark room only lit by the moonlight from your windows. Your body was highlighted by tints of the Moon Shine, it was mermerizing, the way your body was so magestic even when done so fucking effortlessly.

He was examining you, and how sweet you seemed like with your body asleep. Oh, how he missed seeing this. He wanted to make you his once again. He wants you around his finger like a puppet. He promises to never let you go once he lays his hands on you again.

He grabs his camera carefully, trying not to wake you. He snaps a picture, adds it into his gallery, — '(Name) (Name) (Name)'. 2,429 photos. Oh if you only knew how much he admires you. You'd never want to leave his side ever again..

"I missed you." He muttered. "And i know you miss me too."

He was slowly approaching your bed, sitting at the edge, engaging your beautiful face. His hands found their way into your thighs, then your lower abdomen. He wants to feel you so, so much, he doesn't wanna hold back anymore.

He looks at you ever so intense with his eyes gleaming lust. He looks at your face, then at your clothed pussy. He moves towards your neck, giving it feather light kisses. Your eyes were fluttering, Yuta hopes that you were feeling him.

He moves towards your lower abdomen, lifting your shirt up, enough to reveal your stomach. He trails his lips against your abdomen, moving towards between your thighs.

Grabbing the hem of your shorts, he pulls it aside, revealing your pussy to him. Turning his face closer, he licks your cunt. He'll never get tired of your taste. Pulling away, he starts pulling your shorts carefully not to wake you up.

He noticed that your eyes were fluttering, he stops, feeling his heart hammering in his chest. He slightly wants you to wake up with him between your legs just eating you out.

He starts gliding his tongue onto your cunt followed by feather light kisses. Hearing you gasp because of his actions makes him ache so hard. Trying his best to contain himself from cumming in his pants, he decides to unzip his pants.

Just the tip right? Atleast to pleasure himself. He unzips his pants, pulling his aching cock out and lines it against the entrance of your pussy. He strokes it a few times then pressing the tip inside.

He could hear you mewl and it makes him ache harder.

You started fluttering your eyes open and your gaze was set into Yuta. "Yuta?! What are you-" You were cut off with him slamming his hands on your mouth.— "Shh, (name) please be quiet.." Yuta mutters in your ears, " just, once please.. "

Yuta thrusted inside you fully, making you yelp muffled in his hands.— "please please let me feel you (name) " Yuta was pleading. But dear god, you were fantasizing about this, albeit having a boyfriend. You couldn't help but think about Yuta.

But of course you weren't going to tell that to Yuta straightly.

Yuta starts to move slowly, making you gasp for the sudden movements. All of his plans were all going accordingly. You'll finally be his again.— He starts gaining the pace, he was whimpering, not loud but enough to hear from the other room.

Yuta’s movements are almost desperate and your skin feels on fire when the pleasure races through you. you hear his own quiet moans, almost lost between smacks and skin slapping noises and your thighs tremble as your hips stutter. Every desperate thrust of his makes your cunt start squelching loudly.

Your back arches, lapping onto Okkotsu's chest. He takes the chance to mark your shoulders. Now they'll know you're his. He takes his hands away from your mouth so that he could hear your pretty voice.

"h-holy shit, Yuu.." your voice was trembling and you were stuttering.

“you sound so, so pretty..(Name)“ he hums before he’s deliberately thrusting on a much faster pace, like he’s trying to force more of those sweet sounds out of you, only for him. He keeps up the same pace and almost whining loudly. "you prefer me m-more than him now right? tell me yes pleaseplease.."

"yes, Yuu!" You could feel yourself about to orgasm sooner or later. It's just too good. Yuta could feel you clench on him so hard, he already knew you were close, so he started pounding faster.

"fuck.. m'close!"— He finishes inside, and you both finished together. He pulls out, and falls stomach flat into you.

"(name)— be mine again. Please!" His pleading was enough to convince you.

But what about your 'boyfriend'? You never knew. He never texted nor greeted you ever since that day. Maybe you felt guilty, but Yuta knows exactly what happened. He just wants to reassure you never find out, or you might stop loving him.

Oh how much Yuta loves you, give him everything he needs and he'll be on his knees, i promise.

©fl4r3z all projects belong to me.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #yuta okkotsu #yuta x reader #im going insane #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk yuta #jjk yuuta #okkotsu yuuta #yuuta okkotsu x reader #jjk okkotsu #yuta x y/n #yuta smut #yuta x you #yuuta smut #yuuta x reader #yuuta x you #jujutsu yuta #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #fl4r3z #this is insane #jjk x y/n #Spotify

[grippingbeskar]

old partners, new plans

— joel miller x fem!reader

—warnings: explicit content minors dni (oral m receiving, mxf) swearing, very minor dom!joel but it’s like not an established thing

—a/n: back at it!!! hope you guys enjoy! i love writing for joel sm. he so sexy <3

“That was not the deal.” You growl, squaring your shoulders.

“Deals change.” Is all the reply you get, Joel still leaning against the frame of your door. You can hardly see him there, the dark of night shrouding him in something akin to mystery— at least, he would be mysterious if you hadn’t already seen every inch of him.

“You know that’s not fair, Joel. I’ve waited ages for this opening, and I’m fucked without the pills to trade.” You take a step towards him and lower your voice, knowing people have been hung in the centre of town for even thinking about leaving, let alone having an entire plan like you did. Or had. “I need to get to them.”

“You don’t even know they’re out there.” You bite back a laugh, turning away from him. You hear the click of the door behind you, and Joel sounds louder as he finally steps into your house. “This is a bad idea— always has been. You got no proof, no solid plan… you’re fucked with or without the pills.”

“Oh, because you’re so sure Tommy’s still alive? That plan is so well thought out— huh?”

“That’s different.”

“No, it’s not! My family is out there, and they’re waiting for me. I know they are. I’ve had this plan for months— months, Joel! You know what this means, and you choose now of all times to hold out on me?!” You shout now, head under his chin staring up at him.

“I’m not holdin’ out, there’s nothin’ I can do about it. My guy ain’t getting back for a week, and I can’t just pull strings I don’t have.” Your heart plummets. The look in his face seems genuine— broken, sad… but it doesn’t make you any less angry. “I can’t help you.”

“But you were fine taking my batteries and tools. And my route to the outside for the last six months. All that you were happy to take me up on, but now it’s time to pay and you’re suddenly empty? I don’t buy it, Joel.” You say his name harshly, with none of the need and honey-like sweetness you remember from those few months of bliss before you told him you were getting out. Before he iced you out completely. “I can’t believe you’re doing this. As what— some kind of pay back?”

“You know that’s not—“

“Why? Because I’m not sleeping with you anymore? That’s fucking low, even for you. And you are the one that stopped that, not me, so don’t blame your blue balls on me just cause you can’t deal with the inevitable.” You suck in a quick breath, wishing you could take the words back.

Oh, he’s fucking angry now. Before he was letting you rant, letting you yell at him because he knew he was in the wrong but something about your comment made him flip.

Neither of you had mentioned what happened. How that night, when you told him you were leaving, he just got up and left your bed, never coming back. Sure, you were blunt and maybe a little harsh when you told him you were going, but he didn’t even look at you for a week. Only when you went to him to ask for the last piece of your escape plan, he managed to look at you, but even then he was short and harsh like you had been. Like you’d done something to him personally— left him cold and alone in a giant bed, words you never got to say still stuck in your throat. How he never gave you a chance to finish, to explain, to ask him to come with you. Find both of your families.

It was the first time you’d really spoken at all since then— conversations that used to be never ending and comforting turning to surface level communication, only speaking when necessary. Sure, you were shouting at each other right now but at least you were talking. Anything was better than silence.

“Don’t you ever fucking say that to me. Don’t you dare tell me I had anything to do with you leavin’. You did this to yourself— to us.” He didn’t yell, but you sort of wish he had, because the low, growling tone of his voice was somehow ten times worse. “You were the one who wanted to leave. I never—“

“You don’t have to remind me.” You don’t let him finish the thought, instead cutting him off and diverting your eyes to the fists at his side, straining with fury. His knuckles were bruised, either from work or a side gig he didn’t tell you about. He never told you about anything anymore.

“I got no pills. I’ll dump ‘em in the old spot when they come in. Try not to get yourself killed ‘til then.” He turns to leave, and you feel your stomach flip. This will be the last time you see him if he comes through. The last time you spoke.

“Okay, I’m sorry.” He laughs bitterly, shaking his head. “Hey— I didn’t meant that, alright? You really want to leave it like this?”

“You’re going. Probably gonna die out there. What’s the point in talking about it?” You want to yell, want to fight him on it but he wouldn’t even listen— “You’re signin’ your death sentence outside of these walls alone. Don’t blame me for not giving you the push.”

“Joel, just wait a second.” His hand stills as it moved to grab the door. “I don’t… I don’t want to leave you like this. I never wanted to leave you. If you just let me—“

“You made that bed weeks ago.” He stares ahead, never letting you finish and still not turning around to look at you. Your heart freezes at the thought of him walking out that door. You want to leave— but you never wanted to do it alone. Even after weeks of silence and rough edges, you’d take any time with him over… well, anything.

“Let me unmake it. Just… please don’t walk out on me, Joel.” You take a few tentative steps, gauging the progress you’ve made. His spine straightens when your fingers dance up his back, gentle and slow. You catch the bottom of his shirt and slip under, feeling the warmth of his skin under your palm and the way he sighs— as if your touch relieves him. “I hated how I went about… things. I never meant to have it turn out like this. Us ignoring each other.”

“Well, that’s what happened.” His head turns ninety degrees, eyes looking over his shoulder as you walk your fingers higher. His shoulder blades, always full of tension, relax under your hand, and you trail your other hand up to find the other, watching his eyes flutter closed as you dig your palms into the muscle there.

“I know. It was unfair of me to spring it on you that night, and I shouldn’t of said the things I did. I’m sorry.” He doesn’t say anything, but he sighs again as you continue to manipulate his muscle. You wish he’d take his shirt off so you could do it properly, but this would do for now. “But you never let me finish— that day.”

“I heard…fuck. I heard what I needed to hear.” His head drops down, chin to his chest as you step up on your toes and massage him in slow, steady circles. You hadn’t touched him in so long, you were nearly burning with just this intimacy alone, but you had to bide your time. Coax him in slowly, like a scared lone wolf— tempt him closer with paced, quiet movements until you could get your chance.

“Let me fix it. Fix this.” You say softly, your heart slamming against your chest.

“You’re still leaving. Can’t fix that.” His voice strains, and you run your hands lower to dig into the muscle of his back.

“Yeah.” He sighs again at your answer. “And you still hate me for it.”

“Yeah.” He copies you, and you try to ignore how much the simple word affects you.

“But we still have right now.”

“What’s the— shit, that’s good.” He shuffles back into your touch. “What the point?”

“Cause I can make you feel so much better than this. Don’t you remember?” You are nearly begging, but if memory serves you right, a few ‘pleases’ seem to make him do just about anything. “This is just my hands, but my mouth… my—“

“Yeah. Yeah, I fucking remember. Think about it every night.” You run your hands up again, but this time take his shirt with you and bring it up over his head. He moves, finally, grabbing the collar and shucking it off his shoulders, letting the fabric pool at his feet in front of the door.

“Let me make it up to you. Please, Joel.” He groans when you press harder, feeling how his muscles have gone nearly placid under your touch now. “Even if it’s just tonight. If you still hate me, you can leave and not look back, but I… I can’t stand this thing we have going on. The quiet. I can’t do it. Please.”

He turns around, towering over you as a mass of unkept, wild curls and a burning need in his eyes. It makes you smile, that look in his eye— because it’s been so long since he’s looked at you with anything other than hatred. Now, he needs you. Needs what only you can give him, and even if this could be the last night of it, you couldn’t help but think it would last forever with how heavy his gaze was.

“You wanna make it up to me?” He’s tilting his head in question, watching your hands move up and down his torso in teasing strokes.

“Please, Joel.” You see it splinter, his final plank of resolve shredding and dispersing on your floor under the weight of your words. Your voice nearly cracks with desperation— you need it as badly as he does.

“Get on your knees.” You blink at him, your fingers trailing down his toned chest before nodding and obeying his command readily. Joel was always a giver— always spending hours on you and you alone, and he fucking loved it— but tonight you had all but begged him to take. Lose a little bit of that control he clings so tightly to, watch the tension loose from his shoulders as he forgets about everything but you.

You trail your lips along his lower stomach as you sink to your knees, eyes never leaving his— ones that have practically turned onyx black as he watches your path, chest rising and falling rapidly. He moves his leg before you hit the ground, and it’s not until your bare knees settle into something a little softer than hard wood floor that you realise he’s kicked his shirt under you.

Even when he acted the part of hating you— he never stopped thinking of you.

Your fingers shake as they fumble with his belt, Joel making no move to help you as you struggle with the loops. When you finally break it free, Joel’s hand reaches down and threads your hair through his fingers. His thumb trails the highest point of your cheekbone, and your eyes flutter as you involuntarily nuzzle into his touch. It’s comforting and warm, and the intimacy of him knowing how you like to be touched even on your face has your cheeks burning. You think you catch him smile at you, and then your focus snaps back to the sight right at your eye-line when you pull his boxers and jeans down in one go.

“Missed your cock, Joel. Fuck.” You are nearly mesmerised at him in front of you, words spilling out as he stands in front of you completely naked while you remain fully clothed. He groans, head rolling back as you wrap your hand around his base.

“I bet you did. Can remember how loud you used to be— I fucking loved that.” Even if the compliment is purely physical, compared to how little you’ve gotten from him it boosts your ego through the roof. You can’t wait any longer, wrapping your lips around the tip of his straining cock. “That’s it, darlin’.”

You don’t tease him, but you do start slow. Despite how much you want to suffocate on him, have him fuck out any of that hate he’s still holding so he can’t think of anything but your mouth, you know he likes it to start slow. It’s like he’s denying himself, even here, that he doesn’t deserve the instant gratification. Like he wants to suffer through it first— a little bit of pain to accompany the overwhelming pleasure that follows.

“Fuck, you’re good. Just like that.” He praises, his hand sneaking back to the nape of your neck. Not pushing, but instead gathering your hair and using his fist as a make shift ponytail. “Missed your mouth.”

“Mm?” You make a muffled noise, hoping to God he keeps telling you how much he missed any part of you. Like he dragged through the last few weeks as poorly as you did. You were already fizzling in your stomach, your thighs clenching together with every swirl of your tongue around the head of his cock.

“Thought about you every day. Every— fuck. Nothin’ gets me off like you. Ha-ah, shit.” You take him to the back of your throat, gagging a little but loving every choked sound sound that stutters out of Joel’s mouth. “Had to fuck my fist thinkin’ about your pretty little face. Fuckin’ hated myself for it.”

You speed up, wanting nothing more than for him to yank you upwards and bend you over the counter, but you’ll take what you can get. The salty taste of him mixes on your tongue, and it’s always so messy giving him head, but he goes feral for it. He’s watching you now, the words punched out of his chest as you move your hand to match your mouth, and you know the tears in your eyes and strands of hair across your face just send him wild.

He says your name how you remember, with all the sweet and drawn out inflections his accent gives it. You take him deeper, indulging a low and dormant urge to please him clawing it’s way to the front of your brain. He groans again, the hand at the back of your head pressing just slightly— a sign he’s losing that last bit of self control.

“Fuck— stop, baby. Stop.” He splutters out, and you draw yourself back slowly. He keeps his hand in your hair, looking down at you possessively. His chest is moving rapidly, trying to catch his breath from where you had him so close. Your eyebrows furrow, confused as to why he didn’t let you do the one thing you really wanted to right now. Make him feel good.

“What’s wrong?” You say softly, and he hauls you upward, barely giving you time to find your footing before he surges forward and kisses you.

It nearly knocks you off your feet, the hunger behind it making you stumble a few steps to where you know the bed is. He wastes no time, tasting himself on your tongue and taking you with him down onto the mattress. He pulls your shirt off first, kissing his way down to where your hips are still covered by sweat pants.

It’s here he takes his time, watching you writhe with impatience as he slowly draws the fabric down. He kisses your hipbones as they are revealed, the gentle touches making your head spin. He was meant to hate you— meant to be fucking you hard and fast just one more time to get it out of his system, so that you felt like what you two had could end on some kind of high. You owed him that much.

But this? The way his hands were so soft and gentle— practically caressing along your sides and over your thighs. The care behind his movements, the way he looked at you… it wasn’t how you used to fuck. This wasn’t hard and dirty, not scratching an itch or quenching a thirst— this had something more behind it. You knew it, and by the way he smiled over you, he did too.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He whispers against your skin, the rough hair on his cheeks tingling the softness of your inner thighs. He says it quietly, like you weren’t supposed to hear it, but you do, and your body floods with heat.

“Joel.” You whimper, your underwear dragging down your legs before he crawls back up your body. “Joel, I’m sorry.”

“I know, baby. Just focus on me, okay?” You feel him against you, the head of his cock dragging up and down causing your hips to twitch every time. “You always get so wet from doing that, don’t you?”

“Just from you. It’s just you, Joel.” You whimper, and his face crumbles in front of you. He bends to kiss you again, the air in your lungs sucked out leaving you breathless. He’s handling you with such care— like he still does. Care.

When he pushes into you, you both sigh, Joel dropping onto his forearms caging you under him. He tucks his head into the crook of your neck— teeth dragging along your collar bone with each slow thrust.

“You always feel so good. Can’t live without this, baby.” He’s almost whining, grinding into you with so much strength you hear the bed creak with each move. He’s reaching every nerve you have, crackling each one with a searing pleasure that’s only ever associated with him.

“N-neither. Please— please, Joel.” You beg for something, anything he’d give you, and his head moves to press his forehead to yours. His hips stutter, eyes half lidded but focused on you.

“Don’t leave. I’ll… god, so good. Don’t go.” He fucks you a little harder, like he’s trying to prove a point. Trying to convince you— but he doesn’t have to.

“Come with me.” You whisper, hands threading into his hair. You tug hard, making him groan.

“Baby.” He says lowly, voice grating and strained. Every thrust of his hips hurtles you closer to release, one of his hands snaking down your body to circle your clit. You can’t talk anymore, the only noises you can make are loud moans followed by choked out versions of his name. “Fuck— fuck, I can’t last. I can’t..”

You squeeze your eyes shut, pleasure rolling over you from your fingertips to your toes, the weight of Joel’s body keeping you firmly secured on the mattress. It’s like the heavy press of his warm skin multiplies the feeling, nails digging into the flesh of his back.

Your orgasm sneaks up on you, and it only takes a few more strokes of Joel’s cock and he’s cumming with you, both of you clinging to each other as you try to draw out the others high. Even when you’re supposed to be fighting, each of you are doing anything and everything for each other.

Joel still feels warm above you, keeping himself inside as long as he can stand before he pulls out slowly. You whimper from the loss, but he shuts you up with a deep, desperate kiss. It’s lazy and meaningful— teeth and tongues clashing from how hard he’s pressing on top of you.

Both of you are sweaty and out of breath, but neither can find the strength to pull your mouths away from each other. You know once you do, it was meant to be over— but it couldn’t be. There wasn’t going to be a version of this story where you missed out on the only good, real thing you’ve had in a long time just because you didn’t have the guts to repeat yourself. You pull back from his mouth as hard as it is, and he groans a little in frustration of having to chase you.

“Joel…” Your hands find their way up to his face, holding him so close that your noses bump together. “I meant it. Come with me.”

“Darlin’, I gotta… Tommy needs me to find him. I…” He looks you up and down again, eyes catching on the little hickeys he’s left over your chest and neck, and you think he might be considering the possibility of leaving everything behind and just following you despite it.

But you’d never ask him to. You had this thought out— and if he’d just listened to you the first time, he would already know.

“I know. We can find him. The pills— I’m trading it for a full tank of gas for a car I repaired. It’s just outside the safe zone.” He shifts up, thighs still straddling over your waist. “We can find him, find my family.”

“You fixed a… of course you did. Fixed a fucking car right under their nose.” He shakes his head, laughing before leaning down and smothering you in a suffocating kiss. He’s still smiling when he pulls away, tucking your body into his chest. “Jesus. You’re unbelievable.”

“I would of told you.” You say, not having the nerve to look up at him. “That night— I tried to tell you. We have people that need us, but I need you, too.”

“Mm.” He says, burying his face into your hair. You can feel the smile in the way he hums, his hands grabbing at your sides and holding you closer. “Need you, too.”

“What was that?” You try to turn and look up at him, a teasing smirk on your face but he doesn’t let you. “The Joel Miller— needs me?”

“Need your car.” He grumbles and you laugh harder, your legs tangling together in a comforting knot of limbs. “When do we leave?”

“When you get the pills.” He hums again.

“Tomorrow. I’ll get ‘em tomorrow.”

“Oh, you fucking asshole. You were getting them the whole time, weren’t you?” He still refuses to let you move, strong arms keeping your bodies together. He doesn’t say anything, just laughs and nods before his breathing starts to slow.

You wanted to turn and see his face when he said that— that he needed you. But as you feel him go limp behind you, you figure you’ll get enough time to stare at his face when you drive across the state to get Tommy, and whatever comes after that. You might not know what comes next, but whatever it is, you feel a hell of a lot better knowing it’ll be with him.

#joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #tlou joel #joel miller x y/n #tlou #tlou joel miller

[immoralkombat]

feeling(s)

Kenshi has been blind for maybe an hour or two.

Johnny looks over at him with sympathy. He's not sure what he could possibly do or say to make things seem any less bleak for him. The man was just trying to get his family's heirloom back and now, after months of training and dedication, one of his five senses is gone permanently through no fault of his own. If Johnny were in Kenshi's position, he's sure he'd be feeling just as desolate, if not more so.

Kung Lao is sitting in the far corner, talking to Baraka. He seems genuinely fascinated by Tarkat as a disease. Were Johnny not in the same situation as them, he would find that particular conversation topic a bit morbid. Right now, it's really all they have to talk about. They've already exhausted all the small talk options you normally go through when first meeting someone. They might as well start talking about the disease that'll eventually kill Baraka.

The salve on the cloth seems to have worked a little, because at least Kenshi isn't moaning in pain every few seconds anymore. Not that it makes things significantly more cheerful, but it does help the atmosphere a bit.

Johnny taps on his knees as he sits, eyes darting between looking at Kung Lao and Kenshi. He's kind of in between where the two have sat themselves, a visual and metaphorical median between the two ways one could possibly react to getting imprisoned by a sorcerer that's almost 100% going to kill you. (To be fair, there isn't much that connects the points of "casually talking about a stranger's terminal illness with them as though you're both standing by the office water cooler talking about whatever hit TV show is airing these days" and "rocking back in forth in the corner about how a different terminally ill stranger took your eyes and you have nothing left in this world." Johnny supposes the best middle point is "looking anxiously between your two co-workers and not saying anything because Jesus Christ, what the fuck are you supposed to say in this situation besides aforementioned terminal illness.")

He really wishes that Kenshi still had his eyes, because every time he looked at Johnny, it always seemed to make everything feel okay.

Johnny thinks for a second and then scoots closer to Kenshi. It's only once he accidentally bumps up against Kenshi's foot and scares the living shit out of everyone in the cell that he realizes he probably should've given an audible cue that he was going to be approaching the newly blind guy.

After Kenshi's done having a mini panic attack over the sudden Hollywood A-lister jumpscare he's gotten, Johnny looks at him and asks, quietly, "Do you want to hold Sento for a bit?"

Kenshi turns to face him and even underneath the newly christened blindfold, Johnny can tell that Kenshi is looking at him with the most surprised and reverent eyes in the universe. The kind of look that you'd get and say "fuck this stupid sword, I'd pay $3 million just to get this guy to look at me like that again."

Kenshi's mouth opens as though he's going to say something, but it shuts again before any words or sounds can come out. He opts to nod in response and Johnny takes the scabbard from off his back, holds it in his hands gently and passes it to Kenshi. Their fingertips graze one another, a way to indicate that the blind man is in the right spot. The touch sends crackles of electricity through Johnny and he wonders if Kenshi feels them too.

It's like the tattoos on Kenshi's hands are swirling around him, colors dancing in front of his eyes. It's more beautiful than any lame fucking Disney movie ever could be.

The yakuza's voice is hoarse as he says "Thanks." It's so small that Johnny can almost see it breaking in the air. He wants to put his hand on Kenshi's and tell him that things will be okay, that he's going to pay for a sight companion, any kind of corrective surgeries he wants, whatever it takes. He wants to tell him that he's still just as strong and fierce and goddamn handsome now as he was before. He wants to kiss him so fucking badly it makes his entire being ache.

He settles for saying "You're welcome," and then sitting next to Kenshi in silence.

He watches the way that he holds Sento in his hands, feels every single nick in the scabbard, every single imperfection. It's the first time in Johnny's life that he's ever wanted to be a sword and, if he keeps hanging out with Kenshi after this, (which he hopes he can), it almost certainly won't be the last.

Johnny wishes that Mileena had taken Kenshi's tear ducts with her after she'd stabbed his eyes out, because the short sad sobs that wrack through his body are almost too much to bear witness to. When he cries, it moves through his entire being. It sends a shockwave from his gut upward, makes him lurch his shoulders forward and hug himself.

"H-Hey, what's wrong?" Johnny asks. He knows it's a stupid fucking question, obviously everyone knows what's wrong, most of all the guy it happened to. But it's all he can think to ask as he watches Kenshi continue to awkwardly jerk alongside his cries.

Kenshi's head turns to face Johnny. From beyond the thin red cloth that covers his eye sockets, Johnny can feel them boring into him.

"Cage, could I touch you? I want to remember what your face looks like."

If Johnny were operating on his full mental capacity, he would probably explode at this question. He would become the fireworks they popped last night at the banquet over their heads as they feasted. He would be attached to one end of a fuse with Li Mei holding the other end, readying herself to spark it and send him to the stratosphere.

"Y-Yeah, of course you can, Ken-doll. Just make sure not to damage the goods - people pay good money for this mug to show up on their big screens."

The smugness in his voice would normally earn him a "tch" or a groan, (or an eye roll), from Kenshi. Hearing him chuckle under his breath makes his heart soar.

He turns his face toward him and waits, but no touch comes. His eyes close, he anticipates the electricity to come back... and instead he hears Kenshi clearing his throat awkwardly.

Johnny opens his eyes and finds that Kenshi's still got his hands on Sento. He tries not to be jealous of the sword again, but as with any other time he's tried not to be jealous of someone or something that has what he wants, he fails miserably.

"Could you get closer, Cage?"

"Not the first time I'm hearing that question, won't be the last. How close you need me, handsome?"

The words come out before he can even process them. Jesus Christ, is he really that much of a disaster that he can just openly call a guy he's been crushing on for at least a month handsome without even thinking about it? He's a fucking mess. His wife left him and now he doesn't know how to act. She was gonna be the only person he'd ever be able to trick into loving him and now she was gone.

"I'm going to turn, and I suggest you do the same. I want to be facing you. You can sit with your legs touching mine if it helps."

Great, now Kenshi has a colorful blindfold that also serves as a perfect swatch for the shade of red Johnny's face turns every time the man says something that's totally fucking normal for two people that are acquainted with one another.

Johnny does as he's told, because if there's one thing he's good at, it's taking directions. (Ignoring literally every single major motion picture he's ever been in, every statement he's ever made to the press after consulting his legal teams and public consultants, and generally living life up until this point.)

His knees knock against Kenshi's and it takes him aback for a second, how giddy and childish the butterflies he feels in his stomach are. Getting to know Kenshi was so simple. He wishes he had just taken a second and been less of a dickwad back when they'd first met, because maybe then it'd be easier for him to grow a pair of cajones and tell Kenshi that he doesn't spend a single night without thinking about how much he wants to trace the tattoos on his hands and arms. Maybe if he had just given Sento over, it'd be easier to admit that the low rumble of Kenshi's voice does something to stir up the pool of heat in his stomach that he thought had been long since gone after getting married to Cristal. Maybe if he hadn't tied Kenshi to one of his kitchen chairs, it'd be easier to ask him if kissing washed-up celebrities was something he'd be interested in doing.

"I'll put my hand out, you lean forward to match it."

Kenshi's palm is extended and it takes every ounce of willpower in Johnny's aching body to not press his lips against it. He leans forward until his cheek is lightly touching the yakuza's hand.

He must be hearing things, because he swears he hears Kenshi's breath hitch when they make contact for the first time. Nah, surely not. Must've been the wind.

If Kenshi's senses are heightened because of the loss of his vision, then Johnny's senses are heightened because of the gain of his touch. He purses his lips together to stop from letting out some sort of obscene sound as he feels Kenshi's hand slowly smooth over his cheek. He thanks whatever fucked up Gods exist other than Liu Kang that he finally got on that moisturizing routine that he learned off of TikTok three months ago.

As Kenshi's hand slowly feels out every angle and curve of Johnny's face, his thoughts rush a mile a minute. He wonders if he should've done a closer shave today - maybe his stubble is gonna be too sharp and it'll hurt Kenshi and leave him with little cuts or rug burn on his pretty perfect wrap-around-my-throat-please hands. He wonders if his nose is too big. He wonders if he maybe should've invested in hair plugs after that one weird SNL dropout made a comment about his weird square hairline back when he guest starred on the Comedy Central roast of Megan Fox. He wonders if his eyes are too small or too large or too close together or too far apart. He wonders if he should smile so Kenshi can feel his dimples.

"Yep, it all feels just like how I remember it. Although the stubble has gotten a little longer."

That is certainly not the answer he was expecting to hear.

His voice is small, barely there, as he chokes out his question. "You remember what I look like?"

Kenshi nods. "I do."

Johnny goes to open his mouth to ask, "Then why did you ask to touch it if you already knew?"

But then Kenshi's fingers are on his lips, tracing them with the reverence he'd have holding Sento, and for a moment, Johnny finally thinks he's better than that stupid fucking sword. His smile has the same curves, the same edges. The only difference is that Kenshi can't accidentally hurt himself this way. (He can, however, accidentally hurt Johnny. But even that would be better than the alternative, he thinks.)

Kenshi's thumb is on his bottom lip, the rest of his hand now holding Johnny's chin. If he tilts it up even one degree, Johnny thinks it'll be over for him, that he'll be kissing Kenshi before he can even think to stop himself. He'd always had poor impulse control - why else would he have spent $3 million on a fucking sword to hang up in his living room?

"These are the same, too. I'm glad you weren't hurt in the fight, Cage."

Johnny feels so fucking overwhelmed. He wants to ask so many things. First of all, what does "these are the same, too" mean? Second, why does he care about the guy who bought his fucking family heirloom and refuses to give it back? Third, why does he insist on calling him Cage like one day he won't end up calling him Johnny and breaking his heart? Fourth, what in the goddamn fuck does he mean about Johnny's fucking lips being the goddamn motherfucking same?!

Johnny decides to play it up like he always does. "Well, 'course. Gotta keep my pretty mouth. It's what makes the big bucks. I wouldn't be the same without it."

Kenshi smirks, and thank Liu Kang's weird god siblings that he's blind right now, because Johnny is beet red, mouth agape, with his eyebrows raised (and he's fairly certain that something else also rises).

"That's true. You would not be the same without that infamous mouth." Kenshi accents the compliment(?) with a playful slap to Johnny's cheek, and then his hand is withdrawn entirely, leaving an empty ghost where he should still be holding Johnny's face in his hands.

He bites back the urge to immediately ask if Kenshi wants to know just how infamous the mouth is, and settles for clearing his throat and moving back to sitting against the wall next to Kenshi.

He looks over at him after he's gotten calmed down. His heart is still jackhammering against his ribs, but as long as Kenshi can't feel his pulse, he doesn't have to know. Kenshi seems to sense Johnny's eyes on him because he turns to face him, red blindfold all that stands between the gaping holes where Kenshi's eyes used to be and Johnny's gaze full of adoration.

The yakuza grabs Sento from his lap and hands it back to Johnny.

"Thank you. I appreciate you letting me hold it. And I appreciate your help in grounding me back to reality."

Johnny nods, taking Sento back and putting it where it so wrongfully deserves to be, strapped against Johnny's sore fucking back.

"No problem. Lemme know whenever you get the urge to feel out what an Adonis looks like, I'm happy to oblige." His comment is a means to an end. He plays up the egoism to ignore the shock that courses through him as Kenshi's fingertips touch his one last time.

He resolves then and there to give Sento back as soon as they escape from here, and they will escape.

This cannot be the last time he feels Kenshi's hands on him.

Baraka whispers, about as well as he can without lips or an inside voice, "Do they not realize how much they yearn for one another?"

Kung Lao shakes his head, putting a hand on Baraka's shoulder and immediately regretting it once he feels a spike tear into his palm. "They've just gotta be stupid about it for a bit longer. They'll figure it out."

"Surely their pining has to cause some sort of agony for you as well, does it not, Earthrealmer?" Baraka looks genuinely confused, or as close to it as he can get from what Kung Lao can tell.

Kung Lao hangs his head, sighing languidly. "Of course it does. But what else am I gonna do about it? Tell them? They're not gonna believe me. Trust me, they've got to figure it out on their own time, or they never will."

And as he sees Johnny's hand inch closer to Kenshi's, finally overlapping the tattoos and interlocking their fingers, Kung Lao thinks that maybe the agony won't last much longer.

#johnshi #johnny cage x kenshi #johnny x kenshi #kenshi x johnny #kenshi x johnny cage #johnny cage #kenshi #kenshi takahashi #mk1 #mk1 2023 #mk1 spoilers #mortal kombat 1 2023 #mortal kombat 1 spoilers #mortal kombat #this was also posted to my ao3 but i'm keeping works limited to registered users only bc. protecting my works and whatnot! #cross posted on ao3 #immoralkombat.exe

[luveline]

Hi Jade! Congratulations on 40k (deserved deserved deserved!!!!!)

Can I plz request some KBD Steve and Reader for 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐰𝐞𝐛 ?

Maybe they’re on a rare date night and they love getting to be alone together but they do miss their babies!

tyvm <3 kisses before dinner —dad!steve and mom!reader go on a date (for a little while). 1.3k

"Are you sure I don't look really stupid?" you ask as Steve opens the passenger door.

"You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen," Steve says simply, hand out to help you from the car. You smile and take his hand. You've done it hundreds of times, but you remember the first. 

"Woman," you correct without irritation. You've been together for almost ten years and you have four children. Four. "I don't think many people would say I'm a girl anymore."

"Ah, but you're my girl," —Steve laughs as you laugh, pulling you from the path of the door to close it and lock it— "so forgive me. You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. 'N' I love white on you, as you know." 

You laugh more at his formal talking and fold your arm between his. Robin has made it so you can wear a white dress without fear of stains, agreeing to have your four girls for the day. Though day is a gentle term, because you don't expect anybody to be able to cope with children that aren't theirs for more than a few hours. You suspect you'll have four or five hours (Robin is well-trained and, more importantly, extremely loving toward your children) before one of them has a meltdown from missing you. 

Dove is the likely perpetrator. "She's really moody lately," you say, knowing Steve will get exactly who you mean as you begin walking from the parking lot and down the street to the coffee shop. 

Sure enough, he covers your hand where it rests in the crook of his arm and says, "She's in her terrible twos. But maybe you should be spending a little more time with her." He isn't judging or criticising you, just making an educated assumption. "Heather steals all your attention." 

"You can call her Heather as much as you like, but it isn't her name," you say, nudging his chest. 

"Can, will, is. I think she just misses you." Steve sees you squinting in the sun and offers his sunglasses. You lift your head and let him slide them up your nose, more for his touch and attention than a real need for them. It's a surprisingly sunny day in late September, the wind blowing warm on your bare legs and arms. "You know you're her favourite." 

"Do you ever worry that it's 'cos I don't see her enough? I mean, I'm home now, but that's only for another month. What if… like, what if I work and she grows up missing me so much she resents you?" 

"Do you think that's gonna happen?" Steve asks genuinely. 

"No. I dunno." You turn his face to yours in the middle of the street. You've changed a lot over the years. Being pregnant does that, but so does ageing, and living. Steve looks at you like you're charming, like the fact of your existence alone could make him laugh. You look at him the same. "You know, you get more handsome all the time." 

You kiss him. Steve closes his eyes and follows your lead. He bumps the sunglasses with his enthusiasm, and his kiss grows softer in apology. 

"She'll be okay. But you need more time together. And Avery needs more time with me, and Bethie needs less time in my lap–" 

"I can't see that happening," you say. "She's your pest." 

Steve hears the fondness in your voice and presses his hand to his chest, leaning back. "My girls," he says. 

You pass him back his sunglasses and look around. You and Steve have a favourite coffee shop slash smoothie place that serves all manner of hot snacks. You would've gone for lunch, but you promised Bethie you'd make her special toast (French toast) and might have been too greedy about it. Steve is a slammer for food even now, his metabolism doesn't slow, and you figure he'll have grilled cheese with his smoothie or a cup of soup. 

You didn't tell Steve you couldn't manage lunch, he just knew. He can read your mind these days. You love it more than you can explain. 

"Nice flowers," you say, pointing at the florists. 

"They don't have your favourite ones ever," Steve says, hand on your shoulder to hold you out of his line of view. "They're nice though, the white ones." He points at a bucket on the low sill. "Do you want those?" 

"No, I'm just saying they're nice," you say. 

"Come on, let's go get some. I should've got you some anyways, that's the point of a date." Steve offers his hand. You take it shyly, not so secretly pleased at his insistence. 

You stand in the cool air of the flower shop hand in hand, picking out flowers. It starts with Steve trying to buy you flowers, you buying him flowers, and then the two of you spend forty minutes picking flowers out for the girls. Avery loves roses, Bethie isn't picky so long as the buds are impressively big, Dove couldn't care less about flowers and little baby Heather sleeps and eats solely. You get Dove a small bunch of pink peonies and decide to share your bouquet of white flowers with the baby. Steve gets a mixed bouquet and doesn't protest. 

You have too many flowers to take with you to the coffee shop. You both refuse to admit what's happening until you're back in the car. 

"Are we really doing this?" you ask. 

"Why, think we should've bought flowers for Robin?" 

"I think the thank you movie tickets and the chocolates and the five minute hug you forced her into was thank you enough, but maybe we should've." You beam at him. "I mean, are we really going home? We didn't even make it to the coffee house." 

"We could take these home and put them in some water and come back…" He scratches a hand through his hair. "I miss them more than I thought I would. We've been glued together for a month, and I can't stop worrying about Heather." 

"I miss them too," you admit. 

You and Steve get drive through, and you kiss and murmur stupid shit at each other in the car outside of Robin's house for a perfect ten minutes, until Avery throws open your car door to scream hello. 

"I'm so happy you're home so early!" she shouts, scrambling up the foot well and straight into your lap. "Did you have fun at your date?" 

"Well, we were late leaving the house because I realised Dove's been drawing pictures on my button downs, and I almost crashed the car and scared mom half to death because the sun was in my eyes, and we were distracted looking at flowers for years and now we're home," Steve says. 

"So yeah, we had fun," you say. 

Steve leans over to kiss you. Avery laughs and shoves her hand between your faces, "Guys, I think Aunt Robin needs help, H won't stop crying and crying and crying and Dove tipped her drink all over Beth's pink dress. I think on purpose." 

Robin is very very sorry, and she didn't even call you guys, so why are you back? But she's grateful to be released. Not nearly as much as the girls are to see you guys. 

Robin is a great aunt, but you have clingy kids. 

"Mom!" Bethie shouts, pointing down at her sodden dress with a wobbly lip. "Look." 

"Aw, sweetheart, I see it. I put spare clothes in your bag, let's go get changed, okay?" 

You and Bethie leave hand in hand to clean up. Steve juggles the three remaining children dexterously, (maybe) Heather against his chest, Dove's shoulder under his hand, and Avery crowding his other side. He's barely in the living room. 

"Hello," he says, kissing one little head after the other. "Hi, honey. You okay?" 

"Did you at least have a good two hours?" Robin asks sympathetically. 

Steve nods happily. "We did. Really. Next time I think we might even make it to the coffee shop." 

#kisses before dinner universe #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #dad!steve harrington #dad!steve harrington x reader #dad!steve harrington x mom!reader #steve harrington x afab!reader #afab!reader #mom!reader #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fandom #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington fluff

[savannahsdeath]

SOCCER!ELLIE WILLIAMS X CHEERLEADER!READER

PART 2TWO

part 3three

part 1one

mdni please<3

summary: effects of the match seem simple - ellie either wins and gets what she wanted, or not. but even the score doesnt make things less complicated, as the past wont leave you

warnings: minors safe🩷

writers note: the start is shitty because i was writing it in a rush but it gets better after first goal i promise!! also this ones shorter because i had to stop right there cus i dont know wether to make it ellie x reader or change it to vi....

'that's right, put your pom-poms down

getting everybody fired up'

you were excited for the match. not only did it mean that ellie was going to try her best to win your kiss, but the stakes were higher than that. you'd been excited for the rematch between your team and vi's team - your ex's team - all year, and now the time had come.

soon, the match was about to start, and you and the other cheerleaders took your positions on the sideline to cheer for your team. ellie and other players took their positions on the field, looking confident as well.

you cheered, watching ellie play against vi. the match was close, and the score was tied for a while. then, ellie managed to score a goal, turning the score to 1-0 in favor of their team.

you cheered as loud as you could for ellie, feeling a bit torn between wanting your team to win and not wanting to see ellie get her reward so easily. but just like you, vi had also noticed the connection between the two of you, and had to do something about it - she had no intention of letting the flirting continue. as the leader of her team, she made sure that they were playing aggressively, and they managed to tie up the score again, making it 1-1.

you watched as vi celebrated her team's goal with her team's cheerleaders, and you frowned, not at all happy to see her happy.

first 45 minutes ended, making all players spread out. some drank water, some stretched or practiced, but most of them just rested. ellie walked into your direction before suddenly stopping and turning around. just then, vi appeared in front of you.

"we need to talk." she demanded and you knew you have no choice.

you followed her as she led you away from the field. the two of you walked silently for a bit, until she finally turned to you.

"i've noticed you flirting with ellie." she said, her expression dead serious.

you couldn't help but stare at vi, trying to process what she was saying.

"what makes you think that?" you asked.

"don't play dumb. i've seen the way you look at her." she scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"what's the big deal anyway?" you inquired, trying to keep the conversation calm. you shrugged and added; "we broke up months ago."

"you're flirting with her right in front of me!" vi crossed her arms, glaring at you. "do your feelings towards me mean nothing to you anymore?" she asked.

you hestitated for a moment, not sure wether it's a good idea to bring this sensitive topic to the conversation. but you couldn't stand it anymore. "my feelings for you disappeared as soon as you cheated on me."

vi's eyes widened. she seemed genuinely surprised by your response - maybe she hadn't expected you to be so candid with her. "i never did. it would be different if you'd just- listen to me back there instead of believing what people say!"

you raised an eyebrow at the girl. "believe what people say?" you scoffed. "people don't just make something like that up."

you couldn't believe that she was actually trying to deny her betrayal.

"i don't want to hear it." you said, glaring at her. "i'm moving on, and you should too."

vi looked hurt. she clearly wasn't expecting such a bold response from you, and wasn't sure what to say.

"i should go." you said, turning to walk away.

"hey, wait a minute." vi exclaimed.

you defensively put your hands in the air. "no, that's it. the break ends soon, you should get ready." you nodded towards the field. "now, excuse me, i have to go cheer on ellie, so i don't miss her second goal." you said with a smirk.

vi rolled her eyes, so you could tell that you had hit a nerve. it wasn't necessary, but she deserved it. unless she wasn't lying...

you rolled your eyes back in retaliation, enjoying the little victory you had over her. you didn't even realize how intrigued you were by the match- no, by ellie, until this talk.

you didn't want to waste time chatting with vi, so you started walking towards the field. you saw ellie talking to her team on the field.

the second half of the match started, and the wave of cheers from the crowd got louder.

the last twenty minutes.

you watched as ellie started running towards the opposing team's goal, dribbling and dodging opponents with exceptional skill.

as ellie approached the goal, she noticed you in the crowd. she winked at you, and you couldn't help but grin back. as if she knew that she was going to score another goal, ellie took the shot, and it went in.

2-1 in favor of your team.

your ears were deafened by clapping, some people even stood up and jumped around. the game went on but ellie let herself rest for a moment, her players carrying the situation. even now, on her sweaty and tired face, you could see the same smirk she always has. she was proud, simply proud.

vi didn't like that, though. she saw the smile on ellie's face, and she knew that ellie was doing this for you. she kept yelling at her players, telling them to try harder.

soon, one of vi's teammates managed to push through your team's defense and scored a goal, making it 2-2.

vi smiled, looking right at you as she celebrated, encouraging her team to hold their position.

as the match neared its end, both teams tried their absolute best to score a third goal, but to no avail. time was running out quickly, and it seemed that the match would end in a tie.

you glanced over at ellie, watching as she ran back and forth on the field, sweating profusely and looking exhausted. she had given her all for the match and almost scored another goal, but it just wasn't enough.

the ref blew his whistle, as the match had officially ended.

PLEASE LET ME KNOW ARE YOU GUYS TEAM ELLIE OR TEAM VI??? i need yalls opinion🧎🏼‍♀️

TAGS: @wandasromanova @bellaramslover @aouiaa @glennns-blog @elliewilliamsfuckbuddy @iheartsadiesink @ximtiredx @coff1nn @jowdann @simpforellie @iveofficiallylostmymarbles @skylerwhitwyo @pinkigirl @islalips @ratdungeon @okayyesbutno and some more i cant tag for unknown reasons:(

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x you #ellie x reader #ellie x y/n #ellie tlou #reqs open #ellie the last of us #hollaback girl #sporty!ellie williams #sporty!ellie williams x reader #sporty!ellie #sporty!ellie x reader #soccer!ellie x cheerleader!reader #soccer!ellie williams #soccer!ellie x reader #soccer!ellie #soccer!ellie williams x reader #soccer!ellie williams x cheerleader!reader #Spotify

[coraniaid]

In Season 1's Witch Buffy insists on defending Amy's apparent use of magic, even when she thinks she's been cursed by a life-threatening spell that Amy cast on her. "It's not Amy's fault," Buffy tells her friends, "She only became a witch to survive her mother".

This is an interesting moment for a couple of reasons. It's one of the last few times on the show that anybody will stand up for Amy Madison, a character who, despite going through multiple horrific experiences through the course of the show, is treated with considerably less sympathy or respect than .... well, take your pick, honestly: I'm not sure I can think of a recurring character the show consistently has less empathy for. But also, of course, Buffy is factually wrong: it wasn't Amy who cast a spell on her at all, but rather her mother Catherine who, we later learn, used magic to steal her daughter's body "a few months ago" and imprisoned her in own home in an attempt to relive her own high school glory days.

But it's also, I think, a possible bit of unintentional foreshadowing. Later on in the show, Amy will go on to become a witch. Not just any witch but, by the standards the show will later adopt, a surprisingly powerful one: already by her second appearance Amy seems to be able to cast spells that the Willow Rosenberg of Season 3 and 4 would have struggled with (the turning people into a rat and back one in particular), and Willow is clearly meant to be some sort of prodigy.

The show never bothers to ask how or why this happened. Amy presumably had access to her mother's old spell books (in the same way Willow was initially teaching herself from Jenny Calendar's notes), but until some point in Season 3, when she starts doing magic with Willow and Michael, Amy doesn't seem to have had any one else helping her. (Although one slightly depressing possibility raised -- I think unintentionally -- by Season 6 is that Amy was already going to see Rack as early as the high school seasons: how else would she know how to find him in Wrecked only days after being turned back into a human and after having been trapped in the form of a rat since Season 3's Gingerbread?).

But, again, why is Amy doing this? We know a lot about why Willow wants to become a witch. We can guess why Tara -- whose own relationship with her mother is almost the exact opposite of Amy's -- became a witch. What about Amy herself? What is her motive? There are much easier ways to cheat on tests, surely. Are we supposed to assume that being an evil witch is hereditary or something? (Certainly the show hadn't quite yet decided what it wanted witchcraft to be a metaphor for, for all that Amy's second appearance literally begins with her asking Willow if she's planning to attend the school's Valentine Dance.)

Well, consider how Witch ends. Buffy and Catherine are fighting, Catherine casts a spell to ensure that Amy "never makes trouble again", the spell backfires and Catherine vanishes. The audience know what happen to her, but none of the characters ever find out ("There's been no sign of her?" Buffy asks Amy after she's got her own body back.) Maybe Amy wasn't quite as confident about not having to worry about her mother anymore as she claims to be. Maybe she was worried that her new idyllic life with her father wouldn't last for long (and... well, it doesn't). Maybe she was afraid about what would happen to her if her mother ever came back looking for revenge and Amy still wasn't strong enough to defend herself.

So maybe Buffy was right after all. Maybe Amy did become a witch to survive her mother.

#btvs #apropos my last post I don't think this reading is in any way intended by the writers who obviously gave Amy almost no thought at all

[shalotttower]

Fractalize (part 2)

Title: Fractalize Fandom: Hunter x Hunter Summary: "You do this sometimes," he continues, tugging a bit harder. "When I ask a question and it takes you longer to respond. When we watch a movie, and I'm sure you stopped following at least twenty minutes ago." Word count: 2100+ Characters: Chrollo x Reader (female) Notes: yandere Chrollo, kidnapped, depressed and miserable Reader, Reader is dissociating, morbid pondering, morbid imagery, psychological manipulation, intrusive thoughts, non-con touching, non-con kiss. I start thinking that sad is probably my favourite genre to write at this point. Part 1 Part 3 is in question. I have some drafts, but not sure if it'll become anything.

Fractalize - making things into smaller copies of themselves over and over again.

Your mother always smelled of fresh linen and something powdery, like her face cream which you tried once in secret. The fragrance held you mesmerized, and when the jar accidentally dropped from your hand, shattering into pieces, it lingered everywhere: on the bathroom tiles, in the cracks and narrow space under the sink. Her silent disappointment was so overpowering that you cleaned the mess three times.

That scent clung to her knitting needles too when she sat with yarn on her lap. It made way into your mind place, waiting for the most inappropriate of moments to resurface: she would show you how to knit, loop after loop, and eventually you were able to create your own tiny scarf.

Hideous, that's what it was.

But also the first thing you ever knitted, so you cherished it, not caring for the holes and loose threads. She called it pretty, mothers do lie like that.

"I was thinking," Chrollo begins. Clean plates are stacked next to a dish rack, ready to be dried. You help him sometimes with this mundane chore out of boredom or a faint allusion to the life you had.

"Mm."

When you stand so close, his shoulder occasionally touches yours, and a lump forms in your throat, a very unimportant physical aspect of your being that you've stopped paying attention to long ago. You swallow it away, like every single morning before putting on the same shirt for the eighth day in a row.

Dry and repeat.

"Is there anything specific you'd like to do today?"

You pick up another plate. How odd. A few months ago this question would've made you ecstatic. Not that there was a real chance to sway Chrollo's plans, but it was a gesture, the pretence that your input mattered, and you took everything from it, until it started tasting stale. A shy kind of feeling, misplaced and fragile, would bloom in your chest, and prompt you say something soft, silly and naive: 'maybe we can have a picnic?', 'I'd like a carrot cake', 'yes, I want to watch that period drama for the hundredth time.'

And he would agree sometimes. Or suggest his alternative instead, which turned out more often than not to be less favorable, but you accepted it because what else was there? In-between the walls decorated with expensive paintings, books you already read three times, between Chrollo who listened intently to every word and a faint buzz of some high-end place, you chose to take whatever you could.

It doesn't bother you anymore, going or not going. Doing nothing or doing something. Being with him in a room or being alone, even though the last one is more compelling. The initial excitement that came with having small choices has passed. You think sometimes that if you took a knitting needle and sunk it deep into your chest, the surface around it would start crumbling and bare a hollow cavity with just ribs and dusty spaces.

Chrollo's suggestions are very thought out. Aimed to convince you that this arrangement isn't that bad after all, but also aimed to bring him something from it, be it sitting uncomfortably close to you on a sofa or holding your hand the entire walk. His presence is stifling in more ways than one, and you've been choking, choking, choking on it for so long, that finally all those cracks running across your insides started to feel liberating.

"No," you say. "Not really. Anything you want is fine."

Chrollo's been asking this more often lately. What you want to eat and what you want to do. Even whether you want to go out sometimes (with him, of course, never alone). Perhaps he's trying to figure any new preference you might have. Or a part of him can sense this deterioration that's slow to set in, but once it does - it stays.

"Dear," there's a tone in his voice. It's not worry per se. Chrollo doesn't worry for you, he worries for that little world of his, made of forced interactions, silk bed sheets and fake domesticity, which you're a part of, an intricate cog he can keep closely tucked to his side. Sheltered, protected, cared for - these words don't fit. So you use other instead, like imprisoned, kept, thing. He likes to have them, from trinkets he steals to human beings - you. Maybe it comes from years of owning nothing at all, having nothing at all, and now the allure of having much and more is like second skin.

You've heard stories about children abandoned to their own devices. Those who were left to roam the streets, scavenge through trash and fight other kids for a half-eaten sandwich or a can of beans. You wonder if he was like that, with messy hair, bony limbs and a desperate need to own something that no one could take.

Bit by bit you slip.

That tone means he's sensing it already, that bit by bit you're trying to leave him behind.

Chrollo always catches up with things easily. From the way he grips your arms, you wonder if that's what he did just now, caught up.

"Yes?"

The dishes are all done, clean and sparkling. The sink shines too, almost mocking you with its perfectness - there's nothing to do anymore. Your mind space of fake wooden floors and wide windows is waiting to be occupied, but it would feel wrong to retreat there so soon. Chrollo will ask questions, and if you're not able to keep up, he'll notice too. He slides both palms down your skin, squeezing a tad harder at the elbows; and so you stare into the sink.

His hands aren't soft at all. They're a little dry from soap, callused around fingertips. How effortless it would be for him to break your bones, one by one, starting from the wrist, but that won't happen; no, all that comes from him is words whispered in your ear, caresses and cruelty wrapped in kindness - it sounds poetic when phrased this way.

Your reflection stares back from the stainless metal. She doesn't look bad. Chrollo takes good care of her, makes sure she eats balanced meals and drinks enough water. She looks alright, with shiny hair and healthy nails.

The eyes is what doesn't match this picture of okay-ness. Not empty. Not vacant. Just frozen in time and very, very still.

Chrollo presses closer until his chest is touching her shoulder blades. You wonder if he considers it a victory, this silent compliance. It's not acceptance really, because that should be accompanied by a sense of peace or fulfillment and none of the two are currently present. It's not even resignation - that requires energy to acknowledge defeat.

If neither of those, what is it then?

"You've been awfully quiet today."

A drop of water falls from the tap and slides down the drain.

"The whole week in fact," his thumb strokes her stomach through the fabric. Slow circles, up and down. Chrollo enjoys physical closeness so much that it should be surprising for someone like him - reserved, calm and collected - to thrive on such things, but you suppose when it comes to her there's an exception.

"Not that I mind it, but if something's bothering you, you know that I'm always ready to listen."

There is something bothering you actually. Many things. You want your cat back. You want him gone, away, to see your mother again and bake with her. Eat fresh pastries while listening to old songs on the radio and talk about silly things or whatever she liked to ponder over before you were swept off your feet like in those old fairy tales. You want your phone and accounts unlocked so you could message friends. You miss your grandmother with her apron, the way she laughed at corny jokes and told stories about her youth. You want many things that Chrollo would never agree on - you're well aware of that, that's why you keep them safely tucked away and rotting.

You also want him to stop pressing against your back, and this is far easier to achieve. Slowly you untuck yourself from between his body and the counter, then turn around. He watches your face calmly like always, with this unblinking gaze full of strange fixation; there are small lines in the corners of his eyes, barely noticeable ones. You count them - six in total, three for each eye.

Then you blink.

"I don't think there is anything."

"Really," Chrollo hums, playing with the hem of your shirt, and you wonder if he knows something you're not aware of him knowing. "You've spoken less than ten sentences in two days, yet there's nothing bothering you. I must say I don't believe that."

So this is how it's going to start. This is how the conversation begins, and it'll flow from here until Chrollo finds what he's searching for.

"I've been paying close attention."

You don't doubt it.

"And what did you notice?"

"Nothing pleasant," his finger finds a loose thread and wraps it around. The pull is light, as if testing whether it'll prompt you to move closer into his space. "Quite concerning things actually."

You don't budge an inch.

"You do this sometimes," he continues. "When I ask a question and it takes you longer to respond. When we watch a movie, and I'm sure you stopped following at least twenty minutes ago. Or when you go over the same page until it's clear that I'm looking."

Chrollo's collarbone is a crisp line with a faint old scar; your attention skims over it to the sharp edges of his jaw. No smile today.

"And I wondered where you have been going."

He tugs a bit harder and the thread snaps.

It should've stunned you how fast everything crumbled - the imaginary wooden floors, Miss Whiskerton on your lap and the lizard, the wide windows - but no, it's surprisingly anti-climactic. Nothing breaks dramatically, just splits the middle, leaving you with cold kitchen tiles underneath your bare feet. You thought about this scenario - Chrollo cornering you, many times, and the words you would choose when he did, yet they fail to manifest and nothing fills the silence except a mute sensation of acknowledgement which settles over your head and shoulders. Your knees don't buckle. Your breath doesn't hitch, there is no shivering, and perhaps that's the most terrifying reaction of all.

So what, you think. And it's such a simple thought, plain and ordinary, so what.

Chrollo has his ways, but you have yours; they are slow and small, and squeeze you very tight. You can't comprehend this new expression on his face, haven't seen it before.

"My dear," he says in a quiet voice, so unlike his usual smooth, charming tone. "Broken thoughts and forlorn dreams can't fix what you want them to."

He taps your forehead, as if to engrave those words into the soft tissue of your brain. They slip away though, like running water.

"Wherever you choose to wander, there's not a single spot where I'm not right behind. Delusions don't suit you and it's simply sad to watch."

The kiss comes without warning; Chrollo doesn't bother to say anything else, just cups your face. It's warm and deep, a full-mouthed kiss that tastes faintly of tea you two drank during breakfast.

It's rot, you realize with a ten minute delay; and this slack mouth he's caressing isn't yours. There's a plant behind his shoulder, some small cactus with white needles sitting on a windowsill. The sunlight creates patterns on the glass, soft yellow circles and lines. They shift every passing second.

He's going to do this now, isn't he. Kiss you when you slip too deep as a way to break the pattern and remind that this is where you're supposed to be - with him. In the kitchen wearing a thin shirt above the knee, with cracks that spread across your insides, seeking for every small space they can fill. You'll grow older by his side, he'll bring you material pleasures to compensate for the lack of mental ones - books, clothes, jewelry, a pet if you decide to ask (you won't). Chrollo is going to kiss you often until age creeps onto your faces, and you'll watch each other turn old together.

The plant on the windowsill looks so dry.

"Dear."

He pulls back a few inches. You meet his eyes.

"Mm?"

You will let the rot dig under your nails and wait for it to eat away until his hands eventually become empty; rot is something to grab onto. It's slow to set, but spreads fast once does and never runs out of supply.

#hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter fanfic #yandere #yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo lucilfer #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo lucifer x reader #shalott fanfiction

[chaoticbardlady99]

Never Have I Ever… (Astarion x F! Reader) MDNI 18+

Synopsis: You accidentally befriended the Heroes of Baldur’s Gate at Elfsong a little less than a year after the Elderbrain attacked.

Six months later, on your birthday, you are playing a game of “Never Have I Ever” at Elfsong Tavern and a topic of conversation takes a very interesting turn… that leads directly into the bedroom with your roommate, Astarion.

CW: PIV, Oral, Smut, loss of virginity, other sex words I can’t think of, brief mentions of past trauma

Pic does not belong to me

Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated 💜 thank you for reading!!!

The warm laughter that fills the air is infectious as you take another welcome sip of the red wine Astarion insisted you try. You are so horribly in love with the man that he could probably convince you to enjoy poison if he really tried.

As a new introduction to the friend group, you didn’t expect to find a roommate a short 3 months after getting your job at Shadowheart’s Clinic. You had just moved to Baldur’s Gate- you apparently have horrible timing- but you were happy to help with healing the injured, checking in on the sick, and even helping people grieve their loved ones appropriately.

You weren’t originally living with anyone. In fact, you had been staying at Elfsong for an extended period of time. Around month 3, you had been playing a late set (Being a cleric and Bard for Oghma is a big job) and you hadn’t noticed the man following you back to your room. Thankfully, Astarion had promised to go see your set and had noticed the intruder after you had said good night.

It was safe to say you were shaken and Astarion immediately told you that you A. Did not have a choice and would be taking his second bedroom and B. Need to be significantly more aware. You agreed to both.

He tries desperately hard to return your rent money to you- insisting that he is more than well off enough. You just stare at him silently until he feels so uncomfortable he takes it. You refuse to live in his very nice townhome for free- especially since you know his backstory.

Astarion has his first place, all to himself, and he has allowed you to intrude upon that space because you very nearly died or worse one night. He swear it isn’t an intrusion, but you always worry- it’s one of the few things you are very good at.

Paying rent also prevents you from becoming unrealistic in your expectations of your relationship with him.

It is just a friendship, roomie situation- nothing more, nothing less. You crave more, obviously, he’s everything you’ve ever wanted out of a partner- even the grumbly, more closed off pieces. You’ve stayed up with him through his nightmares and you’ve fallen asleep in each other’s arms more than a few times, but that was just comfort for him.

Right?

“Never have I ever…,” Wyll trails off, obviously very drunk as he leans on his fiancée, Karlach, for support, “had sex!”

The rest of the group groans about how unfair that is, but you aren’t necessarily sure what to do.

You’re a virgin and it’s something you’ve kept pretty close to the chest up until this point. You might as well keep the party rolling.

You barely drink- just enough to pretend- and no one seems the wiser.

Oh, but you are just a silly little drunk fool because of course Astarion notices. You are practically all he seems to notice anymore- or at least that’s what it feels like.

Everything about you pulls him in and he craves you.

Gods does he crave you.

He has to bite back the possessive growl that threatens to tear through his throat as he watches the alcohol not even touch your lips- the sleight of hand may have tricked their companions, but not him.

He adores you and at first it mortified him- now it just consumes him. Astarion loves spending every second he can with you- whether that be reading, cuddling, talking, etc. Maybe another activity could be added to the addendum…

His fangs nip his bottom lip as he tries to snap himself back into reality and not be stuck in the idea of what you would sound like underneath him. It’s especially hard to ignore the fact that he would be the only one who knows what pleasure looks like on your face and in your voice- how your body responds to being teased and worshipped.

“Star! You’re bleeding!”

Shit. I must have bit my lip too hard.

You take your clean napkin and begin to dab away the blood on his lip. The moment your other hand touches his cheek to keep him steady- he feels like he’s melting.

“All better,” you say with a beaming smile.

“Thank you, Darling. I have no idea what I would do without you.”

“I don’t know what he’d do without you,” Tav drunkenly chimes in, Gale facepalms at his wife’s antics, “gosh darn’t- stop spilling your own blood! Worst vampy ever!”

The collective HUSH around the table makes Astarion laugh and Tav looks at him sheepishly.

“Sorry.”

“Oh it is more than fine, my very drunk friend,” Astarion teases, “if anything, I think you need more wine.”

Gale groans, “please don’t encourage her.”

Astarion’s spirit became more and more restless the longer the night out continued. This wasn’t his ideal plan for the night, but he had chickened out at the last minute.

He had initially wanted to take you out on a date- today is your birthday and you didn’t want the whole group to know since you don’t love the attention, but Astarion has taken advantage of the opportunity.

He had already given you the flowers he had “just happened” to find earlier that day and you had been over the moon.

Astarion had also ‘purchased’ a gold bracelet for you- the delicate metal was simple with a single malachite heart charm on it. He learned very, very quickly that you believe in all that ‘crystal nonsense’ as Lae’zel puts it. Astarion’s heart glows a little bit when he catches it reflecting candle light off your wrist. You loved the bracelet equally as much and kissed him on the cheek.

While he isn’t necessarily sure he believes in that crystal nonsense, Astarion does believe in you so the Rhodochrosite bracelet you had bought him shortly after you moved in is almost always on his wrist. You explained that it was meant to heal trauma- he later learned that it more specifically helped with sexual trauma. You never elaborated on it or pestered, but the gesture in itself made him feel accepted and safe.

The first night he opened up to you had also been the first time it hit him that he genuinely has feelings for you. Those feelings have grown naturally and Astarion rarely feels the need to put a mask up when he’s around you anymore. Astarion is as ‘messy’ as he wants because you’d already seen through him and you have continued to hold space for him- grounding him in your atmosphere.

You want him too- of course. Whether you have realized that or not yet- Astarion isn’t sure.

You occasionally let him feed from you (if you don’t have to pull an all-nighter for a Tavern gig) and he can taste your desire in your blood. The shyness and lack of advances on your end make more sense now- you are entirely inexperienced.

It’s absolutely delicious and now Astarion is really kicking himself for not asking if you could both skip meeting with your mutual companions to go out together.

Astarion wanted to ask to take you to dinner. He wasn’t quite sure why that was his first thought considering he can’t eat, but he figured he could drink wine while the two of you talked. His next plan of action was to offer his hand to you as you walked home together, maybe read together for a bit, and then he was hoping that you could be, well, intimate with each other. He genuinely wants to be with you that way and he hopes the feeling is mutual, but that you don’t only see him as a sex object.

Astarion breathes a sigh of relief when the group finally decides to leave the tavern. It may not be the night he envisioned, but it’s quickly amended by the walk home. His idle fingers take up the space between yours and you don’t fight the invasion- instead you smile coyly and a Rosie blush paints your cheeks. He wonders what it would feel like to have your hands entangled in his hair as he-

“Astarion?”

His train of thought is interrupted by his name leaving your lips- your brows furrowed in concern.

“Are you okay? I’ve been asking you if you want to continue to read that book together when we get home, but you seem kind of out of it.”

“Oh!” he manages to choke out, “I- of course, Darling- I would love to continue our book. I apologize, I didn’t realize how lost in thought I had become.”

You open the door of the apartment, a look of concern still adorning your face. You are so adorable and wonderful- he wants to kiss the worry off of your face.

You are discarding your shoes at the door while Astarion goes to locate the bottle of wine he had purchased earlier that day. Reading is fun and all, but Astarion has another idea.

Why not use a childish game to move your relationship forward? It’s not like Astarion has ever claimed to be above that and he could easily pass the idea off as wanting to continue having fun.

“That’s not a book,” you tease, eyeballing the bottle of wine suspiciously, “are you attempting to put me in a stupor and on my birthday nonetheless?”

“Darling,” he says with a gasp, his hand splayed across his chest, “how dare you accuse me of such a thing? I’m positively hurt.”

You merely roll your eyes at him, but happily accept the glass he pours you. As you go to sip- he puts his hand over the top of the glass.

“I was thinking we could continue that debaucherous little game we were all playing earlier,” Astarion says with feigned innocence, “what was it called again? Ever have I? Never have I?”

“Never have I ever?”

Astarion tries not to smile too widely at the way your eyes slightly widen at his words and his enthusiastic nod. He wonders if you realize you’ve been caught.

“Yes! Thank you, Darling- that would have driven me to the brink of insanity,” he says with a chuckle, “in the spirit of good fun, you may go first.”

You give him an unamused look before giving in.

“Never have I ever….. been a VAMPIRE!”

“You wretched little-!”

Astarion scowls, pretending to be irritated as he sips his wine. He narrows his eyes at you and feels his chest bloom with feelings of affection as the mischievous glint in your eye grows brighter.

“Never have I ever… lit a bookshelf on fire.”

Your cheeks burn brightly as you leer at him over the top of your glass. The questions continue to be absurd and personal- questions that the others wouldn’t even begin to think about asking.

Never have I ever read this trashy novel, never have I ever been personally victimized by my roommate buying a ‘stay out’ sign, so on and so forth until Astarion finally feels comfortable enough to use the one ‘never have I ever’ that he’s been sitting on since you both arrived at home.

“Never have I ever lied about having sex.”

The look on your face is priceless. Astarion can’t help but let the thrilled little giggle leave his lips as you stammer over your words.

“Uh- I- hmmmmmmmmm,” you gulp the remaining morsels of wine, “how did you… was it that obvious?”

It’s moments like these where he forgets tact and says the first stupid thing that comes to his brain.

“No, I just made a point of watching.”

Shit.

Your lips purse as a look of satisfaction crosses your face. You wiggle your eyebrows at him before pouring yourself a bit more wine.

“Oh is that so?” you tease, “and why ever would you feel the need to do that?”

Cheeky pup.

“Hmmmm,” he hums, sliding closer to you on the couch, “you could say it may align with an interest of mine?”

The words you are about to say die on your tongue when his fingers begin to trail up under your dress- his eyes find yours in an attempt to ask a silent question.

Your eyes are blown wide with lust, need, and adoration. Your body naturally relaxes under his touch and he can already smell the scent of your budding arousal.

“Wh- what kind of interest?” You whisper, looking at him earnestly.

“Well,” Astarion moves until he’s hovering over you on the couch, he begins leaving a trail of sweet kisses along your jaw, “a tactful, brilliant individual such as myself needed to know for research as you are a subject I have yet to study.”

“And if you were?” you stammer, “given the opportunity, I mean?”

Astarion’s route along your jaw stops abruptly as he looks at you- the nervousness in your voice causing him to doubt his assessment of the situation. He’s surprised to see a hopefulness in your gaze- maybe you do just want sex? Maybe that’s all you want from this at all?

Astarion tries to suppress the disappointment that threatens to pull angry words out of his mouth. If this is what he is to you then he supposes he can live with that.

“Naturally we’d be having sex already, my Dear.”

You are searching his face and your lips are pursed in a thin line.

“I haven’t been… intimate with anyone because I want it to be with someone I really care about,” you say softly, “and I really care about you, Astarion. That’s why I want to make sure that this is what you want- that you care about me in this way too.”

Astarion isn’t really sure what to do with that information. He’s sure the blank stare on his face isn’t helping the situation or your nervousness.

A choked sob gets stuck in his throat- you care for him and you are willing to have sex with him because you care for him. It’s not just because you think he’s ‘pretty’ or fell for all his honeyed words.

“This is what I want, Darling,” he returns your words with equal softness, “I want to be with you in every intimate way imaginable.”

A shock overwhelms his body when you sit up and hesitantly press your lips to his, but he rebounds even faster the moment you start to pull away.

Your lips are soft and warm against his. They are even more wonderful than he could ever imagine. Astarion grinds himself into you- noting how perfectly you fit together with him between your legs. The shakey moan and clash of teeth causes him to smile.

Instead of taking control of the situation, he allows you to guide him. Your inexperienced mouth is clumsy with it’s affections as you learn how to intertwine yourself with him.

The touch and act is affectionate and unhurried, curious and innocent. Astarion feels like a giddy virgin himself as he begins to explore the skin hiding underneath your flimsy dress.

Your arousal is already coating the inside of your thighs, your underwear soaked through, and Astarion nearly loses his composure entirely. He wants to let you take this at your pace, but Gods above that is not going to be an easy feat.

His curious hands find purchase on your hips and at the hem of your underwear- his thumbs dipping underneath the fabric to tease you ever so slightly.

It feels like electricity courses through both of you with each moment of skin contact. You’ve laid next to each other, you’ve fallen asleep in each other’s arms, and overall, you’ve developed a friendship with each other.

You feel made for him and he feels made for you.

You have never felt more confident in a decision in your entire life. Your body sparks to life under his touch and you try to push aside the embarrassment you feel with every whimper and moan that leaves your lips.

You want- no need- more. You want to know him and you want him to know you.

You boldly allow your hands to meet his and you begin to discard your already soaked underclothes- Astarion growls against your neck at the action. His hands grab yours- pinning them above your head and you whine in protest.

“Someone’s eager,” he teases, “are you tired of feeling empty, Little Love? Would you like me to ruin you for anyone else?”

You clench around nothing and shake your head ‘yes desperately in response. Astarion clicks his tongue and smiles devilishly.

“That’s not an answer, Darling.”

“Please.”

He lifts an eyebrow expectantly and you huff in frustration- looking away from him. One of his hands guides your eyes back to his and his thumb gently glides along your lower lip, coaxing a needy whimper from you.

You feel so embarrassed- trying to express what you need, but maybe he finds it enduring? Or at least you hope he does.

“Will you please make love to me, Astarion?”

Astarion’s face looks like the definition of happiness as he smiles down upon you- for a creature of the night, he sure is capable of beaming like the sun.

The offending article of clothing is removed and tossed somewhere across the living room as Astarion settles his face in between your legs.

“Well since you asked so nicely,” he says teasingly while nipping at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.

He takes his sweet time kissing and cleaning up the nectar that coats your legs, your growing need making you more and more impatient as you writhe under his touch. Astarion makes a point of avoiding your wanting heat- tears pricking your eyes as you become more and more overstimulated.

“You are so, so beautiful,” he breathes against your skin, “so beautiful and good.”

“Astarion, please.”

The desperation in your voice pulls a hum of pleasure from Astarion as he presses one more kiss on the inside of your thigh. You open your mouth to beg again- to ask for literally any contact- when you feel his cold tongue lick all the way up your folds, circling your sensitive clit, before latching his lips to the bundle of nerves.

You keen- loudly- at the sudden attention on your clit and Astarion has seemed to quickly find that perfect spot- teasing it with his tongue as your back arches and your hips press into his face.

Astarion’s fingers push your hips down, locking you in place against the couch, and you feel another shudder of arousal go through you when you think about the bruises that are bound to be on your hips in the morning.

Astarion’s expert tongue circles and teases at your clit- occasionally taking a detour to taste you, lapping up every part of your essence.

He feels like he’s starving as he devours you with his tongue- if he could have it his way, he would never stop.

You are so wet for him that the couch underneath you is soaked and your dress surely isn’t much better off. Your moans and whimpers cause his cock to strain painfully against the front of his pants.

He decides to kiss back up your body, ripping open the lacy fabric of your dress. The Gods must be real because it’s a damn miracle that you aren’t wearing a bra.

Thankfully you don’t seem to be too worried about the state of your dress.

Astarion greedily sucks one of your nipples between his teeth while the other is rolled between his thumb and index finger.

He wants to consume you and you want to be consumed.

Your fingers find purchase in his hair and you have his mouth on yours within seconds. His other hand returns to your now neglected breast. You cry out against his mouth with each pinch of his fingers and your pleasure has begun to soak through the front of his own pants. He’s certain he’s created his own mess anyway.

Admittedly, he’s been thinking about playing with your breasts all week. You loudly complained about how sore they felt since your moon blood was coming next week. Astarion has been thinking about every delicious way to massage the soreness away since.

His hips grind into your exposed cunt- snaking one of his hands inbetween the two of you, he begrudgingly replaces the pressure of his clothed cock by sliding a finger inside of you.

He adores how your back arches underneath him and the way his name falls off your lips like a prayer. Your heels are digging into his back and your head is thrown back as you keen with each movement of his finger. Astarion curls his fingers upward and focuses on the perfect spot- your toes curl with the sensation and your moans become higher in pitch.

The second one meets some resistance and he’s almost positive a third finger is going to be needed before you are ready, but you clench around his hips, grabbing his attention.

“Astarion- I need you inside me please,” you beg him.

Whatever resolve he had to make sure you were 100 percent ready has broken with that simple sentence. He’s pulling you up off the couch and into his arms- practically racing to throw you on the bed in his room.

To be entirely honest- Astarion can’t even remember if he was actually wearing any clothes considering how quickly he pulls them off.

Astarion has you laid across his bed- ready and wanting for him. You are positively exquisite.

Your shy eyes and body try to hide from him- your arms coming to cover your breasts and your eyes looking away from him. You are suddenly very aware of the lack of clothing and Astarion- well- he looks like an angel.

You drink in his silhouette while avoiding his eyes and you feel yourself clench around nothing at the sight of his cock- hard and dripping with precum because of you. You. The silly, awkward virgin that has never been in a relationship before.

Eager hands are entangling themselves with yours and Astarion’s suddenly on top of you again with your arms pinned away from your face.

“Look at me.”

The command sends a wave of desire through you- Astarion’s voice is thick with arousal and you forget to breathe when you finally look at him.

Astarion has been all sharp edges and mischief since you’ve met him, but right now?

His eyes are soft and inviting- akin to warm crimson bed sheets rather than blood weeping from a cut. Astarion’s lips are slightly parted as he tries to commit your face to memory. His usually perfect hair is mussed up from all the attention you’ve given it.

“I am certain the Gods have sent you to destroy me,” he murmurs in awe before pressing a kiss to your forehead, “tell me if I need to be more gentle, my Love.”

Astarion lines himself up with your entrance and you wrap your legs around his waist. He gently pushes himself inside of you, giving a little bit more every time until his hips are flush against yours. The further he goes, the more his train of thought disappears.

You feel wonderful and the whimpers that leave your mouth with every inch more he gives you makes him moan loudly into the crook of your neck. He kisses up and along your jaw, praising you for taking him so well.

You have never felt more full in your entire life- it feels… right. Like your body has been made to fit with Astarion’s. The light rocking movement of his hips works to ease the initial discomfort of adjusting to his size, but you already feel like you need more. You want to be lost in this moment with him- you want to know and feel everything.

It’s as if he reads your mind as he pace begins to pick up, his thrusts begin to get longer and more drawn out. The tears that were initially pricking your eyes have disappeared entirely in favor of desperate, borderline embarrassing, wanting moans.

“You feel so incredible, Darling,” Astarion whines as thrusts into you, “you are being so good for me.”

His eyes meet yours and he slows his motions ever so slightly- your body protests at the loss of friction, but Astarion’s lips gently coaxing gasps from yours distracts your body from the lack of motion.

The world surrounding you feels absolutely nonexistent as Astarion kisses you deeply. One of his hands finds purchase in your hair and deepens the kiss even more. You feel as if you could float away from the onslaught of affection as you return his affections with equal fervor.

Astarion pulls himself almost entirely out of you before snapping his hips- rutting himself back into you. Your lips leave his, favoring a shape fit for a breathy cry of pleasure.

He finds your eyes again in the haze of his own euphoria. This is a dream to him- a wonderful, beautiful dream.

“I adore you,” you whisper against his lips.

Astarion smiles giddily.

“And I, you.”

Astarion loses his composure as he picks up his pace again- you clench around him, your already tight heat engulfing him even more with each movement of his hips. Your orgasm runs through you- your legs are shaking around him as your grip around his hips begins to give.

Astarion supports the lower half of your body, groping your ass as he chases his own little death.

“I need you to cum inside me, Astarion,” you say wistfully, “cum for me please.”

That’s all it takes to drive him over the edge entirely- no longer able to hold on anymore as his seed pours inside of you. Astarion buries his face in the crook of your neck as he let’s the feeling of pleasure wash over him.

You smell of sex and your favorite soap, which has coincidentally become his favorite soap, and he sighs happily when you start lazily tracing circles along his shoulders. You’ve done this for him before, in a more clothed setting, but it’s a thousand times better when he’s able to feel all of you against him.

Astarion can’t remember the last time he had sex with someone and felt like he was comfortable in their arms. Honestly, he’s more than comfortable with you and yes, that does terrify him.

He just had the best sexual experience of his life and yet he is still terrified because he doesn’t want you to leave or decide this is all he’s good for.

“Starry?”

He hums in response.

“Are you okay?” you ask in a whisper, “you got really tense just now.”

Astarion is quick to look at you when you ask that question. Your eyes are curious and your brow is furrowed. He really can’t hide anything from you. Astarion rolls over onto his back- not wanting you to see how scared and already heartbroken he is. He honestly isn’t sure what he would do if he stopped meaning anything to you- anything of value anyway.

“I… I don’t want…,” he struggles to get the words out, “I- this has been probably the single best sexual escapade that I have ever had, my Love. My only hope is that… you don’t only see me for, well, sex after tonight.”

He’s surprised when you crawl over to him, straddle him, and then put his face between your hands. The serious look in your eyes worries him- did he upset you? Offend you? Are you going to-

“I want you to throw that thought away right now and if you can’t- then I will assure you everyday before it goes away,” you say firmly, “I’ve fallen for you- all of you- over these several months. I think you are the smartest, most interesting, and funniest man I have ever met. I look forward to coming home to you and I hate leaving in the mornings.

“I… you are all I have ever wanted out of a partner or even just a person, Astarion. I choose you- I choose you everyday- in whatever way you’ll have me.”

All Astarion does is cry in response. He doesn’t mean to and of course he wishes he would stop.

I’ve known you for 200 years. Haven’t I suffered enough?

I choose you- I choose you everyday.

You hold him while he cries and Astarion lets himself soak up the feeling of safety- truly believing it this time. You want him for him and you will never know how much that means, but Astarion always will.

When he’s done crying, he kisses you gently sitting you both up against the headboard with you still on his lap. Astarion runs circles into your thighs as you lay your head on his chest and his head rests against yours. You remain there together for a while before you finally break the silence.

“Do you want to talk about it Star?”

Astarion thinks for a moment.

“I- no,” he says hesitantly, “not right now- I just want to enjoy this moment with you, my Dear.”

You hum in response and then look around the room. Your eyes spot something that causes you to sport the cheekiest grin Astarion has ever seen.

“You didn’t finish your wine.”

He looks over and then back to you with an eyebrow raised.

“I suppose I did not. Why-“

“Never have I ever had sex with someone on their birthday.”

A pregnant pause envelopes the space between you- Astarion blinks at you a few times in astonishment and then reaches for the wine glass- a loving smile on his face.

He’s grateful- you never push him and you don’t force him to continue talking about difficult subjects once he’s calmed down. Perhaps he’s even more grateful that he may be able to spend a lifetime with you, if he plays his cards right. Gods, he hopes he plays his cards right. Astarion is not much of a planner after all.

“You’re lucky I adore you.”

“I know.”

#baldurs gate 3 #astarion #astarion x reader #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x tav #bg3 spoilers #astarion romance #astarion x you #karlach #bg3 #astarion acunin #bg3 astarion #astarion baldurs gate #astarion bg3 #astarion x f! reader #astarion x gn! tav #astarion x f!tav #astarion x f!reader #astarion x gn!tav #astarion fanfiction #Astarion x gn!reader

[k2ntoss]

im quite literally in class rn but the jason brain rot is going so strong, so all i can think of is trying to convince Jay to stay home from patrol for just one(1) night because he's working too hard

like you barely see him anymore cuz he's either out running around as Red Hood or passed the fuck out in bed throughout the day, and just having enough of it and just like, getting down and giving him the absolute best head of his life to convince him to stay in (and he does, but only because he's literally physically unable to afterwards, like legs shaky and eyes glazed over, maybe just a little bit subby too?) ughhh god i need him so baddd 😭

- your friendly neighbourhood 🦊

after too many days i'm back, i've been too low on inspiration and i hate that but i read again this today while i was at work and i GIGGLED TOO HARD, 🦊 noonie i'm gonna find you (and kiss your brain) soooo as an apology for being off a few days, here we have a slightly long smutty thing with my sweet pretty boy jay <3

it's been probably over a month since jason only came back home to pass out on the bed, he barely woke up to eat something and do one or another stuff, even bruce was a bit worried about his health but he didn't pushed on it further.

once again night falls and jay is getting all geared up on your room, tactical pants, boots and that black compression shirt that always made your mouth water on when you came in, a small pout on your lips at the sight of your too tired boyfriend "jay... you look like you could use a night off" your voice is soft and so tempting for jason, because the idea of cuddling next to you and rest seemed to be what he needed more than anything.

"princess, you know i can't do that" jason sighs, there's a glimpse of want on his eyes and it's everything your brain needs to come up with a method to convince him and you are 90% sure it will work so it takes you less than a second to walk to him, letting yourself fall to the floor right between his legs.

the sight from that point is even more encouraging because jason looks so much intimidating like that, even when he frowns totally confused at your actions "but you work way too much, jay" and he knows what you're up too so his look changes from questioning to warning and oh, if it doesn't turn you on more because you know that you have the power to turn him into a puddle "you can stay home tonight, i can call dick to tell him you're sick and that you need to rest" your head lays on his thigh as one of your hand traces softly his stomach, fingers trailing over his abs while your eyes look into his.

"sweetheart, i can't do that–" jason starts, he sounds like he's having the hardest time of his life trying to tell you 'no' and it is as your fingers start to undo the buttons of his pants and his belt, caressing him over his boxers and feeling him reacting to your touch. there's a soft growl that escapes his lips, making you sit properly on your knees and looking up at your boyfriend for him to give into your (and his) needs just for him to move so you can pull his pants down enough to see his cock grow harder under your subtle strokes.

"you need to rest, at least one night" there's that pout on your lips again and that innocent tone that he doesn't buy because how could he when you start to slide your hand under his boxers and smile when his hard shaft is completely at your mercy, hand going up and down before you lean in to press a playful kiss on his tip, it sends a jolt through his spine and he can't help the low moan that slips past his lips when your tongue traces his length before taking the head between your lips.

it's always easy for jason to get lost on how good you make him feel, even when it comes to the times he needs to do something important so here he is, one of his hands on the back of your head while you suck slowly on him not taking in too much, your hand traces the veins on the bottom of his cock before stroking it "god damn, baby... you look so good on your knees for me" his voice is hoarse and he tries to pull you down on him just to be met with a playful look from you.

"c'mon, let me do this by myself" you speak, your lips shiny as you smile at jason, his dick pressed against your cheek and he nods "that's a good boy" and the way he swallows hard makes you chuckle before your mouth wraps around his shaft. jason keeps his hands next to his legs, the way you called him a good boy made him feel like he could cum just with your touch but it would have been pretty pathetic so he holds back. his eyes are fixed on the way your head bobs, the lewd noises your mouth makes everytime his head touches your throat and he has to resist the urge to fuck your face.

there's a pop that comes out of your lips when you let go of his cock, hand still fisted around him while you pull down the front of your sleeveless top, tits spilling out for him to look. the moan that escapes his lips is unholy when you put his dick between your breasts, tongue playing with his slit while you stroke him like that and he feels in heaven "you look so good like that, baby..." your words are sweet, he loves the way it feels because he could melt right there and it's what he needs to forget about anything else. he whimpers at the second you smirk, pulling away to grab hold of him and spitting on his shaft before taking it into your mouth again, this time sucking and licking on it with more urge.

you can feel him throb on your tongue, making you pull away again "such a pretty boy, aren't you? need to cum, baby? go ahead, good boys deserve to be rewarded" you coo him right before your mouth is wrapping him again and he can't help it this time, thrusting into your throat in a needy move before you can feel him shooting his load in a whiny moan, he looks so pretty like that and it makes you want to keep making him squirm.

it takes you nothing to stand up and go sit on his lap, his body trembles under your touch and the load you've been holding on your mouth falls over your tits when you open your mouth and stick your tongue out before you pull his head towards your breasts "feel better now, baby?" you ask with a small smirk when jason hums in response, his mouth too busy on one of your nipples as he sucks while looking at you from under his eyelashes, pretty green eyes glazed as he whines softly "wanna stay home for tonight?"

"yes, mommy..." he can barely speak without sounding too slurred from how tired he felt from all the extra work and the head you just gave him.

"fine, i'll call dick to tell him you're sick"

#⭒ 📬 ⭒ #🦊 anon #subby jason todd MY BELOVED #oh but jason calling you mommy mmmmm #jason todd smut #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd blurb #jason todd imagine #red hood imagine #red hood x reader #red hood x fem!reader #red hood x you #red hood x y/n #red hood smut #jason todd #red hood #dc comics #reader insert

[cursedkeyboard]

Babies shouldn't grow up ☆ Jason Todd & GN!Reader (PT.3)

What does Jason do after feeding and giving a home to the brat he stole from the slums of Gotham? Raise the kid lovingly like he wished he'd been raised, of course. [PART ONE ♤ PART TWO ♤ PART THREE ♤ PART FOUR ♤ PART FIVE ♤ PART SIX]

Pairings: Platonic Jason Todd & Child GN!Reader

In the beginning, living together wasn't very smooth

Despite your shared pasts, the immediate fondness from Jason, your eagerness for affection and love, you two were still very much strangers

You were hesitant and skittish, often sticking to the guest room Jason said it was yours, since for your entire life you mostly lived by yourself

Jason didn't actually know how to deal with a vulnerable and traumatized child, he wasn't Dick, he didn't have an innate charm that allowed you to be drawn to him easily

But that didn't stop him from trying

Every day, Jason made sure to get you out of your room to eat

Breakfast, lunch, and dinner

Eating was non-negotiable, even if you were used to only a bite or two a day, he wanted you to eat what you could

You felt sick for the first few days, your body unused to so much water and nutrients, causing it to think something was wrong

Jason almost went insane with worry, rubbing your back, carrying you around, and even refusing to go out when you told him you were fine

From your vomiting, you were anything but

Despite his fear and anxiety, Jason sat down to google all your symptoms and treatments when you finally fell asleep after throwing up again

Pushing the multiple deadly diseases and cancers aside, he learned that your body was just a little overwhelmed and all you two had to do was increase your meals little by little instead of shoving food down your throat

Though he still insisted on you drinking at least five cups of water every day

Then, maybe a week or two later once you two were a little more comfortable around each other

You not feeling like a bother anymore and Jason not eating himself with anxiety

The two of you started spend more time together

Jason cut some of his vigilante work, told Bruce to fuck off when he was questioned, and made sure to take you out to buy a year's worth of clothing using the old man's credit card

You started clinging a bit to him, asking him to teach you how to read and write, seeking validation when you managed to understand a whole page without needing help, asking about his life and past

And Jason always made sure to be honest with you, about the good and the bad because he wanted you to trust him

From experience, he knew that keeping things from you would only cause problems down the line

He'd tell you about his days in the slums while preparing a meal, you at his hip helping him put things in the pot

He'd talk about being a Robin with both fondness and bitterness while he helped with your hair, having done so much research to make sure he treated your type of hair correctly

He'd confess about what happened with the Joker, keeping it slightly less gory than it was

About his mother and Batman

About his death, hell, the pit, the after

He'd tell you everything as the days went on

And you'd sit by his side, cuddling with him, hugging him close when his voice trembled

Jason's hold would often tighten around you when he talked about something that made him sick to his stomach

Especially when it was a story about almost losing someone

Like he thought you'd disappear even in his arms

Like that, the trust between the two of you only grew as weeks turned into months and soon enough those months turned into a year

Jason had returned to his normal patrol hours once you were finally caught up with your studies and managed to put you in middle school

You were so damn excited and Jason knew exactly why

For a kid who was deprived of seemingly boring things since forever, school is a place filled with knowledge and wonder

The very first thing you did when you got home was show him a drawing of your hero the art teacher asked your class to make

Jason cried when he saw a poorly sketched version of Red Hood

He put it up in the fridge after printing it twice

You two definitely started matching, by the way

Jackets, shirts, shorts, hats, even phone cases

Jason never thought he'd be so lame as to buy stuff like that but once the two of you wore the exact same ugly christmas sweater, it was over for him

It was a little embarrassing, especially for you

But when you two went out with the same jackets and an elderly couple complimented the father and kiddo duo, you couldn't help but love it too

It was jarring for Jason, for sure

He didn't really consider himself your father, maybe your guardian or your older brother, but... it wasn't too bad

No, in fact, he kind of liked it

You are his kid

God, the restaurant dates

He'd take you to every food place in Gotham

From the ones that made you two throw up for the entire weekend

To the ones that made Bruce call him after spending eight hundred dollars on golden lobsters

It would be no surprise if you ended up liking burgers the most though

Like kid, like father

If you had any problem in school, Jason wouldn't try to hide away

He got himself a fake identity for the sole purpose of making himself your guardian through more than illegal terms

Doesn't even matter if he was in the middle of a meeting with other rogues, heroes or even his family

Jason would drop everything for you

Especially when you punched the fuck out of little Timmy for saying something bigoted

The dean and the teacher would probably try to make him scold you, telling the two of to you that this violent behavior is unacceptable and should not be rewarded

And Jason would look at them, at little Timmy's infuriated mother, and tell them that if Timmy didn't want to get his shit rocked, he should've kept his mouth shut

Of course, he also threatened them saying he'd let all of Gotham know that they protected and encouraged bigoted behavior from ten year olds

Needless to say, little Timmy didn't bother you after that day

And you also got ice cream after getting a two day suspension

"Did he make a noise?"

"Squealed like a fucking pig."

"That's my fucking kid."

Jason wouldn't let you act spoiled

Sure, he'd spoil you rotten, give you everything he wanted as a kid and what you want

But he knows the important of humility

That doesn't mean he'll let anyone ever try to bully you, though

To be continued...

#jason todd #red hood #red hood x you #jason todd x gn!reader #platonic jason todd x reader #jason todd x gender neutral reader #platonic red hood x reader #red hood x gender neutral reader #platonic #jason todd x y/n

[darkbluekies]

Do we actually know what happens in the basement? Or did I miss it somewhere?It sounds terrfying but I can’t seem to find or remeber what happens in it

I haven't exactly written what goes on in the basement, but from a few oneshots etc, you can piece together that there are probably a lot of isolation, starvation, mental manipulation and physical things. I want/plan to make a one-shot where yn is in the basement after doing something they shouldn't:)

Examples/times the basement is mentioned to get a better understanding of just how bad it can be (with links in case you want to read the stories<3):

Best for you:

You messed up badly. You should not have tried to escape. Look where you ended up — in the darkest corner of his basement with your ankles chained to the stone floor. Reduced to nothing more than a dog.

You're not sure how long you've been down here, but you've been given the opportunity to use the degrading potty four times by now by rough, evil men. Or was it more?

You press yourself closer to the wall, wishing nothing else than to melt into it and disappear. 

"No, no, no, shh, it's okay", he says quickly. "I'm not going to hurt you anymore. Everything is over. I'm here to help."

You doubt that.

His hand comes up to massage your roots. All of these actions are so soft and after being chained up in this cold, hard and unforgiving basement, you can't do anything else but slowly relax.

The witty and uncanny part 1

Resting now might be crucial in case Silas decides to find you again. Otherwise you might be too vulnerable for Silas's harsh manipulation. You won’t survive the basement if you’re not rested up.

Intruder part 2

The chains around your wrists, ankles and throat kep you in place. Like a filthy dog. You start to feel less and less human and more like an animal for every day that passes by. You remind yourself of your name, your background and your family to avoid going insane. But maybe that's what he wants? He wants you dumb and dusted for him so you won't try to escape. Maybe he wants you to be a blank canvas that only he can paint in whatever color and shapes he wants. Maybe he wants to mold your brain into his perfect servant. Someone that does everything he wants at the blink of an eye.

Can't hide from me

Every motion is quiet and terrified. You’re horrified you’ll turn around and see him stand right behind you with his death glare, ready to throw you back into the basement. You’d rather die than end up there again. You don’t think you can take another day, week or month in the basement. To be fair, you never know how long you’re down there. One time you entered when the snow was falling outside and came out when the first flowers bloomed.

“Listen, baby, you have two choices. Either, you come with me like a good little pet and don’t cause trouble. That way, your punishment will be much lighter. Or, you can continue to act like a brat and I’ll knock you unconscious and throw you into the basement until you grow mold. What do you say? Are you going to behave?”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere drabbles #yandere oc x you #yandere mafia #yandere oc x reader

[ashraintarot]

Pick a Photo Tarot Reading - What does October hold for me?

Photo 1

The main themes that will be highlighted in October for you are passion, desire, sensuality and will-power. The first thing coming up has to do with how you view and connect to cycles in life. There are things trying to die away, to let you move past them and embrace a new, better future, but it feels like you’re grasping onto these things for dear life. This could be a romantic interest, a friend, a not so good habit, a job, anything that isn’t serving you anymore. It feels very ‘lost in the sauce’. If there’s not a toxic attachment there’s just a sense of holding onto life as it is too tightly. You’re so lost in whats going on and the emotions you’re feeling that you can’t see the way out. But it’s there. You might be often seeking answers in readings like this which I realize is ironic to tell you mid reading, but you’re meant to look within to find the answers you’re seeking. Spirit is really telling you you’re guaranteed to success eventually, but you have to trust yourself and take a damn risk! If you’re sick of where you are, make a change. I know it’s easier said than done, but you have to take a step, even if it’s a small one. For many this is a reassessing your dedication to your craft. I see you getting back to the drawing board this month, putting in the hours of practice you need to improve. It’s important to remember our taste is always better than our talent in the present moment. That’s because you’re always evolving, learning and improving, so keep that in mind when you might be hating what you’ve created. It’s just proof you’re getting better, but it doesn’t mean what you made isn’t good too! Give it love, be thankful for it for what it’s taught you. There might be some times this month you need to stick up for yourself or your fellow man. If it’s safe, be sure to stand up for what’s right. Use your voice, be a champion for those less fortunate than you are.

Photo 2

Things might feel like they aren’t working out fast enough. You’ve planted a lot of seed and intentions recently and during October you might start to feel a little impatient. This is your reminder that things are falling into place behind the scenes. Let yourself breathe and relax for now. Focus on being present and enjoying yourself this month. I feel like you might be at risk of taking on more than you can handle, so really be honest with yourself when it comes to saying yes to things you don’t have the capacity or maybe even simply don’t want to do. It’s okay to say no! You’re also being reminded that you don’t have to go through this time alone. It’s okay to ask for help, to share the load. You’re not weak for not being able to handle something, humans need community, we were made for it. In that vein, there’s an emphasis on community this month as well. Whether it’s hanging out with a group, with family, or even just one person, surround yourself with those who make you feel loved, heard and understood. I see some fun times just in the living room watching movies with a friend. Don’t lock yourself away. I think some of you are going through quite a big spiritual upgrade and it’s easy to go into that hermit mode. If you need to recharge, by all means do so, but make sure you come back up for air and connect with loved ones. Your guides are also sccrreeeaming at me to tell y’all to meditate.

Photo 3

October is all about self love and compassion for the self, especially regarding how you view yourself and the things you do/create. If you’re someone that’s always talking down to yourself as a reflex, this is for you. It’s important for you to remember that you still have so much learning and growing to do left. I get the vibe of ya’ll being worried about being “cringe” or awkward and saying the wrong thing. October is all about stepping into who you are and your power. There’s a feeling of scattered-ness and frantic energy here. It would behoove you to work on getting organized, trying out new ways to keep yourself accountable for self care routines and just routines in general that help you to feel better about yourself, physically and mentally. It feels like you’ve been trying to manifest and do spiritual work and there’s a sense of something being stuck. I really think it has to do with this self image. I really recommend taking time everyday to work with affirmations to solidify a better perspective of yourself. Play around and see what works for you, maybe writing them in a journal, or listening to a meditation on self love, maybe if you write your own you can record yourself reading them and listen first thing in the morning and last thing before bed. Put time for self love and reprogramming that image into your routine we were talking about before. You’re someone who has big dreams, some of which you haven’t even fully realized yet, but this is a reminder you’re building a solid foundation. You’re still becoming who you’re meant to be to make these dreams work out. Let yourself be a student of life. Let yourself make mistakes without beating yourself up for it.

#tarot #tarot community #witch #tarot messages #divination #witchcraft #metaphysical #pick a card reading #pick a photo #pick a pile #tarot reading #tarot reader #daily tarot #o=

[euphoricfilter]

Jungkook and "I can't stop thinking about you." with the tiniest bit of angst with a fluffy ending. Thank you!!

rose tinted glasses:

pairing: idol! jungkook x f. reader

genre: fluff || angst || friends to lovers

summary: jungkook’s a patient man, and he’ll wait as long as you need to find him again.

word count: 1.1k

tags/ warnings: arguably mild angst, bad friends, maybe best bf kook, intended lowercase

notes: drabble game is closed <3 just a quick drabble that i will not overthink the quality of. it's an easy read one may argue.

drabble masterlist || my main masterlist

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

if you’d been the one looking at jungkook through rose tinted glass this whole time, then you wonder how the world views him.

personified perfection, the epitome of what a star should be. because in the world’s eyes, he lacked flaws.

there’s some sort of hidden rule the universe sets, that any input from family should mean something; it should mean everything. blood relations should always be held above everything else in life. they’re your family, of course they want what’s best for you.

it leaves you to wonder when the opinions of close friends had been held to the same standard. how you’d let yourself be swept up in their views of jungkook.

an acclaimed awful relationship, toxic, you should escape while you still can. crawl out of jungkook’s claws and save yourself before it’s too late.

you wonder when advice had become clear jealousy, lies they’d feed you over and over again until you’d been second guessing yourself. second guessing jungkook, when he’d truly tried his best to make your relationship work with so many outside factors interfering.

cameras acting as beady little eyes, scrutinizing him for things only human. digging into private affairs and overstepping inhumane boundaries.

jungkook was far from perfect, you knew that, they knew that— just not in the way they’d told you.

there had been nothing inherently wrong with what you had with jungkook. sure, you came from two completely different worlds, your job a lot less flashy, and arguably less successful than your (ex)boyfriend, but jungkook didn’t care.

because you liked him for him and that was really all he could ask you for. not when you sacrificed so much just to be with him.

nda forms, no public dates, weeks where he’d be abroad, too busy to call but too lonely not to leave you a heartfelt text about how much he missed you.

jungkook wasn’t selfish. you knew that. you’d always known that.

he hadn’t caged you. hadn’t locked the doors and fed the key to a beast where you couldn’t leave. fame hadn’t turned him into a monster— still very much human with human emotions and desires.

it’s a shame you’d let the pressure of those who were supposed to care about you ruin something so special.

the universe has funny ways of telling us things. just like how, if you and jungkook weren’t meant to be together, why was he all you saw. because your life would never be void of jungkook no matter how hard you tried to avoid him.

he was at a strange point in his career, every corner you turned, there he was. billboards, advertisements, his songs playing on the radio as you shop, coffee accompanied by the sweet melody of his voice. riding a steady wave of success with no clear end in sight.

you hadn’t called him for weeks, and he’d stopped leaving you messages on voicemail. perhaps he stopped caring. you wouldn’t blame him, could never blame him— probably swept up with a mountain of work, probably exhausted.

it takes you a month to realize that your misery was because of him. you’d been the one to end things, pressure of everyone finally getting to you. really you’d do anything to make the calls stop, the mean jabs over dinner or passive aggressive texts from friends.

lie after lie rotting your mind until you couldn’t take it anymore and you ran away from your problems.

maybe it was the silence of the evening. the way your friends had distanced themselves once you’d told them you’d stopped talking to jungkook; he was out of your life like they’d suggested. bitter betrayal squeezing your heart when you realize that isn’t what they wanted, because you were no use to them anymore if you had nothing to do with jungkook.

you’d been friends before lovers, their assumption being you’d just go back to being friends.

maybe it was the sticky solitude that had you roaming the streets gone midnight. in search of comfort, the only person you knew still had your back— who will always have your back no matter how big of a bitch you are.

you tug the sleeves of your hoodie further over your hands, tips of your fingers numb as you dial his apartment number.

you know he’s awake, hope slowly fizzling out the longer the door rings.

he doesn’t say anything, simply opening the door to the building. elevator taking an eternity to get to the lobby, even longer in taking you to the right floor.

jungkook’s stood at his door when you step out into the hallway, hair a little frizzy in the way it gets after he’s showered.

“hey” he says, and you stay rooted in your spot.

“i can’t stop thinking about you” you blurt, his figure nothing more than a blur as tears glaze your eyes.

“i can’t stop thinking about you either, my love”

“i’m so sorry” you shake your head as jungkook steps out of his apartment.

“don’t apologize, it must have been hard for you” he hums, tucking your hair behind your ear as you wipe your cheeks with the backs of your hands.

“don’t do this” you hiccup.

“don’t do what?” he smiles, hands falling onto your hips, gentle as he tugs you closer to his body.

“you’re too nice, you can’t be like this after what happened”

“nothing happened” jungkook shakes his head, taking a step backwards, pulling you along with him until you’re both in the warm of his apartment.

“i said some really mean things”

“that you didn’t mean”

your shoulders deflate, muscles warming under his hands like taffy.

“i know what was happening with your friends, your parents weren’t much help either. i’m not blaming you for something that was out of both our control”

“i shouldn’t have listened to them” you kick your shoes off.

“no, you shouldn’t have. but it’s not something we can change now”

bam peeks over the back of the couch, clumsy as he scuttles over to the two of you, “and what about us?”

“what about us?” jungkook kneels down, always one to spoil his dog with kisses, “why can’t we just go back to the way we were?”

you blink down at jungkook, “i’d really like that”

“i love you” he grins, “if you ever run away again, i’ll always wait for you at home. i’ll always be waiting”

“i won’t run again” you tell him, you’d made that mistake once, “i love you too much to do that again”

“i just put fresh sheets on the bed, if you wanna stay over?”

it’s strange, how even after a month apart, words that you never meant shouted in a fit of rage, and the distance of a city apart— jungkook will always feel like home.

the world viewed jungkook as perfect. and he wasn’t. not in the way everyone else saw him.

and even if jungkook were to be the beast, a villain of your love story, nothing could ever stop you from wandering back home into his arms. even if it meant the world was against you.

#bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts jungkook #jungkook fanfic #bts angst #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagine #jungkook fluff #bts fic #jungkook #bts x reader #drabble game

[pokechbi]

Healing Simon (Chapter 2)

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Psychiatrist!femreader

MDNI !!

WC: 2.1k

enjoy lovies <3 I missed you all! pray to the writing gods that I get out of this funk lol

You stared at the email on your laptop, the cursor blinking on the empty reply line. You chew your nail as you think of a reply. You had given your email to Simon to contact you whenever he needed to talk outside of your office, but never expected him to actually use it considering how he was practically forced by Price to attend your sessions. Although something in you knew it wasn’t so forced anymore. It had been a week since your last session, the night before you’d see him again. 

Having a hard time tonight. Can you talk? 

-LSR 

You typed your reply, hitting send without a second thought.

Absolutely, Simon. You have my number :) 

-

Less than a minute later, your phone rang. You let it ring twice before picking it up. 

“Hello?” You say, a slight shake in your voice. You definitely weren’t used to clients calling you personally. Especially this late. 

“Up at this time?” He says smugly. You hear the smirk in his voice. You smile, scratching the skin behind your ear. 

“Couldn’t sleep. What about you?” You reply. 

“Same here. Don’t you have to be up early?” 

You lick your lips, biting back a smile at his concern. His voice gruff, yet gentle and warm in your ears. 

“I’ll be alright, Simon. What’s been on your mind?” 

He takes a pause before speaking. The line is quiet, a stark contrast to your TV running in the background. You grab the remote, muting it. 

“Just need to talk, love. That’s all.” His change of tone has you concerned, realizing you need to distract him. But nothing has you captivated more than his painfully British nickname for you. Love. It flows off his tongue so easily, so sweetly. Feels like sugar running through your veins, sweetening you. 

“I’ve been gardening lately. Probably not the right time, considering how it's almost winter.” You chuckle. You replied on a whim, knowing he probably could not have cared less about your failed gardening experiments. You hear him chuckle on the other end, the sound shocking you as you haven’t heard his genuine laugh in the months he’d been seeing you. 

“What are you growing? Or trying to, at least.” His sarcastic remark makes you smile wider, a small giggle leaving your lips. It was nice, being able to hear how he sounded outside of your office, talking about things that seem small and insignificant. Like a close friend. 

“Well, I’ve managed to sprout a few tomato plants, some green onions too. Those things grow like crazy.” You respond. 

The line goes quiet again. You fill the silence. 

“I’ve got some nice indoor plants too, they’re less complicated to care for, you know?” 

“What kind?” He asks. 

“The easy kind” You reply, the smile evident in your voice. He chuckles. You feel good, knowing you’re helping him. Even if it’s the smallest bit. 

“I can’t keep a plant alive to save my life. Just got no time for it.” He continues with a gentle sigh. You smirk to yourself, imagining Simon overwatering a plant, thinking he was helping it rather than killing it. 

“I can show you a thing or two, if you want?” You ask. You don’t know what came over you, or why you thought he’d want to learn how to care for a plant by his psychiatrist. “I’m no expert, though.” You continue, not wanting to break the moment. 

“I’d like that.” He seems to jump at the opportunity, not regarding the insinuation that he’d need to come to your apartment to do so. You lie down, turning on your side as you stare at the wall ahead of you. 

“Who knows, maybe you’ll become good at it.” You say gently, a hint of hopefulness in your voice, fully knowing Simon was not the type of man to be good at gardening. It couldn’t hurt to try, though. 

“I’m sure with a teacher like you love, I’d be good at anything.” He catches you off guard, your eyes widening and mouth hanging agape. You try to find the words, but he interrupts you. 

“Thank you for taking my call.” He says, his voice sounding distant. “I needed it.”

You take your lip between your teeth, biting back a smile. “Of course, Simon. I’m here for you. Always.” 

“Night, love.” He says, the smirk evident in his voice.

“Goodnight, Simon. See you tomorrow.” You hang up. Your mind races miles a minute, repeating his words in your head. 

With a teacher like you, love, I’d be good at anything. 

So you weren’t the only one feeling it. 

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

You sat at your desk, the clock creeping to 2:00PM. Your appointment with Simon was in less than 10 minutes, and you were still strongly feeling the effects of what he said to you last night. 

Am I overthinking this? Is he just being friendly? Is he naturally flirtatious? 

The questions ran through your head and swarmed through your subconscious. There was no possible way he was actually into you. There were plenty of factors at play. You had been the only one picking at his brain for the past six months, the only one who seemed to care enough to know what was going through his head. Was it that? Or was it the fact that you had been the only consistent thing in his life, and it was taking a toll on him? 

You got up, pacing behind your desk as you waited for him. Sure, you were attracted to him. You liked his presence, his strong, unwavering aura. He was a man who was sure of himself, and that was a guaranteed turn on for women who had only managed to attract the wrong types of attention from all the wrong kinds of men. 

And yet, there you were: spraying extra perfume in all the most intimate places. Behind your ears, your upper forearms, your ankles. Today, your dress being shorter than the pencil skirts you usually wore, the v-cut just a tad bit deeper. Your heels just a bit higher and your legs just a smidge more shaved than usual. 

A knock at the door brings you out of your head. You throw your hair behind your shoulders, walking over to the door. You pause for a moment, then swing it open. Simon stands there, in his usual attire. You notice his eyes shift under his balaclava, a glint of something different in him today. You take notice of this, stepping to the side as you let him in. You close the door behind you, directing him to the chair as if he hadn’t been sitting in it every week for months now. You walk to your desk, your strides slow and calculated. 

“I like your dress. What’s the occasion?” He asks suddenly. You turn to him, noticing how his eyes slightly struggle to stay above your chest. You smile to yourself at him noticing your change in attire. 

“No occasion, I just felt like looking nice today, that’s all.” He hums in response, nodding his head slightly. 

“You always look nice.” You chuckle softly. You walk towards the chair across from him, sitting slowly, keeping your eyes on his. You notice his gaze flit to your legs, and back up to your eyes. The boldness of his glances made your heart leap in your chest. 

“Well thank you, Simon. I’m glad you think so.” You fidget with your fingers, keeping eye contact with him. “Do you want to pick up where we left off last week?” You open your notepad and uncap your pen. “What’s on your mind today?” 

“Not letting me forget why I’m here, huh.” He chuckles softly, resting his right ankle on his left knee. Simon was often hard to read. And he knew that. He only expressed what he wanted people to see, and it frustrated you. You were putting some serious elbow grease into picking at his brain, yet he kept his walls impenetrable, letting you in slowly but surely. 

You capped your pen, setting your notepad aside. You looked at him and smiled gently, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You leaned back in your chair, folding your leg over the other. You had a feeling this day would come, when Simon needed a break from the professional shrink-talk. He needed a friend, one that didn’t constantly remind him of his duties as a soldier. Someone to get away with. One that wasn’t legally obligated to share his thoughts and innermost secrets with his superiors. 

You see a hint of amusement in his eyes as you continue to exchange looks to each other. The silence was growing, but not uncomfortable. He watched as you got up and walked over to the door where your jacket hung. He kept his eyes on you while you put it on, your dress rising slightly as you raised your arms. 

“You like coffee?” You ask, grabbing your purse and opening the door. He chuckles, rising from his seat and following you out. 

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ 

“They’re closed.” Simon says, bending down to read the cafe’s open hours. You peer inside, seeing nothing but chairs on the tables and the lights completely off. 

“Well, shit.” You say, laughing to yourself. He looks down at you, and you swear you see a hint of a smile in his eyes. “What now?” You say shyly, the embarrassment evident on your face. 

“Your offer for the gardening lesson. Does it still stand?” He says. You smile, hearing the smirk in his voice. Your breath catches in your throat, thoughts racing through your head. Surely it would be unprofessional. It was completely forbidden in the psychiatry world to allow a client into your home, much less a client who had unbearable tension with you. It scared you. The thought of being alone with him, in close quarters. What would happen? You’re sure Simon wasn’t stupid. He knew what was at play. The stolen glances, the slight flirting between you two over the months. It was obvious. 

“Of course. We can have coffee at mine instead.” You say, breaking the silence. He nods, following you back to your car. As you walk back down the street, the wind picks up and your hair flies everywhere. You give up on trying to keep it in place, letting it flow wild. The wind blows your dress uncomfortably high, and you feel a breeze hit you in places that shouldn’t be hit. You look back to Simon, noticing how he watches you struggle to keep it down. You smile at him, smiling nervously. How embarrassing. 

You reach your car, pulling your keys from your jacket pocket. Before you could pull the door open, you feel a strong hand wrap around your wrist. His touch on your skin feels comfortably warm, in contrast with the biting cold. You turn, meeting him eye to eye, your lips hanging agape. He takes a step towards you, your chests only inches apart. 

“Thank you. For getting out with me.” He says, the look in his eyes sincere. You stare up at him, looking between his eyes. Oh how badly you wanted to reach up and kiss him. The urge settles deep in your stomach. You place your hand on his bicep, squeezing gently. He looks at your hand and places it over yours. He takes it in his, interlacing your fingers. The warmth from his hand spreads throughout your body, settling in your core. It was strong and big, his grip unwavering and protecting. 

“Anytime, Simon.” You reply, the shake in your voice giving you away completely. He leans down, pressing his forehead to yours. You close your eyes, tightening your hold on his hand and wrapping your other arm around his neck instinctively. 

What the hell has gotten into me? This can’t happen. It feels wrong. He’s my patient, for Christ's sake. But fuck, does it feel so good. He’s so warm. So..big. 

You feel his hand rest on your hip, squeezing slightly. You relax into his touch, his body heat practically melting you. You open your eyes, and take a step back. 

He wastes no time in lifting his mask, and pressing his lips to yours. 

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