#the south will never rise again

[envy-of-the-apple]

Earth Kills Moon

Dark!Gojo Satoru x reader

Word count: 6.3k

Part two of Sun Eats Moon

Synopsis: A retelling of Sun Eats Moon in Suguru's perspective

(Warnings: forced relationships, bullying, non con touching, non con kissing)

Suguru liked you. 

It wasn't even a crush. A passing interest, maybe. You were pretty. You had a nice smile. Though, he'd never directly spoken to you, he could tell that you were kind. Not in the artificial cherry most people were. Natural, like honey, never spoiling. You share the same homeroom as Satoru, and he'd always tended to be observant, unlike his friend. One thing he liked about you was how observant you were. You were constantly looking out for your friends, mere acquaintances, and everyone in your vicinity. Often, Suguru wondered if being a people-pleaser was natural or from a fear of not fitting in. 

Suguru is observant. He notices the lingering gaze Satoru gives you when you walk away, hurrying to catch up with the rest of your friends. Satoru then turns back to the carton of chocolate milk you'd left him.

"Cute," Satoru says after a minute. It's more of an afterthought than anything. He pops the carton open. Suguru hears the fabric tear. He hums in agreement. The topic switches to something else, a hot celebrity maybe? Suguru can't remember. That day had been so insignificant to him. It hadn’t mattered to him for Suguru to remember anything further.

A few days later, Suguru noticed Satoru was spending a lot more time with you. 

It was hard not to notice, actually. His friend attached himself to you like he'd die if he couldn’t. Satoru went everywhere with you now. Suguru caught him walking you from school, offering you rides in his new car, following you to the lunch hall. And if he couldn’t go to where you were, he’d drag you back to him. Watching you and Satoru was a bit like watching two magnets. North pole and South pole. So different, yet constantly finding the other. 

“Tryna’ run away from me, now?” Satoru asks, a teasing lilt in his voice as he watches you fiddle with your bag.

You laugh, continuing to fish out your lunch box. “Just grabbing lunch.” 

“Eat with us,” Satoru insists, “we found a great spot up at the rooftop.” 

You meet Suguru’s gaze just then. He’d been silently lounging on a nearby desk, observing the two of you. He gives a smile. You return it. Polite. He wonders if your mother taught you to smile like that.

“I thought students weren’t allowed up there?” You ask Satoru. 

The boy rolls his eyes. “So, who cares? It’ll be fun.” 

You pause, right then. The tiniest of hesitation. Suguru wonders if you’re noticing just how different you and Satoru were. You, the people pleaser, meek, always more than willing to bend towards authority. Satoru was rougher, more resilient, uncaring of signs and rules. The gap between the two of you is astronomical. Could you feel it as well?

Whatever you’re thinking, it’s gone in a moment. You rise, giving Satoru another laugh. To Suguru, it sounds pretty. 

“Well, have fun for me. Besides, I can’t ditch my friends. They’re waiting for me.” 

With that, you give both him and Satoru a tiny wave, before disappearing out of the classroom. Suguru waves back. Satoru doesn’t. Instead, he keeps his eyes on your back until he can’t see you anymore. 

“Got ditched again, hm?” Suguru teases. Satoru only groans, tossing his head back as he leans dangerously on the chair.

“Always leavin’ me for ‘em, too,” he complains, “so fuckin’ annoyin’.”

Suguru can only smile, getting up to follow his friend out the door. He can barely count how many times he’d seen this before, each with a different person. It starts the same. Satoru will cling onto you for a couple more days, and then ask you out. When you say yes, he’d date you for a few weeks before eventually getting bored and dumping you. 

It’s a cruel cycle, something that’s just an inevitability with Gojo Satoru. The boy can’t stay in one place, he’s constantly moving around, never one to stop. For Satoru, Suguru was the most permanent thing in his life. Which made sense, they were pretty similar in terms of ideals. 

A cruel cycle, and Suguru feels a tiny bit of sympathy for you. You were sweet, unlike the type Satoru typically went for. Honey. Natural. Truthfully, Suguru was a little disappointed as well. The type of disappointment he’d feel when someone took the last crab stick before he could. A fleeting feeling, one that ultimately wouldn’t matter. 

◉

From the day they first met, Suguru knew one thing: Gojo Satoru has never been told no before. 

It made sense. He was the only child to one of the most powerful families in the country. Spoiled from day one, some could say. Satoru grew up knowing nothing but wealth and prosperity. They met when they were both still in elementary school, still with high-pitched voices and large eyes. Suguru’s family was fairly affluent as well. Now that Suguru thinks back, perhaps their meeting had been orchestrated by meddling parents in order to form more connected. It didn’t matter, either way. It had benefitted all three parties, after all.

Yes, Suguru knew from the moment Satoru pointed at him and declared him his ‘best friend’, that Satoru had never been told no before. 

Satoru was the Sun. The universe revolved around him, catered to him. Suguru supposed he wasn't much better considering he too spoiled his best friend in that sense. They were different. They'd been born different, coming from families who cherish them with wealth and power. Suguru supposes it was natural for them to be so intertwined. Like calls for like. 

Suguru isn’t aware of the exact details, but he knows you rejected Satoru. 

The boy doesn’t have to tell him. His friend is uncharacteristically quiet during that weekend. He has no interest in the arcade, or the next basketball tournament his team is going to compete in. Satoru just sits on top of Suguru’s bed, casually sucking on a carton of chocolate milk. Suguru glanced down at the abandoned PlayStation remote. He’d lost yet another game against his dark-haired friend with no complaints. Satoru didn’t even play

You’d really done a number on him, Suguru thinks to himself. Suguru would assume it’s heartbreak, but he knows his friend better than that. Something burns in his chest, but he’s pushing it away before he can figure out why. Nipping it in the bud. It was a cruel thought. A bad one. He should ignore it.

Well, it’s done. It doesn’t matter anyway. Satoru would eventually get over it. He’s not known to sulk. 

He’s not there to see what Satoru tells them, but he’s there to see the effects. 

It starts out small. Or perhaps just not noticeable enough. Gojo Satoru has always attracted attention, whether it was satisfactory or not. Lackeys, Satoru often calls them because they're too far beneath him to even be called equals.

Suguru notices their sudden interest in you before even you can. A harsh word here and there. Giggling at the word 'easy'. You peacefully trek on, not noticing the abuse until it turns physical. That starts at the end of Monday. 

By Tuesday, they're already shoving you down each chance they get. You get surprised when it happens the first time, then the second, then the third. You have soft skin, plushy, Suguru could tell. He wondered if it was getting marked now. He wonders if you go home, peeling of your uniform, staring at the bruises of hands on your skin because you’re so fragile.

(They never go too far, not enough to completely injure. Suguru knows this because one time, one of the idiots had pushed you too hard. You’d stumbled, nearly hitting the back of your head with a metal locker. Satoru had seen. Suguru doesn’t know what Satoru did, but that particular one was gone the next time and the rest got the memo to scare, not injure.)

Satoru never takes part in this, but he keeps an eye on you sometimes. Tuesday evening comes and they both silently watch you through a window. You move through an empty hall, before they arrive again, slapping your binders out of your hands, chortling with each other. They're too far away to hear, but Suguru could bet it would sound like nails scraping against a chalkboard. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Suguru watches his best friend. Satoru looks impassive, face blank as he stares down at your figure. Akin to a child watching ants burning through a magnifying glass, instilled with that innate desire to see them explode into ash. 

When the lackeys leave, you bend down on the floor, collecting your stuff. Your hair covers your eyes, so he can't see your expression, but he can see your shoulders tremble. Were you-

A corral of people run to you. They lean down, picking up the stuff you had missed. You look up, your eyes are shiny but you're laughing when they say something. You wipe at your eyes, standing up as they lead you out of the hallway. Suguru had seen them hanging out with you before. They all seemed like they supported each other, supported you. 

Suguru feels his frown deepen, conflicted. He doesn’t like it.

"It's not nice to pick on the weak, Satoru," he quietly says. 

Satoru's eyes trail your figure out the door. He gives a small hum.

By Wednesday, your friends disappear from your side. 

The abuse is getting worse, noticeable to the point where the rest of the student body is heavily avoiding you. Teachers won't raise a finger at what's happening. As much as they like to preach about their 'zero tolerance for bullying', Suguru knows they'll willingly turn a blind eye when matters involve Gojo Satoru. No teacher wants to deal with the wrath the Gojo family is more than willing to unlease for the sake of their heir.

Yet, you aren't getting it. You don't break, don't bend. He can feel the humiliation roll off of you in waves, yet you don't react. Which was strange because he knew your archetype. A people-pleaser, constantly bending over backward for other's sake. You want nothing more than to become part of the crowd again, completely invisible. You’re community-oriented. You thrive off of companionship. This ostracization must be killing you. Suguru doesn't get it until he spots your face, just once, narrowed eyes, anger. 

Pride. He'd forgotten other people had that too. Though, Suguru admires it, a part of him knows it shouldn’t last.

Suguru thinks he does it because he pities you. You're a little naive. Suguru has your thought process figured out. You think if you take the torment long enough, Satoru would eventually just forget about you all together. Once he's done with you, you'd focus on picking up the pieces that used to be your life. It's not a bad plan, if you weren't dealing with Gojo Satoru. 

The boy is a hurricane. Fast, unrelenting, unforgiving. Satoru won't stop. He won't stop until you're ruined and broken. Turned into a mere asteroid of what you once were. 

So, Suguru decides to give you a push in the right direction. 

The students have already created a wide circle for you by the time he steps in, bending down, picking up the stuff you had dropped. You're silent until he hands you his pieces. He doesn't bother responding to your timid thanks. 

"Give in," he tells you, watching the way your eyes widen as you look up at him.

You're weak. Physically, emotionally. He could easily pick you up with one hand, crush your body with his fist. Satoru could eviscerate your body from existence. You don't stand a chance with him. With either of them. 

His advice to you is good. Reasonable. And yet, he sees the face you make, the way you slowly get up. You won’t listen. That same burning feeling in his chest starts. It's gotten more painful. 

You don't listen to him until you lose nearly everything. Just as he warned you. Friday comes. You become Satoru's. And it's a little too late for everything. 

◉

Suguru doesn't think you ever learn that Satoru loves messing with you. 

Or, perhaps you do, but you can't help it. You're too honest, too open. He often wonders if that's how you were raised. To be honest, open, vulnerable. Your parents must have filled your thoughts with delusions, coddling you with words of cheap motivation. The world is your oyster. You just had to reach out and take it.

Maybe now you're finally realizing, sitting on Satoru's lap, that all men aren't created equal. 

Clearly, you weren't happy about it. Yet, you aren't complaining, sitting there pliantly legs firmly crossed, hands curled into tiny fists, staring rigidly on the floor. The first few times Satoru had done this in public, you were always biting your lip, tears threatening to fall. Now, Suguru thinks you just dissociate, coming back when Satoru laughs at something, jostling you in his arms. 

It's a bit like watching a helpless bird on the ground, twitching and spasming after it had just collided with a glass window. Pitiful, but there was nothing that could be done. It's the inevitability of it all that makes him pity you more than anything else, really.

Every so often, your eyes would catch his. It's a quick glance, as though you were wondering if he was watching. He can barely catch it, but Suguru is observant. Much like you. It's meaningless, and your gaze returns to the floor. Your fists tighten. 

Granting you mercy, Suguru stops looking at you during those times. 

He's not sure how Satoru sees you. Perhaps, you're akin to a dog for him. Though, that might not be very good for you. Satoru hadn't been very good with animals when he was younger. Satoru had always been rough with any pets he came into contact with, pushing and tugging. Suguru doubted that had changed. 

Satoru's is your official title. It isn't a relationship. It's an ownership. Unequal from the start. The one who holds the leash in the end, will always be Satoru. 

It took a while for you to fully learn that. 

Suguru didn't mean to catch the two of you. Looking back, it was probably because Satoru couldn't care less if someone was watching. Maybe Satoru was being obvious on purpose. It was a little while after school had officially ended. Suguru knew your usual routine would place you right at the library, scrolling through books. Satoru would most likely be there too, pestering you about this and that. It's the scene Suguru prepares himself to walk into.

Instead, you're wedged in between the white-haired boy and the wall, there's no space for you to do anything but sink. You're already crying (when was the last time you smiled?), trying to pull away but Satoru isn't letting you. He's gripping you by the chin, forcing eye contact. His sunglasses are off, tucked on his collar. 

Suguru's close enough to hear. You're begging. Apology after apology. It's barely a whisper, but they're spilling out of you like a prayer. He can't discern the context, but he knows enough. 

You made Satoru angry. 

He's still smiling, but it isn't sincere. Almost bordering on mania as he tightens his grip on you, forcing you further into the wall. Suguru doesn't think Satoru has ever hit you before, but now he's wondering if quick violence was preferable to this. 

"Don't be like that," Satoru chides as another squeak leaves your lips, "Where was that smile you were givin' him, hm? C'mon, pretty girl. You were wearin' it just a second ago." 

"It-it wasn't like that, I swear," you continue to plead, still not realizing that it's too late, "he was giving me his notes. Please-please Satoru-" 

"Wrong answer," he cuts you off, you flinch at his harshness but Suguru decides Satoru's being nice to you. He's been known to do worse, "we've been over this before, haven't we? Or did your stupid brain forget?" 

You're choking down another hiccup. It takes a minute for you to calm down enough to speak clearly. Ever impatient, Satoru's hand digs into your shoulder. 

"I'm sorry, Satoru," you say, "it won't happen again." 

He tilts his head, waiting. You wilt under his gaze. 

"I'm sorry...’Toru." 

Satoru gives a satisfied hum, pulling back and Suguru can practically see your lungs sag with relief. His mania is gone, replaced by something much more lighthearted and carefree. Suguru'd seen it before, but it was certainly something watching Satoru go from one high to the next. Even to Suguru, it's terrifying to witness. 

Suguru decides to make himself known right then. He comes out of the shadows, acting as though he'd just arrived. His friend lazily gives him a wave, curling an arm around your waist. You try to scrub away your tears with your forearms, unaware of how much Suguru had seen. Another mercy Suguru grants you. He doesn't acknowledge it. 

The three of you sit in the library for half an hour until you're done pretending that you're studying. When Satoru walks you home, Suguru follows. He notes that you barely hesitate to give Satoru a chaste kiss on the lips, and he wonders how often his friend has demanded one from you for you to be so casual about it. 

He thinks he gets it when he and Satoru are walking on the street without you. To Satoru, you aren't a dog. You aren't a pet, something that he keeps to see bark.

No, you are just Satoru's. 

◉

Towards the end of the year, Suguru realizes that Satoru loves you. 

He's nicer to you, now. Suguru doesn't think you've realized how softer Satoru's gotten, but the change is there. He spots less marks on you now. The biggest evidence he has is that stolen moment of you and Satoru. You'd accidentally fallen asleep during lunch break, dozing off on your desk. Satoru was right next to you, gently pushing your hair out of your face. Satoru loves you. 

You've changed too. Adapted, he should say. You cry less, now. Each time he sees you, you look more and more put together. As though, you're done mourning. The final stage of grief. Acceptance.

Despite how much nicer Satoru is to you, he's still just as clingy. Suguru notices that even now, none of your former friends speak to you. No one at school does. It's an unspoken rule to not mess with Satoru's things. 

Suguru can still remember the last guy who hadn't gotten the memo. A new student. Freshly transferred. Suguru had heard the conversation. The guy was hardly interested in you. It was nothing more than small talk. The pat on your shoulder had been thoughtless at least, friendly at most. 

Satoru beat him until the boy was bloody and had a broken nose. A week later, he'd transferred again. 

You're off limits. To everyone but Suguru. 

The Earth is the only planet capable of sustaining life within this cold solar system. It's close enough to the sun to feel the warmth, yet far enough so it doesn't burn. It's strong, too. A powerful magnetic forcefield, capable of shutting down the sun's cosmic radiation. Thus, the Earth spins happily around the Sun, surrounded by a sea of dead planets. 

So, sometimes when Satoru can't walk you home. Suguru does. 

It was just the beginning of spring. The school year was starting to end. The school itself was starting to slow down. Teachers were getting less and less strict, less work was given out. It didn't matter. Colleges had already been picked. They were all close to the end. 

You don't say much when the two of you are alone. Suguru understands. It's hard to say much of anything when you're crushed by the weight of Gojo Satoru. But Suguru could have sworn he'd seen a flicker of relief when he came to pick you up and not his friend. You're clearly happier when it's him. Suguru decides he likes how that feels. It's a quick feeling of superiority. Something that quickly disappears when your eyes flick down. 

He knows where your house is, but he lets you take the lead anyway. Suguru figures it's the least he can do, give you that sense of control when nothing you do ever really does anymore. 

You and him have forged a shaky companionship. He's not sure what he is to you entirely, but you seem reliant on him in some way. it’s his fault, he thinks. He wonders if it has to do with the contraception he'd given you. He can still remember the trembling hands as you took it from him, curling the packet into your grip. That day he went home and his fingers felt strangely itchy. 

Does the Earth ever wonder if it can turn the Sun?

When he asks you a question, you answer. At least you aren't mute, though Suguru doesn't think he'd blame you if you ignored him. Your voice is stilted, with enough words to answer the question, but still not enough to fully sate him. 

And then, you break. 

Just a bit. 

A tiny piece of you shatters, and you show yourself to him. 

He'd been talking about something insignificant, college, his plans. Just ramblings. Somehow, Satoru comes into the conversation and he's talking about the area of his friend's college campus, how Satoru mentioned that he's looking for apartments for the two of you to stay in. And then, you're uncharacteristically scoffing. 

"Right," you say, head faced down on the sidewalk as you kick a rock, "because I'm following him there." 

Suguru can't help but place the sarcasm in your voice. The bitterness. He's heard it before, but it's a fascinating thing hearing it come from you. And then Suguru realizes that you accidentally gave something away. 

You were leaving. 

Somehow, it never crossed Suguru's mind that you were still rebelling, even now. And yet, he can't shake off the heat in your voice, your words. 

You seem to realize this too, freezing. 

He lets you falter for a few more moments before giving you a reprieve. 

"Satoru's idealistic like that," he let out. 

Your shoulders lower, and for the sake of both you and him, he doesn't press any further. 

He doesn't let himself let it go, even when he drops you home, arriving to his own house. Always cold. The mansion's lights are always off. No one's ever home. And Satoru's out of town. 

It's better this way, Suguru thinks as he lies in bed, staring up at the ceiling. No distractions, he can think better, as he replays your words over and over again. You were leaving. You were leaving. You were leaving Satoru. 

The night passes. When Satoru comes back to town, he's joyful as always, an arm slung around your shoulders. Suguru watches the way he coos at you, saying how much he missed you. You take his affections the way you always do, with a strained smile and wavering eyes. 

You glance at Suguru. Suguru stares right back. 

For a moment, Suguru thinks he understands why people are so enthralled with solar eclipses. The moon is seen as an underdog in most instances. It must be thrilling when a weak satellite can cover the sun's rays. Even for just a little bit. 

Suguru doesn't tell Satoru. He pushes the burning in his chest, ignoring the itchiness in his fingers. Things are better this way, right? After all, the two of you come from completely different worlds. It's nonsensical to think otherwise. 

Two weeks before graduation, you disappear without a trace. 

And Satoru breaks. 

It's a slow dissent. It comes in stages. The boy is angry at first, searching for you at school, when he can't find you there he loses his facade and demands where you are from your parents. They can't give him a clear answer because you're an adult now and you barely told them a thing before moving out. Suguru doesn’t think they knew what Satoru was to you. He doesn’t think they ever will.

The heat fades day by day, Week by week. Satoru starts to deflate the longer you aren't in his hold, his to mangle, and grab, and keep. He stops taking care of himself. His skin became paler, cracked lips, hollow cheeks. His eyes turn into this grayish blue that Suguru can't bring himself to look at for too long. He loses weight day by day. 

Suguru had never seen him react this way before. Satoru was always shining. He was the sun. Now, the center of the solar system was dying. He can feel himself dying with it. 

Satoru hadn't just loved you. Satoru had been obsessed with you. He breathed you in, inhaled your essence like oxygen. You'd been a part of him; a necessity. And then, you tore yourself away, leaving him bleeding on the concrete.

Guilt. Suguru feels it in his stomach, rising to his throat, threatening to stain his clothes. It's too late to say anything now, so he keeps it huddled deep inside of him. Suguru hopes it'll never come out. He helps the best he can, being there for his friend, his best friend. 

It takes a month for Satoru to start eating properly again. A few months later he starts regaining his usual physique. The gray in his eyes stays for a bit longer than Suguru likes. Suguru supposes he should take what he can get.

A year passes like that. The evidence of what you left behind fades, like bruises disappearing on skin. Suguru and Satoru become college students. Then, they graduate.

When Satoru joins the business, Suguru, his right-hand man, his second, his best friend, is right next to him. They’ve always worked well together, but that doesn’t change as they shift into adulthood. Despite how different Suguru and Satoru were, Suguru liked to think that their personalities were stagnant; unchanging even to the times.

What Satoru feels about you remains stagnant as well.

Suguru doesn’t think about you often, these days. Barely a few times a year, when he feels nostalgic enough to get out his old high school yearbook. He’d page through, spot your smiling portrait face. He’d find himself staring at you far longer than he liked too.

At first, Suguru thought Satoru was the same. Much like how one thinks about a lost toy they cherished when they were younger. The resentment would fade with time. Satoru didn’t speak about you for years.

Suguru hadn’t expected the girls, however.

He doesn’t notice the first one. He sees her, but he doesn’t internalize it. She’s hurriedly putting on her clothes after a clearly exciting night, so Suguru respectfully averts his gaze. He’s more focused on his exasperation at how Satoru had missed yet another meeting with the board. They would be less than pleased if they discovered Satoru didn’t show up because he was hungover.

The second time it happens, Suguru has a passing thought of how familiar the girl looked, despite being sure he’d never seen her in his life.

The third time it happens, Suguru realizes all the recent girls Satoru’s been bringing strike an uncanny resemblance towards you.

It’s not anything too obvious, but all of them would look a bit like you. Most would have your skin tone, your hair. One had your eyes, not the color, rather the shape of it. Satoru had kept her around the longest.

Suguru doesn’t say anything about it. Part of him wonders if Satoru is even doing it on purpose.

Suguru loves Satoru like he would his own brother, but his recent hobby was starting to get on his nerves a bit.

“So much work,” the man complains, “Why can’t we just send all this off to Ijichi?”

“He has his own work to complete,” Suguru reprimands, “the sooner you stop complaining, the sooner we can finish.”

Satoru rolls his eyes but moves to another page of meaningless paperwork; Something that would be scanned into their system and then tucked away into a random file cabinet. They currently sat in Satoru’s grand kitchen, lounging on the barstools after Suguru had pounded Satoru’s door in. Satoru had let him in with an irritated look, complaining that it was the weekend and he had ‘stuff’ to do.

“He’s my assistant,” Satoru retorts, “my work is his work.”

“The reason why we’re in this mess in the first place is because you kept pawning off your job to the poor man in the first place. You’ve given him wrinkles from just the stress of being in your vicinity.”

“That’s insulting,” Satoru counters, “my presence is nothing but calming.”

“You do the exact opposite, actually. A black hole that sucks the soul out of everyone who hangs around you.”

“You hang around me all the time and you don’t have wrinkles.”

Suguru smiles. “It’s because I don’t respect you enough to listen to anything you’re saying.”

Satoru’s about to respond, when another voice interrupts him. Alluring, feminine.

“Satoru,” she coos, “When are you getting back here?”

From his seat, Suguru has a clear view of Satoru’s bedroom. Only her head is peeked out, and Suguru notes her bare shoulders. Your eyes, and your lips this time. She’s tilting her head, mouth curved in a coy smile.

Of course. Suguru can only roll his eyes. There’s that same burning feeling in his chest. During the years, it hasn’t really gotten any better.

“Coming, coming,” Satoru calls back, “just a minute, babe.”

“Stuff to do, hm?” Suguru drawls with amusement. Satoru flips him off.

"Worry 'bout yourself," Satoru says, "when's the last time you got any, huh? Honestly, when's the last time you've taken a break? A vacation?"

"I can't," Suguru replies, "I'm always stuck babysitting you."

“I’ve been waiting for half an hour, ‘Toru." The woman interrupts. "Can’t you just do it later?”

Suguru hadn’t even noticed it. He brushed it off, barely hearing their conversation as he shuffled around the papers.

Satoru had.

He hums. Straightening his back.

“Yeah, I’ve changed my mind. You should head on home.”

At first, he thought Satoru was talking to him. Then, he hears the woman’s annoyed huff.

“Hold on, you’re kicking me out?” She asks.

“Yeah, sorry,” Satoru says, not sounding very apologetic, “I got a lotta’ stuff to do and you’re not gonna wanna stick around.”

His tone is light, but Suguru can’t help but place a sense of annoyance in them. The anger. His posture is stiff, almost like he’s primed for a fight.

‘Toru. She called him ‘Toru.

You used to call him ‘Toru.

“Seriously, I-”

“I hate repeating myself: Get the fuck out.”

There’s silence, and then Suguru can hear her mutter to herself as she shuffles inside the room. She comes out minutes later, not quite dressed, but presentable. She shoots Satoru a glare, to which he only waves off. The door shuts with a noticable thud.

“Back to work,” Satoru says, “do you feel hot? The AC has been acting up, lately.”

He carries on like that, back to normal, as though he wasn’t about to snap just a few minutes ago. Suguru follows suit, not aknowledging the outburst, much like he doesn’t aknowledge most things regarding you.

Later, Suguru laughs about the hypocrisy of it all. Satoru brings home physical reminders of you, but he refuses the remnants of you. The most intimate parts, he’d kept hidden away from his life, yet he still wishes to touch, to feel. He wonders how you’d feel if you knew that Gojo Satoru is wrapped around your finger, even now.

◉

Satoru had done something yet again. It's always something with Gojo Satoru. Suguru should have left him to deal with the legal team himself, but here he was, trailing beside the firm’s directors as the man droned on and on how well Mr.Gojo would be well taken care of how here our clients are family. He forces himself to push away that feeling in his chest, scorching his throat. He was getting sick of the constant blabbering. He’d glanced away for just a second.

And then he saw you.

You, not some remnant, not some picture, not someone similar. You. He knew it was you. A little older, a little taller. You’d switched the high school uniform for a blouse and a pencil skirt. Suguru stares. He’s tempted to say your name, seek you out, as though you’re old friends-

He reels himself back in.

You disappear through a frosted glass door, completely unaware of his gawking. You hadn’t seen him. Good. The firm’s director didn’t notice his pause, carrying on as though nothing happened. Suguru smiles and laughs at the horrible ice breakers, but he also steals a glance at the name of the door you went through.

Later, Suguru looks up Higuruma Hiromi. A well-established lawyer. Worked at the firm for nearly a decade.

You are his sole paralegal.

Law. He had never considered it for you. Now, he thinks it’s a little fitting. He can’t help it. He looks you up. You have no social media, most likely from a remnant fear, but he finds where you went to college, what your area of study was, where else you’d worked, your life. Questions he’d had for nearly a decade he finally has an answer.

Honestly, Suguru was a little mad it was all so easy.

He can’t see the entire scope of your life, but he knows you were happy after high school, away from Satoru. You seemed happy when he caught that glimpse of you. There was a slight smile on your face, you never did that with Satoru around.

Satoru’s a little pathetic, a thought he has to concede to. He’s still hung over you, while you clearly hadn’t thought of him in years.

Suguru stares at your picture a little more.

The burning feeling comes back again. Hotter, melting.

Oh.

Suguru is disgusted by you.

You, that bitch loitering in Satoru’s bedroom, that greedy firm director. Disgust, that sick feeling crawling down his stomach, seeping into his bones. He’s disgusted by the weak.

He’s even more disgusted when they think they can defeat the strong. Decieve them.

You always thought you were better than Satoru, better than Suguru, even from the beginning. Even when you rejected him. Even when Satoru’s goons were torturing you, you still thought you could get out of it somehow. Even when Satoru had his hand on your shoulder, claws sinking into your flesh, you were still looking for a way out. It was like watching a rat trapped in a cage, pathetically sniffing around for an exit.

The weak could never escape the whims of the strong. It was a truth of the world, something he’d always known and yet it’d take a decade for him to put the words together. The weak could never make a fool of the strong.

You are weak. A mere satellite floating along, before getting trapped in the Earth’s gravitational force. Suguru could crush you with one fist. Satoru could evisirate you to atoms.

Does the Earth ever wonder if it can turn the Sun?

“I’ve put together a legal team that will represent you.”

Suguru places the neat stack of documents onto Satoru’s desk. The white-haired man barely gives them a glance. Suguru knows Satoru won’t ever look at them, even when your name is hidden somewhere within the sheets, along with Higuruma’s. Suguru wonders how long it’d take for Satoru to figure it out. It’s a shame he won’t be there to see it unfold in real-time, but perhaps, once Satoru puts the pieces together, he’ll thank him.

Here, in the present, Satoru types away at his computer, barely paying attention to Suguru’s words.

“Oh, great,” Satoru says off handedly, “thanks, man.”

Suguru sighs.

“Uh, I love you?” Satoru tries again.

“Never repeat those words to me ever again,” Suguru responds, “I wish you’d be a bit more interested in this, considering it’s your fault the company is in this mess in the first place.”

Satoru gives a hushed hum of agreement. Suguru smiles.

“In other news: I won’t be here next week.”

That catches his best friend’s attention. Satoru gapes at him.

“You’re quitting?”

“No, idiot. I’m taking your advice. I’m taking a few weeks off. I already put it in the calendar that you never check so why did I even bother.”

“A vacation? You never take vacations, even when I beg you to,” Satoru squints at him, “What’s the occasion?”

Eventually, Satoru will figure it out. For now, Suguru wants to enjoy this.

“I worked hard this year. I should reward myself, shouldn’t I?” He reasons, “oh, and I have a surprise for you showing up in a week or so. Let me know what you think of it.”

“A gift? For me?” Satoru beams. “You really do love me.”

“Don’t push it.”

The Earth is the only planet capable of sustaining life within this cold solar system. It's close enough to the sun to feel the warmth, yet far enough so it doesn't burn. It's strong, too. A powerful magnetic forcefield, capable of shutting down the sun's cosmic radiation. Thus, the Earth spins happily around the Sun, surrounded by a sea of dead planets. 

If Satoru was the Sun, then Suguru supposed he would be the Earth. Close enough to receive the star's radiance, but with a strong enough magnetitic field to shield from solar winds. 

If Suguru was the Earth, then Suguru supposed you would be the Moon. A tiny cratered satellite he tugs along with him, forever in sight of the burning sun. 

#yandere #yandere jjk #dark content #dark gojo satoru #dark jjk #non con touching #gojo satoru #yandere gojo satoru #x reader #bullying #harrassment #non con kissing #geto suguru

[feyhunter78]

Think I'm Gonna Call it Off

Description: You have been Prince Aemond's secret for years now, but a certain visiting Stark opens your eyes to what could be.

Inspired by the line “think I’m gonna call it off, even if you call it love, I just wanna love someone who calls me baby.” From Good Luck, Babe by Chappell Roan

Part 2

This was ridiculous, you are a Lady of a fine house, virtuous, beautiful, intelligent, kind and your embroidery skills have been praised by Queen Alicent herself and yet here you sit waiting for Prince Aemond to return. To return and not spare you a single glance. Not until you are tucked away from the prying eyes of the court, until he is confident no one can hear your conversations.

You wonder if it is foolishness that keeps you sitting there, leaning against one of the many windows in the library, searching the skies for Vhagar’s great form set against the clouds.

You have rejected a number of suitors, worried your father and mother, made yourself seem all but undesirable in the eyes of the court, all because the prince swore that he would tell his mother. That he would announce to the whole of the realm that he loved you, and that you would be wed as soon as possible. He does not want a Valyrian wedding he said, he has no taste for it, he wants to honor you, honor his mother, and the Seven whom he worshiped.

“Lady y/n?” Lord Cregan Stark’s voice rolls through you like thunder, the deep baritone, the rouge northern brocade that made him pronounce your name just slightly different from everyone else, just enough that shamefully it makes you feel special.

You turn your head away from the towering window and give him a small smile. “Lord Stark, I did not expect to see you here.”

He returns your smile and leans against the wall; arms crossed over his chest.

Seven help you, he did have such strong looking arms, the sight of them never ceases to distract you. Even his thick tunic, and his dark-colored cloak could not hide them. Truly, everything about Lord Stark seemed strong. Queen Alicent said it is common of a Northmen, that they must be strong to survive the winters, while Lady Frey said it was the wolf’s blood in his veins. That all Starks had unnatural strength, speed, and stamina granted to them by the Old Gods. Neither woman’s explanation accounted for the man’s looks though.

Lord Stark is quite handsome, a strong jaw and sharp cheekbones with a close-cut beard, more stubble than a full beard though, and gray eyes like a winter storm. His dark hair is around Prince Aegon’s length, though often tied back and much better cared for. His lips are full and healed, having been cracked and dry from the drastic change in temperature on his trip down south. A small scar runs through the corner of them, on the right side, giving him a more roguish appearance. He said he had gotten it as a child, playing around with his father’s sword. And he was tall, so, so tall, towering over you in a way no man has before.

Then he laughs, the sound warming you to the bones, making a blush rise to your cheeks. “Do not tell me you think me a barbarian, as the others do. I thought you knew me better than that, little fox.”

The name he has graced you with never fails to make your heart stutter and disrupt any coherent thought you might have had. It is a reference to your house sigil, you know that. But the way he says it, how his accent wraps around each syllable, makes it seem far more…intimate than simply a friendly moniker given to you by a man who does not know your customs.

Aemond calls you his, or some sweet term of endearment in High Valyrian in private, sticking to Lady y/h/n in public. You wish he would use your name, you have told him time and time again, even the Queen and Princess Helaena use it. You have been at the Red Keep for nearly a decade now, been in the Princess’ inner circle of friends for almost as long, it would not seem strange to others.

“Lord Stark—”

“Cregan, or Lord Cregan if you must add the lord, as I have told you before.” He corrects you, but not unkindly, his lips curling up into a fondly exasperated smile.

“Lord Cregan, I did not mean to imply I believe that libraries were not your preferred place to spend your time, only that I thought you would be joining the other men on their hunt.”

He glances out the window towards the Kingswood. “And I would think you would be taking tea or sewing with the other ladies.”

You have been caught.

“Ah yes, well, as you know, Prince Aemond is to return today and Princess Helaena asked me to keep watch. She loves her brother very much but has to entertain the other ladies so could not watch for him herself.”

You pray Helaena will forgive you for involving her in a lie.

Cregan hums low in his throat and his eyes flicker to you, picking you apart. “Did she now?”

You nod, not trusting your own voice.

“The prince is lucky to have such a vision of beauty to return home to.” He says, running his eyes down your form, drinking in every detail with something akin to reverence? Though you know you must be seeing things. Cregan Stark would not look at you in such a way, there is no reason to.

“Princess Helaena is quite beautiful.” You agree, trying to keep an air of propriety around you even as your mind screams at you to flee for fear you will say something utterly stupid.

Cregan reaches out, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering for a moment caressing your cheek. “Aye, but she is not who I speak of.”

You? He means you?

You duck your head, cheeks warming once more. “You flatter me.”

He shifts forward, invading your space, the scent of forest air and woodsmoke filling your nostrils. “Is it flattery if it is true?” He is so close, still a respectable distance but close enough that you can reach out and touch him, can feel the warmth radiating from his skin.

“I believe that is a question for the maesters.” You tease lightly, your heart pounding in your chest.

“You are a smart girl, little fox, I am sure you can figure it out.” He teases back, a glimmer in his eyes that excites you.

No one teases you; no one jests or challenges you like Cregan does. You assume it is because they all know Prince Aemond has claim on you, or because you are a lady, but you are educated, and strong-willed, you enjoy a good challenge. You enjoy Cregan speaking to you like an equal.

“Truth is relative, as they say.” You offer, cocking your head innocently, barely able to keep a smile off your face.

“Aye, some say. Though your beauty is truth, relative or not. Surely you must know that.” He counters.

“Vanity is not a virtue.” You say, meeting his gaze. The storm gray of them has softened to a dove gray, mirth dancing within them.

“Neither is lying and yet…”

“Are you accusing me of lying, Lord Cregan?” You gasp in mock outrage.

“About knowing that your beauty is what every man dreams of returning home to? Yes.” He says, his tone light and blithe, but his words, and the way his eyes darken for a moment? It takes your breath away.

“Your beauty, little fox, is one that haunts men’s dreams, that keeps them fighting when they are the last standing. That they keep in their mind as they clash swords, traverse through snow and sea.” He continues, holding your gaze, voice no longer light, but heavy with intent and promise. “It is a beauty one wishes to see the moment they return home before all else, or any others. A beauty that should be admired in all lights and shadows. The setting of the sun and its rising, the summer days and winter nights, one to be cherished.”

You break away from his gaze, a twinge of sadness in your chest. Aemond has never spoken to you in such a way, he has waxed poetic about your beauty, flattered you, lavished you with sweet words, but it has never felt the same as Cregan’s did now. Guilt replaces the sadness, and you toy with the edge of your sleeves. You should not be engaging with Cregan in this way, it was not right, even if it made you feel…something. “You are too kind, My Lord.”

Cregan reaches for you, breaching what was proper, and taking your hand in his. They are so much larger than yours, so warm, so gentle. “Have I spoken out of turn?”

“No, no, I am just—I am a maiden of the South, Lord Stark, I am not used to such forwardness from a man I am not courting with.”

“Honesty, it is honesty, though I apologize for my forwardness.” Cregan says, subconsciously stroking the back of your hand with his thumb.

“Either way, I am not used to it.” You say heart calming with each stroke of his calloused thumb.

Cregan’s brows furrow. “I have heard tales of—the other noblemen, they speak highly of you. Of your beauty, your kindness, your wit, are they all struck dumb by your very being, is that why no one has praised you as you deserve?”

You feel you should say something about Aemond, but what could you truly say? There is no formal betrothal in place, he has not publicly staked his claim beyond a possessiveness that those who spent enough time in court could see. But nothing is ever outwardly stated.

You go to speak, but Cregan stops you. “My apologies, I should not have asked such a thing, how are you to know what lies within the minds of man?”

“You are correct, I do not know their minds.” You say instead and bury down any explanation involving Aemond and his invisible claim.

A dragon roar fills the air, the window vibrates with the force of the sound, and your eyes shoot back to the window. Prince Aemond is home.

“Or they fear the mind of one man and thus hold their tongues.” Cregan says, releasing your hand.

“The prince? I—he—we…it is not—” You cannot get the words out fast enough.

“I will take my leave.” He says, remaining for a moment searching your face until it seemed he had found what he is looking for, and left.

You watch him go, admiring the strength in his stride, when he turns back, a strange look in his eyes. “At the feast tonight, might I have a dance?” He asks.

“With me?” Your heart is pounding against your chest.

He nods.

Footsteps rush by the open library door, and you can hear Princess Helaena calling out to Prince Aemond.

You stand, smoothing out your skirts with shaky hands, why did he make you so nervous? Or is not nerves, but excitement? “Of course, Lord Cregan, I would be honored.”

“I will hold you to that.” Cregan smile, then he disappears down the hall, and you are left alone to hurry after the princess.

Aemond does not call for you until hours after he has returned. When you knock on the door to his chambers, dressed already for the feast, he bids you to enter in a soft voice, exhaustion tinging each word.

You hurry to his side, clasping one hand between your own. “My Prince, I cannot tell you how happy I am that you have returned safely.”

He uses his free hand to cup your cheek, that half smile, half smirk he wears so well on his well sculpted face. “I was only gone for a mere moon, and I was never in any danger, did you doubt your Prince, ñuha nūmio?”

“No, of course not, but…you would not tell me where you were going, no one would.” You say, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

“That is simply because it was not information you needed.” He says, brushing the pad of his thumb across your lips.

“But if I am to be your wife, would it not be prudent if I were to know where my husband is?”

Aemond’s eye, a brilliant amethyst, hardens, then he looks away and sighs. “Lady y/h/n I have told you patience is a virtue, and your virtue is what I adore most.”

You bite your lip, internally chastising yourself. You know better than to rush him. “My apologies.”

Aemond frees your bottom lip from between your teeth and brushes his lips across your forehead. “Do not take my words so harshly, your eagerness is quite endearing, and I to wish for us to be wed, but it is not yet time.”

You lean into his touch, “I understand.”

“How have you been amusing yourself while I was away, ñuha nūmio? Did anything exciting happen?” Aemond asks, his thumb resting beside the corner of your lip.

“Not much, it seems you had taken all the excitement with you. Though as you know Lord Stark’s arrival has caused quite a stir and now two moons later still is. Many ladies are jockeying for the position of Lady of the North.” You tell him, giggling at the memory of some of your friends’ actions.

“But not you?” Aemond asked, his tone making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

“No, I am yours, why would I wish to be Lady of the North?” You reassured him, brushing back a lock of silver hair from his face.

For a moment, you are struck with the feel of Cregan’s fingertips, rough and calloused but gentle against your skin. The warmth of his skin, the softness of his gaze, the earnestness of his words. What was he looking for when he stared into your eyes, when he took in every detail of your face?

“If you are too distracted, you may leave, My Lady.” Aemond says, the irritation in his voice drawing you from your thoughts.

“No, no, I am not, I am just so happy you have returned.”

Aemond hums in acknowledgement, dressed in his feast finery as well. “I have missed you.”

Your heart flutters. “I have missed you as well.”

He releases your chin to trail his fingers down the column of your neck. His cool touch causes goosebumps to follow in his wake, and he dips his head low to press his lips to your cheek, then begins to follow his fingers with his lips. “I have missed you, your voice, your smiles, your touch.”

You shiver in response, grabbing onto his doublet.

“Do not touch, you will wrinkle the fabric.” He warns, even as his hands grip your waist.

You remove your hands, clasping them behind your back.

“I will not be able to dance with you tonight, mother has brought another girl for me to try and charm.” He says, into your skin, his silver hair brushing against your exposed décolletage.

Your heart sinks. “Not even one dance?”

Aemond sighs and presses a final kiss to the hollow of your throat. “You know I detest it as much as you do, but it is my duty.”

You nod, blinking back the tears that threaten to appear on your waterline.

He smooths down your hair and turns you towards the door. “I will try to find time for one dance, but I cannot make any promises.”

His words lift your spirits, and you smile at him. “Thank you, Aemond.”

“Prince Aemond, we have guests tonight.” He reminds you, then he shuts the door, and you hurry back to your chambers.

The Great Hall is decorated beautifully, and you sit at your table with the other ladies of Helaena’s circle. A wine glass in hand as you watch Aemond dance with Cerelle Peake, her brown hair pinned up with a net of gold and sapphires, her umber gown flowing beautifully as she twirled.

“Come now, y/n, you will never be asked to dance with such a scowl.” Johanna Swyft says, poking your cheek goodnaturedly.

“No, she will never be asked to dance because the prince glares at anyone who tries.” Mina Redwyne says, clinking her glass against yours in silent sympathy.

Johanna shoots her a look. “Do keep your voice down, Mina.”

You take a long drink from your glass, emptying it, then setting it down, scanning the crowd for another servant. “Perhaps I do not wish to dance.”

“I am crushed to hear that Lady y/n.” Cregan’s presence makes every lady at your table sit up straight, and you turn to face him.

“Lord Stark.” You say, bowing your head in his direction.

He holds out a hand, and you remember how it nice felt, the phantom warmth still lingering. “I do believe you agreed to a dance, earlier today?”

“Lucky.” Mina hisses, as Johanna juts her elbow into your side to prod you up and out of your seat.

You stand, and take his hand, trying to ignore the twinge of pain in your side. “I did.”

Cregan leads you to the dance floor, and you can hear your friends giggling behind you, much to your utter embarrassment.

“Your friends seem quite encouraging.” Cregan says, barely holding back a laugh.

“When they learned I have no sisters, they decided that they would act as such, apparently that means acting in a most embarrassing way.” You say, falling into the rhythm of the dance.

“I knew you had brothers, but I did not know you were the only daughter, that must make you very precious in your father’s eyes.” Cregan ventures, his large, warm hand pressed to yours as you circle each other.

“I would like to think so.” You smile, your heart aches for a moment with homesickness. “He could not attend this feast, he is too ill to travel, my eldest brother is here on his behalf, accompanied by my second-eldest brother who is here to drink and presumably enjoy the Silk Streets.”

“I never had a taste for brothels.”

“Nor I.”

Cregan smiles and twirls you. “I thought not, for I have heard you are far too virtuous.”

You shrug. “It is more, I do not wish to spend the coin.”

Shock flashes across his face then he laughs, repeating your words quietly with a chuckle, and as you are spun back into his arms you cannot help but laugh as well.

“You are clever, little fox, I will miss you when I return home.” He says, his eyes searching you once more.

Your heart stops, and you trip over your feet. “You are leaving?”

His grip on you tightens as he helps you right yourself. “Aye, I have here for two moons, that is far too long, my people need me.”

You do not want him to leave, you will miss him dearly, his laugh, his expressions, his stories. You will miss the walks you had taken together, the discussions that ran late into the night, just outside your chambers, the men standing guard pretending they were not listening. The way he presented you with the pelts of animals he had hunted, regaling you with the tale of how he felled it. Who would challenge you now, who would make you laugh, would listen to your words, and respond as if you were an equal, as if your sex did not diminish your intelligence?

“When will you leave?” You ask, unable to keep your voice steady, so you spin away from him to give yourself a moment to smother your emotions.

Cregan pulls you back into his arms, trapping you with his steady gaze. “In a few days time.”

“Oh…” You manage to choke out, swallowing hard, your eyes on your feet.

“I have been meaning to tell you, there just never seemed to be a good time.” Cregan says sheepishly.

You nod, still staring at the floor. “Well, I will miss you.”

“I will miss you too, y/n,” he says softly, then he slips a finger under your chin and lifts it gently. “In all lights, in all seasons.”

Tears blur your vision, and you hastily blink them away, not even noticing he has said only your given name, no title attached. Cregan’s warm thumb catches any stray tears that fall, and you lean into his touch, desperate for more of that something he had made you feel before. That something you realize he was always making you feel, and that he is making you feel right now, though it is tinged with grief. “Cregan, I—”

“Lady y/h/n, I believe I promised you a dance.” Aemond’s voice is steel, ice, the frigid fear that ran through the veins of Vhagar’s victim, and you hurriedly wipe away any remaining tears plastering on a false smile, before you turn, Cregan’s other hand still on your waist.

You drop into a curtsy. “My Prince, that you did.”

Cregan’s hand lingers, and your heart lurches in your chest when the warmth of it is finally removed.

Another song has begun to play, one you love dancing with Aemond to. It allows for close movements and lingering touches that you always long for with him.

“I thought you did not wish to be the Lady of the North.” He says, his eyes picking you apart as Cregan’s did but there is a cold methodical feel to it that makes you feel utterly and horribly exposed.

“He was merely being kind, no one else had asked me to dance.” You protest, falling into the rhythm as you had before.

“No one else should, you are mine.” Aemond say, spinning you out, and then back in.

His hands burn through your gown, your skin, meeting bone, and before you would have loved it, relished the feeling, but now you feel they are too hot, your skin prickles uncomfortably.

“I like to dance; I do not get to dance when you are occupied, and you are often occupied.” You say quietly, your head bowed ever so slightly.

“I had them play your favorite song, as a reward for your patience.” He says, ignoring your words. “Do you like it?”

“I do, thank you.” You smile and raise your head, hoping to catch his eye and find it brimming with affection. That would soothe your wounded heart, would banish the grief you feel at Cregan leaving.

Instead, his eye is elsewhere, you follow its gaze to see it land on the Peake girl. You do not blame her, do not hate her, though your blood turns to fire in your veins, and you brace yourself for what you are going to say next.

“When are we going to be wed, I have been patient for many years, and you never tell me when my patience will be able to end.” You say, holding your chin high. You are not a Peake, but you still have pride.

His eye flicker back to you, his grip tightening. “Are you truly asking this now?”

“Yes. Yes, I am, because I am tired of waiting, tired of watching as you charm others, tired of being shunted to the side because even though you will not claim me, no one else is allowed to.” You can no longer keep your emotions contained. “I want to be happy Aemond, I want to be happy with you, but I am not happy.”

“Not everything is about your happiness, Lady y/h/n.” Aemond snaps.

You reel back as if you have been struck. “I did not say it was. You have been the one saying you wished to marry me, promising me you would tell the whole of the realm how deeply you care for me. I have done nothing else but dote on you and be patient.”

Guilt flashes across his face, and he reaches for you, but you push his hands away. “It is not so simple.”

“Do you see my face in your dreams, does it keep you fighting, keep you marching on, am I the first person you wish to see when you return home, do you wish to see me in all lights, in all seasons?” You throw Cregan’s words in Aemond’s face and wait for a response.

Aemond laughs, taking your hands, and bringing you back into the dance. “You have picked up a new book of poetry, I see.”

You cannot find it in yourself to be angry, the shock settling in, muffling everything until it is as if you are floating underwater. The rest of the night passes that way, you go through the motions, avoiding Cregan, your friends, shooting you concerned looks.

Then the feast ends, guards escort those too drunk to find their chambers, all others dispersing to their places for the night, or into Fleabottom for more revelry.

You try to sleep, but it will not come, Cregan and Aemond’s words echoing in your sleepless mind, until finally you throw off your blankets and wrap a robe around your nightshift.

You creep through the halls, no true direction in mind, letting your feet take you where they wished, when a flicker of umber catches your eye. Pressing yourself behind a pillar, you wait a moment then peek out.

“Lord Stark, might I be allowed to enter?” Cerelle Peake’s voice is soft, as was required for the late hours.

“Lady Peake, might I ask why you wish to enter my chambers?” Cregan asks, his words thick with sleep. His hair is loose, his night shift exposing his broad chest.

“I thought perhaps you might enjoy some company.” She says, as she takes a step towards him, moving to run a finger down his chest.

Cregan catches her hand and gently returns it to her side. “I do not wish for your company, Lady Peake. Please return to your chambers quietly, and I will not speak with your father about this.”

Cerelle scoffs and turns on her heel, storming down the hallway. You wait until Cregan’s door closed then follow her.

Halfway there, you know where she was going, you have walked these halls many times. Not wanting to further your own pain, you turn back to your own chambers, but your feet disobey you, and you find yourself in front of Cregan’s door.

You knock before you could stop yourself and the door swing open, a tired and angry Cregan standing before you. “Lady Peake, I do not need any comp—” His words die on his lips as he realizes it was you and not Cerelle. “Y/N?”

“All those things you said, about my beauty, about me, did you mean them? Truly?” Tears prick at the backs of your eyes, your chest tight, your bottom lip trembling.

Cregan rubs the sleep from his eyes. “Do not tell me you woke me only to hear more flattery.”

A sob escapes your lips. “I thought you said it was truth, not flattery.”

Cregan snaps awake, pulling you into his arms. “Little fox, I am sorry, I was half asleep, yes, yes, it is truth.”

You cling to him, gripping his night shirt, your face buried in his chest as you sob, every fear, every pain spilling out into his warm embrace. “Tell me you meant it, that you see me in your dreams, that you want me, in all lights, all seasons, that I am not destined to wait forever for someone to love me.”

“I love you, y/n, I love you, you do not need to wait, I will tell you as many times as you desire. I meant it, all of it, you haunt my dreams, you plague my waking thoughts, I want you in at any time, in any manner, or light, or moment I can have you.” He says, his voice is steady, and you can feel the vibrations of it deep in his chest, alongside the sound of his beating heart.

“I want to go with you to Winterfell, I want to be your Lady of the North, or even just your mistress if my house is not a good enough match, Cregan I do not care. I love you and all I care about is that we are not parted, that we are never parted, I do not think I will be able to breathe if we are parted.” You confess, looking up at him afraid to see what you saw in Aemond’s eye.

Cregan cups your face and kisses you, the taste of honeyed ale on his tongue, his hands warm as he keeps you close, using his foot to kick the door closed so he can press you against it.

Now in the safety of his chambers he breaks the kiss, your breaths intermingling. “You will not be a mistress, you will be my wife, none will come before you.”

“Will you tell your people, will they know?” You ask, your lips brushing against his with each word.

“I will wake the whole Red Keep to announce it now if you wish.” He says, his forehead resting against yours.

You reconnect your lips with his, his stubble brushing against your skin, but you pay it no mind, letting Cregan devour you, his hands moving into your hair, as you loop your arms around his neck, keeping him close.

He groans against you, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips, delving in when you part them and exploring every inch of you. “My little fox, my y/n, my wife, my beautiful, clever wife.” He presses the words into your skin, heated lips trailing down to your pulse point.

“Husband.” You sigh, tilting your neck further exposing yourself to him, his teeth sinking into the skin claiming you as his own.

“Say it again for me, my wife, tell me who I am.” He breaths, sucking, and nipping at your neck, returning to darken the marks between creating new ones.

“You, Cregan, my husband.” You say, eyes snapping open when he releases you and stalks over to the window.

He threw it open and stuck his head out, shouting. “Y/N Y/H/N, is to be my wife.”

You rush forward and pull him from the window with a scandalized giggle. “Cregan it is the middle of the night.”

“Then at the very least a few guards heard.” He says, pulling you close and kissing you again, in full view of the window, the moon, anyone else who might look up, and it is exactly as you want it.

I lied in the comments imma do a part two I’ve given into the peer pressure stay tuned my loves!!!

HOTD taglist: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @svtansdaddyx, @fan-goddess, @dc-marvel-girl96, @shintax-error, @bellameshipper, @the141bandicoot, @the-phantom-of-arda, @haydee5010, @partypoison00, @serrhaewin, @issshhh, @pax-2735, @malfoytargaryen, @sahanna, @dellalyra, @mxrgodsstuff, @jkhomes, @unusual-raccoon, @boofy1998, @kravitzwhore, @caribbeangel, @krispold, @issshh, @afro-hispwriter, @ryswritingrecord, @prettykinkysoul, @elissanatok, @sahvlren, @its-sam-allgood, @happinessinthbeing, @8e-h-e8, @feyres-fireheart, @just-emmaaaa, @crazylokonugget, @hedahobbit98, @devils-blackrose, @mercedesdecorazon, @snh96, @imjustboredso, @izzicle, @hiatuswhore, @aslanvez, @devils-blackrose, @yentroucnagol, @queenofshinigamis, @partyposion00, @cryptidsrcool, @jennifer0305

#meg's writing #hotd #aemond targaryen x reader #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark x you #cregan stark x y/n #aemond x reader #this one is so long omg #it hurt me to write Aemond like this I love him so much #cregan stark

[mewhenimanangel]

reporting live, paige bueckers

— synopsis. you meet paige when you’re assigned to report on the uconn v. iowa game.

notes ౨ৎ: i’ve never wrote for a real person before it feels so strange…but there’s like no fics on here i had to take matters into my own hands.

also yes im rewriting history to make uconn win!

you checked yourself out in the mirror, fixing your outfit - low rise black work pants with a white button down that showed a small sliver of your stomach with black sling back heels.

you tossed your hair around to fix it making sure it was in perfect shape. after all, your job was pretty dependent on looks.

you worked as a reporter for the city's top news agency and tonight you would be attending the uconn versus iowa women's basketball game.

you were also pretty active on social media and managed to make some money that way, you were more than grateful for your lifestyle.

you called your friend, devon , to make sure she was on her way to get you knowing you absolutely could not be late tonight.

she answered the phone and you sighed a breath of relief when it sounded like she was in fact on her way.

"hey girll, are you excited for tonight? pretty big story" she said, bustling city noise behind her.

"yeah i'm excited to interview uconn after they beat iowa's ass" you smirked when you heard her gasp on the other side. "they so will not! my girlfriend caitlin's gonna pull through"

"nah, paige buckets got that easily" you scoffed as you packed your bag, ready to head downstairs out of your apartment.

your bosses had assigned you to tonight's game and hooked you up with two court-side tickets for you and a guest, along with the camera crew.

you of course had to invite your best friend to go with you.

you stepped outside the building and watched as her car pulled up outside.

"ugh i can't believe i get to see caitlin clark up close" devon squealed as you got yourself situated in the car. "ugh be calm, you literally have a boyfriend." you joked. "okay and?" she laughed as she drove off.

once you were at the stadium, you and devon met at with your crew as you found your seats inside.

the game wasn't due to start for another fourty or so minutes but it was already packed inside.

you were glad women's basketball was finally getting the recognition it deserved after you and your mom had been fans of it almost your whole life. you even played a little bit in high school.

you and devon got snacks before sitting down and getting yourselves comfortable.

it didn't feel long until the players came out and the game was started. aliyah and hailey jump started the game before kk threw the ball back at paige.

the game was a close one and you made sure to follow it closely. throughout the game you did side interviews with other players and people attending the game, which was all just leading up to the end of game interviews.

it was the final quarter and you made sure to pay close attention.

it all came down to the last few seconds when paige threw the ball off caitlin's back to catch it again and land the ball in the net, giving uconn the winning score!

you and your crew sat up as you turned your reporter accent on "there you have it folks, uconn has won this round and will advance to the final game against south carolina. what an amazing job tonight by these wonderful ladies on both teams. win or lose, it was a great watch and i'm cheering for everyone's next move."

once you were sure the cameras were off you turned around to devon and threw your hands in the air.

"bitch i told you! i tolddd you paige had this game" you squealed. "ughhh you're so annoying why are you always right" she groaned.

a few minutes later you popped some mouthwash melts and fixed your makeup before you were to interview paige.

your hands were sweating like crazy. you never wanted to come off as an insane fan girl but you were obsessed with paige.

your cameraman followed you as you walked over to paige and she turned around. "hi" she smiled and shook your hand. "hi, are you ready?" you asked her. "yeah" she smiled. you gave your cameraman a thumbs up as he turned the camera on.

you turned to paige, who was already staring at you and you took a deep breath. you're usually never nervous to interview people but god the way she was looking at you.

her eyes were trained on yours and she had a little smirk on her face, her face was glistening from the tiring game she just played and she licked her lips waiting for you to ask your first question.

you cleared your throat "i'm here with paige bueckers, who just made the winning move in the highly anticipated iowa versus uconn game! tell me paige, how did it feel to take the winning shot?" you turned the microphone to her.

she rubbed her chin "ah it was really nerve racking to be honest i mean. i could feel my team counting on me and i knew i really had to pull through and get us out on top" she answered, eyes focusing back on you.

"yeah but that was a tough shot wasn't it?" you watched her eyes drop down to scan you before meeting yours again. "yeah but i knew i could make it in for sure"

"right, bueckers get buckets i don't know what to tell y'all" you joked to the camera. paige laughed.

"yeah for sure but i really owe it all to my team" she continued before kk came up behind her. "yupppppp WE GOING TO THE TITLE GAME" she threw her arms around you and paige and the threw of you jumped in excitement before running to find her other teammates.

you laughed it off before continuing for the camera "well there you have it, paige it was lovely to talk to you. congratulations on the winning game! make sure those of you at home tune in to the final game taking place in just a few days." you signed off the camera before your crew stopped filming.

you turned to paige and dropped the reporter voice. "it was nice to meet you by the way" you smiled. "i could say the same" her eyes never left yours and you bit your cheek to hide a smile.

"well i should let you go celebrate, congratulations, have a good night!" you said, beginning to walk away.

"bye it was nice to meet you" she said before you fully walked away.

you walked over to devon who was waiting on the side. "i know damn well your heart is racing"

"shut up" you smirked.

#nia writes ࿐ #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers #paige buckets #uconn huskies #uconn wbb #uconn women’s basketball #nika muhl #kk arnold #bueckers get buckets

[ollie-lolly]

How they react when you blindfold them

Obey me brothers x gender neutral reader

Note: HIT 100+ FOLLOWERS RECENTLY??? I AM VERY GRATEFUL THANK YOU <3. Constructive criticism and reblogs are always appreciated!

Word count: 697

Warnings: suggestive, i accidently added knife play at Belphegor's part oops

The two of you are just working in silence. A nice and calm working environment. Well it is too calm for you! You undo your silk scarf and sneak up to him, tying the silk material around his head. You are surprised when he doesn't stand up.

Lucifer

-His luxurious pen drops on the table 

-"Mc if you know what is good for you, you will remove it right now. I have work to do"

-You decided to ignore his protest and spin the chair around and climb on his lap

-He is desperately trying to keep his composure and patience

-Much to your frustration, he removes the silk scarf

-Before you could take the scarf he takes a hold of your wrist

-"Now let's take care of those bratty actions of yours"

Mammon

-Low-key wants to film it for 'personal reasons'

-You walk around him and lightly lift the hem of his shirt. 

-You start tracing his abdomen with the tips of your fingers

-"Mc what has gotten into ya?"

-You falter "Do you want me to stop?"

-"NO, i mean uh shit" he really did not want to seem that eager

-Your other hand gently pulls at his hair

-"That is all the permission i needed pretty boy"

-He whimpers. A reply to your gentle praise

-He bucks his hips. Desperate for some friction

Leviathan

-He may or may not have a boner rn

-THIS MAN IS CAUGHT OF GUARD

-Already predicting his movements, you hold the gaming chair down to prevent him from falling

-"A- are sure that you want to do this with me?"

-You give your answer by softly kissing his lips, then you start leaving a trail hickeys and bites on his exposed shoulders and neck

-"I can really tell that you are enjoying this Levi"

-Your hands travel to his rising erection, causing him to whimper

-"That's my pervy little Levi"

Satan

-He has 100% read this in a book before

-I swear he reads porn

-You lower yourself to your knees and softly kiss his bare stomach

-He groans as your kisses go lower, you put your hands on his and shift them to the top of your head

-He tries to remain patient

-He finds it embarrassing, but god does it feel good

-He pulls at your hair in frustration

Asmodeus

-"Mc you never cease to amaze me dear!"

-It's safe to say he is more then just pleased

-He whines completely unashamed when you bite the soft skin of his neck

-He quickly starts to get handsy 

-You were expecting this predicament, you grab a small clean handkerchief. 

-You firmly tie his wrists together

-"Let's see how long you'll last Asmo"

Beelzebub

-He has no idea of what to do in this situation

-You notice his stiffness in posture

-When you try to back off, he gently puts his hands on your back

-"Please don't leave, i like it" he uttered

-You make yourself comfortable and put one hand on the back of his neck 

-The other pulls out a small bottle of syrup 

-You put some in your mouth the sweet taste melts on your tongue

-While a large part of the sweet liquid is in your mouth you kiss him 

-His tongue quickly takes over

-He softly wimpers as he feels a heat rise down south

Belphegor

-Wants to do this again for sure

-I can't decide if it's because he doesn't have to do much or if it's the other way around, that he likes to see you helpless. respectfully?

-You pull out a small pocket knife and you gently trace the sharp tip on his collarbones and shoulders

-His breathing starts to become heavy as he starts to realize what the object might be

-He has dreamt about this, with help from his dream manipulation, but had no idea how to bring it up due to 'the incident'

-When a small pool of blood began to drip, you leaned in and licked it off 

-He shivers but also groans when he feels the sensation

Bonus!

Barbatos Barbie

-Wil be surprised at first 

-"We are lucky that we are alone for once, my love"

-His hands gently reach for yours and he gently presses a kiss to your hand

-You take a seat on his leg and start kissing his neck 

-He puts his hand around your frame

-"I would love to do something like this again"

-"That is if you don't mind being tied up for me"

Date began: 27th of march 2023

Date finished: 28th of march 2023

#Obey me #om! #obey me leviathan #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me x reader #obey me x reader smut #obey me x mc #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me barbatos #obey me lucifer x reader #obey me lucifer x mc #obey me mammon x mc #obey me mammon x reader #obey me leviathan x reader #obey me leviathan x mc #obey me satan x reader #obey me satan x mc #obey me asmo x reader #obey me asmo x mc #obey me beel x mc #obey me beel x reader #obey me belphagor x reader #obey me belphagor x mc #obey me beelzebub x reader #obey me beelzebub x mc #obey me smut

[janesgms]

Astro notes - 01

✨️ General Edition ✨️

Fire women look like goddesses in red. they're fine as fuck in red hair, red lipstick, red clothes, just red red red red (do it paint your hair red ❤)

Fire placements tend to eat while drinking water, and feel energetically refreshed by the water in general. They literally feel like they're reborn when they get out of the shower lol

If you have moon conjunct south node (or other personal planets maybe) in your venus persona chart, you probably will meet and even marry with a past life lover!

If you have personal planets in aries and sagittarius in water houses, you are as intuitive and spiritual as people with water personal planets, or even more than them

If they also have south node conjuncting personal planets, they will have many insights in past lives in general, they can tell you so many details to you, it's amazing

I love you so much people with personal planets in the 12th house, you are in my heart and you're very special <3

Every gemini needs a sagittarius in their lives and vice-versa, bitch we're soulmates (also every virgo needs a libra and vice-versa)

I've noticed married couples usually have the same moon or moon conjunct venus, or even both! So cute

If you feel emotionally connected to someone and you don't have the same moon sign, check your moon persona chart because you probably have their moon sign in it

Aquarius venus natives love so hard when they truly fall in love, but if this person break their hearts they will never look in their face again

Having the same vertex and north node as someone is a clear fated connection. the vertex feels like you'll always meet no matter what, the nn feels like you'll have the same journey in life. both will always share a deep knowledge with each other

What's up with 12th house synastry and this dreamy deja vu life you feel all the time when you're in love with them? I already understood we're connected universe, you can stop now...

Cancer rising men 👨‍👩‍👦 🤝 💏 women with 4th house placements. (in case you didn't understand, they want to have a family together and have such a nurturing love for each other)

Mars in 1st house in a platonic relationship will make the house person be personally annoyed by everything the mars does but deeply find it funny, and the mars will love to annoy the house (it's giving siblings/cousins vibes)

Actually moon conjunct ascendant in a friendship with two females will make them both see themselves in each other, but this will make them uncomfortable because they both think they're better than the other person. Usually the moon person wants to try a friendship but the ascendant person doesn't give a f or just finds the ascendant person too childish or annoying

If you're deeply and unconscioulsy afraid of water is not because you have 12th house/pisces placements specifically, it could be, but you probably died drowned in one of your lives

Don't think you don't have past lives connections just because isn't a personal planet conjuncting your south node in synastry, it could be any planet or calculation point, pr even asteroids, they're also important

Having moon conjunct placements double whammy in a friendship is an amazing thing to have and this friendship will probably last for a looong time (for ex: person A has moon conjunct person B's mars and person B has moon conjunct person A's jupiter)

Venus conjunct mars in aries in a composite chart is that couple that the chemistry never ends, they will always be on fire, burning for each other 🔥🔥 (specially if they also have earth placements)

If one of the angles conjunct your south node in synastry, it means you both still have business to solve in this lifetime, because it is also aspecting the north node

If someone's juno conjunct your south node in a platonic relationship, this person helped you to find your husband/wife in a past life, or just helped you two to get together

If it's a non platonic relationship, this person could be your husband or wife in a past life

12th house synastry in a non platonic relationship 🤝 both having the same intense dreams with each other at the same time. Also, if you're the planet person, it's easier for you to manifest the house person to dream of you!!

8th and 12th house synastry in a platonic relationship will cause conversations so interesting and spiritual, find a friend with these characteristic if you love these type of conversations

Is not that vedic astrology is more right than the western astrology, I think you just didn't look at the persona charts to get a better insight in your placements, do it sis please

People with a developed taurus mars or other placements have such a healthy relationship with food. If they also have a 6th house stellium they will really care for their body and health in general

If you have leo personal placements, you probably had a bad relationship with your hair when you were little

People with 6th house stellium + sagittarius placements have beautiful skin on their legs and body in general (fairer than in the face 😭) and get compliments a lot but also suffer from skin diseases if bad aspected

Moon conjunct ascendant is a good synastry aspect for non platonic relationships 💕

Look at the venus in your mars persona chart, you probably have a great chemistry with people who have the venus or mars on this sign in their natal! (for ex: person A has aquarius venus in their mars pc and person B is an aquarius venus in natal)

You probably feel weirdly attracted to the ethnicities you've had in your past lives.

North node conjunct descendant (in a platonic relationship): the nn person will help descendant person to get together with their husband in a way depending on the sign. ex: if it's in aquarius, it's through social media and probably a long distance relationship

South node conjunct ascendant: past life connection for sure!!!

That's it for now, have a great day guys! I'm so happy today... I'm sorry if I focused too much on past lives but I learned so much about it and I was really excited to share it here 💖 I'll probably be uptading this post sometimes

#astro notes #astrology notes #astro observations #astrology observations #past life astrology #past life #south node #astrology #aesthetic

[seventeenpins]

knock him down a peg

pairing: QZ!Joel x F!Reader x Tess

word count: 4.4k

summary: A follow up to Never Pegged You For A Quitter. After a raid gone wrong, Joel's been acting out. Cue an attitude adjustment. Inspired by this ask! 🩷

content/warnings: threesome, pussy eating, anal fingering, Tess is 'daddy', sub!Joel, fucking with a strap-on, reader is injured, Tess is protective af about reader, Joel nuts a frankly concerning amount, references to fisting, Tess slaps Joel

a/n: uhhhh i've been working on this for MONTHS but i think it's finally ready?? shoutout to my co-writer @ozarkthedog without whom this wouldn't exist -- thank you for letting me scream about all of my horny Tess thoughts, helping me organise my brain, giving me about a million good ideas, and encouraging me the whole way thru, and to @sp00kymulderr for giving me the fic title (did you know you did that?? you did. thank you!!)

The three of you had been planning for weeks; maps spread out across the kitchen table. Packs filled with ammo and food and product. It was an immaculate plan, every variable accounted for.

It still went tits up.

Just that morning, FEDRA had changed patrol routes altogether, so your route out wasn't clear anymore. It was no matter, you'd figured. You could head south, through the old high rises, and hook around.

That's when you discovered why FEDRA changed their routes.

Swarms of infected like you'd never seen them had flooded the buildings, hissing and flailing and scrambling towards you. Tess nearly got bit. And then once you made your drop and collected your payment, you had to go back through again.

Tess and Joel had taken the rear, and you'd gone ahead, ending up face-to-face with a slimy FEDRA lackey who took all of the cards you had on you, half your new product, and still put you in lockup for three days.

All in all, bad. 

Arguably better, though, than the noose.

Tess had been waiting for you when you got out and scanned over you as you limped your way out. Your shoulder had been dislocated, but she'd reset it as soon as you were let outside, cussing out the disinterested agents who were watching you, telling you to breathe deep and setting it on two when she made you count to three.

Now, you’re home, sat across from Tess, hissing as she dabbed iodine on the oozing cut beneath your eye. There was a gash on your abdomen that was just shallow enough to avoid the need for stitches. Small miracles. You watched her scan over you, head-to-toe, as if you were hiding some extra life-threatening wound that neither of you knew about yet. Her concern was firm and fierce; never sweet words, but warm hands and a careful touch.

Joel, however, wasn't handling things well. He was pacing back and forth, dangerously quiet. He wore a mean scowl, and his eyes were nearly black with fury. You could see all of his tells; the clench of his jaw, the flash of his eyes, the way his fingers twitched nervously and he refused to make eye contact with you.

The more he paced, the more Tess tensed till suddenly she snapped.

"Sit the fuck down, Joel. You're not helping, pacing like that," she scolded. He practically growled in response.

"It was fuckin' reckless," he spat, "Shouldn't've let her go ahead."

"Her?" you scoff, "We all decided I should go ahead. Someone's gotta do it, and I'm as much a part of this as you are."

He glowered.

"You think you're some kinda savior?” Your shoulder smarts, and the more Joel talks, the more you want to smack him. “Gotta protect me, is that it?"

“You’re more important here,” he argues, punctuating his point by jabbing his finger towards you, “Plottin’ out the routes, trackin’ product, inventory-”

“Joel-” Tess interrupts, “You know as well as I do that she’s been doing this just as long as we have. You wanna know why you weren’t the one going ahead?”

The guard dog reels, as if he didn’t know his place and his role were calculated. As if it weren’t something Tess would ensure.

“You’re talkin’ bout reckless? You’re the one getting reckless, Joel,” Tess hisses.

“It shouldn’ta gone like that-”

“Shit’s gonna go bad, sometimes. But we’re all here. We’re all okay.”

Joel huffs a sigh. “We nearly weren’t.”

Tess ignores him. “And you think being a martyr, putting yourself in danger ahead of us is gonna help us in the long run?”

“If I’d been up front-”

“If you’d been up front, right now we’d be cleaning your oozing face. Maybe you’d have some broken ribs, too.”

“But-”

“Nah. Shut the fuck up, Miller.”

Joel scoffs, nostrils flaring. Shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

The eye roll–that’s the final nail in the coffin.

Tess glowers. “You’d better fix your fuckin’ attitude, Joel, or I’ll fix it for you.”

He grinds his jaw, glaring at you both in turn.

But then Tess sees it; the way he’s starting to get hard in his jeans. You see it too, and you start to notice other things; the flush of his cheeks, his pupils dilated, blown black.

“Oh-,” Tess smirks and turns to you, “Look at that, baby. Looks like he wants a little attitude adjustment.”

You expect him to fire back, make some quip, talk some shit. Instead, he looks ahead. He avoids making eye contact with either of you. A deer in headlights.

“C’mon, Joel.” Tess soothes, stepping forward to rub small circles on his hips, holding and settling him with a surprisingly gentle touch. "Instead of letting you be a stubborn jackass, maybe we oughta fuck some good sense into you.”

Joel doesn’t groan, he just lets out a breath. You do groan.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten how to be good for us,” she taunts.

You’ve been on the receiving end of Tess’s mean streak before and it’s embarrassing how immediately it excites you. Whenever you think about it, your stomach flips and you have to actively restrain yourself from rubbing your thighs together. Her voice was then as it is now–gleeful and mocking. She made sure you learned your lesson- you fucked up, so now I gotta teach you how to act right. 

The last time you’d seen her like that, the night had ended with your ass on fire, covered in raised handprints. Painful indents of bite marks bruised beautifully up along the insides of your thighs, and you’d come so many times you nearly passed out. These days when you touch yourself, you’re thinking of that; how Tess must’ve been wrist deep, fucking her whole fist into you as she opened her mouth, tongue ready and waiting, grinning when your release splashes her face and drips down her chin, telling you, “Now that’s better, baby.”

Now, fully back in the moment, you’re looking at her and you can see the fire in her eyes. Tess grabs you by the collar, kissing you hard. It’s a dizzying few moments as she licks into your mouth, tongue hot and sweet. You love how she tastes.

When she pulls away, you’re breathless and she’s smirking. 

“Take a seat, honey,” she tells you, and pushes you back. You stumble and land in the armchair behind you. Then she turns to Joel. “You,” she fixes him with a stern glare, “No touching. Behave.”

She exits the room. You and Joel are left in silence. 

You don’t know exactly what Tess has in mind, but you’ve got a pretty good idea.

Joel watches you, wordless. You can feel the energy, the urgency vibrating out from him, but he says nothing. Barely moves. Tess has him trained well.

You unbutton your jeans and lower your zipper. Shimmy them down your hips, past the swell of your ass, and kick them off. 

There’s a sharp intake of breath, and you know Joel’s just noticed you’re not wearing any underwear. You recline back, letting your legs spread. Letting him see every part of you.

The wound on your abdomen is hot, a burning pulse. Your shoulder aches. Your jaw stings. You’re pretty sure your face is a swollen, puffy mess, especially where the gash beneath your eye still weeps, and there are bruises in the shape of handprints all down your arms. 

You need to feel good. Not broken or disregarded, and certainly not made to feel inadequate. You’d gotten your ass handed to you. Now, you need to indulge in some of your more hedonistic pleasures. And, you want to torture Joel, just a little.

Hoping Joel’s watching, but refusing to look up to see, you start to trace along your body. Your fingertips brush your lips first, trailing down your chin, your throat, your collarbone. It’s grounding. Assessing. You need to know what will make you feel good and what will cause you pain.

Slowly, you follow down your shirt, taking a moment to pinch your nipples, tracing a path along your belly, and then to the thatch of curls between your thighs.

You hear a restrained breath, and now you know Joel’s watching. You cup your mound, feel your own heat in your hand. You don’t want to go too far, don’t want to really start before Tess is back, but there’s no harm in warming yourself up.

A few minutes later, as you’re stroking your cunt, feeling yourself start to drip, she walks back in. 

What a fucking sight to behold. Her own shirt is unbuttoned, harness secured at her waist and thighs, the firm silicone cock hanging heavy between her legs. She’s beautiful, breasts unconstrained by any bra, nipples hard, and legs so toned. She looks at you, your naked self, and her scowl softens.

She turns to Joel. “Now, that’s a good girl, huh? Look at that.”

Joel says nothing, just grunts a vague noise of affirmation. 

Tess raises a brow. “Really, Joel?” she admonishes, “You had plenty to say earlier.”

He’s grinding his jaw, has been grinding his jaw for a while. You start to gingerly pull the shirt you’re wearing off and over your head, and Tess leans down to help, taking care to avoid your fucked up shoulder, all your cuts and bruises.

“This is what’s gonna happen,” she tells Joel, “I’m gonna fuck our girl, and you’re gonna watch. If you’re good, then we’ll fuck you, too. Got it?”

Joel grumbles an affirmation, but Tess is sick of his avoidance. She rounds on him, closing the space between them in only a few steps, and slaps him hard on the cheek.

“-The fuck, Tess.” Joel growls, and he’s mad now, “Goddammi-”

She smacks him again. “This isn’t a negotiation, Joel. You can leave if you want,” her eyes glance down to where his cock strains painfully against the fly of his jeans, “But I’m guessing you want to stay here and play with us.”

Finally, Joel looks at her. Directly at her. It’s like staring at the sun.

“Yes,” he admits, “I want to be here.”

“Good boy.”

Now, her attention turns on you. “How’re you feeling, baby?” she asks.

“Better every minute,” you grin up at her, fingers lazily swirling around your clit as you let yourself feel.

“Let me see,” she commands, and you let her spread your legs, opening your thighs wide as she examines your glistening cunt. She nearly gasps when she takes a look. “Oh, baby,” she praises, “Look at you-”, and it’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.

It feels so vulnerable, having Tess on her knees in front of you, looking at you bare. She breathes in deeply, groaning as her nostrils fill with the smell of you. The vulgar eroticism sends another surge of arousal through you and you’re almost embarrassed at how much it makes you drip.

Gently, she presses an exploratory middle finger against your opening and hisses out a breath when she slips in easily.

She turns her wrist, twisting the digit, letting you feel the width of her fist pressing against your mound. The pressure against you is delicious. It obsessed you, every time you considered it; the way she can make every time feel like the first time. You could never get bored. She’s a force.

You want to taunt her or tease her, rile her up just a little more. You love her rough side. But you know she wouldn’t go for it, the state you’re in, and besides–you’re tired, and the way she’s fingerfucking you feels so goddamn good you can’t even think of a single thing to say. 

She goes from stroking your folds and covering you with your own slick, to slipping her ring finger in with her middle. It’s an easy glide, too, and she starts pumping the digits, thumb hard against your clit as she works you open.

“God damn,” she groans, “All beat up and you’re still fuckin’ gushing for me, pretty girl.”

The pressure is overwhelming but you want to endure, need to endure. That doesn’t, however, stop your body from writhing and shaking, and the combination of her words and her ministrations, you know Tess feels how hard you’re clenching around her, feeling yourself get too close, too fast. She winks at you before turning back to Joel.

“C’mon over here,” she beckons him. He obeys, kneeling down beside her. She leans over and narrates. “Look at how she’s taking my fingers. Barely any resistance. Slipped right in, see how wet she is for me?”

Joel hums in acknowledgement, something between a sigh and a growl.

“Good thing she’s this wet already,” she tells Joel, nodding at the strap between her legs, “Otherwise you might have to suck it first-” 

His growl turns into something like a whine, desperate and beautiful. You know more than most how much effort he’s putting into not allowing himself to speak. How he must really be desperate to get fucked if he’s restraining himself like this.

“And we know that’s not a punishment for you, don’t we?” She swats him on the cheek, “We all know how much Joel Miller loves suckin’ cock, huh?”

She’s not wrong. His eyes somehow grow darker, and you’re so focused at watching his reactions that you barely even register Tess spreading your legs even further apart till the head of her cock presses against your drooling cunt, and she slides the entire length in, bottoming out in a single smooth thrust.

“JESUS, Tess,” you cry out. 

She just grins and holds you by the waist. “Hold on tight baby,” she tells you, “I know you can take all this and then some.”

After a few restrained thrusts, she finds her rhythm and starts fucking you. The initial sensation of being filled starts to wane, and you swear your pussy is a starving entity of its own. It wants and it wants and it wants.

The ache is so good, and she’s deep, too. It’s a perfect balance of pleasure and pressure. With each cant of her hips, you sink further into a blinding euphoria. It’s exactly what you need. 

“Taking me so fucking good,” she praises, “Like you were made to take me. Goddamn, baby, you’re dripping like a faucet.”

“Needed this so bad-” you mumble, “Fuck, Tess, I need you-”

“You got me, baby,” she promises, “You got me, I’ll give you anything you need.”

Every word is punctuated by another thrust. 

“Tell me what you need, honey.”

“Faster,” you gasp, “Please, Tess, need it faster-”

With a growl, she shifts you, pulls out for a moment and grabs you by the legs. She drags you further down the chair but rests the back of your calves on her shoulder before plunging the strap back in, deeper and rougher than before.

You wince a little, the tender part of your belly stinging, and she notices immediately. Rearranges you, just a little. 

When she slides back in, the pain is gone. Only pleasure remains.

“See?” Tess snarls, “She knows how to be good, huh?” 

Still holding your legs with one arm, she wraps the other around you and lands a hard smack on your ass, grinning when she feels you gush around her again.

You buck and writhe, and you know you have the stupidest grin plastered across your face.

She makes you dizzy.

“That’s it, baby,” she tells you. “So good, telling me what you need,”

“Fuck–” you rasp, “I’m gonna cum, Tess, please-”

She keeps to the rhythm, letting her fast strokes and the snap of her hips undo you. You’re close, so fucking close, but you can see the way she’s trembling, so focused on you, you don’t think she realises she’s close to the edge too.

Now, the only thing you want is for you both to cum together.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Tess, daddy, cum in me, please–”

A strangled moan leaves her, breathless, and she fucks into you and feels the way you tighten and pulse around the cock, feels the way you drip greedily down her thighs, and that’s enough; Tess comes with you.

As you come back out of the fog, your head is giddy with bliss. You’re tangled up, sweaty, sticky skin pressed together. You hold her close as she runs her hands up and down your back, soothing you. Your breasts are pressed together like a jigsaw puzzle, and the thought is silly, but it’s true.

The strength of your orgasm has knocked you numb, and it takes several moments for your vision and hearing to come back fully. Tess seems to be in the same boat, because it’s at the same time that you both hear it.

Slick squelches. Soft moans.

You both look over at the same time. Tess’s jaw drops. You feel another surge of arousal run through you as you focus on Joel.

“I’m- I’m sorry, honey,” he tells you, “Shouldn’t’a acted like that.”

You barely register his words. Instead, you watch how he’s stripped down near completely, barring his socks. That should make you laugh, but his legs are lewdly spread. With one hand he’s gripping his balls, clearly trying not to touch his drooling cock. With the other, he’s three fingers deep in his asshole, moving desperately. There’s a bottle of lube nearby and you can see its contents dripping down his wrist as he pumps his fingers hard and fast into his aching hole.

Tess looks stuck between telling him off for touching himself, and wholly impressed by his dedication to preparation.

“Well I’ll be damned,” she laughs, incredulous, “Someone’s eager.”

She’s still inside you, and you can feel another rush of your cum drip down the strap. An idea strikes you.

“Fuck him with it,” you tell her, looking down at the thick silicone as she glides out of you, “Fuck him with it, while it’s still dripping with me.”

Tess moves a hand to her breast, pinching and flicking at her own nipple, practically growling at your words. She stares at you for a moment. Then back to Joel.

He’s lost for words, too, it seems. He looks absolutely wrecked. His fingers are still buried deep, but they’re not moving anymore. Focus on the motion is forgotten, he’s just fixed on you both, eyes darting between you, waiting for a decision, any decision, to be made.

“Honey,” she smirks at you, “Why don’t you move over to the head of the bed there, that’s a good girl.”

You get up and scoot back, snorting a laugh as she swats at your ass while you rearrange yourself so your back is against the headboard.

“Spread those legs,” she orders. “Mmm yes, that’s it. My good fucking girl-”

She turns to Joel. “What a nice view, huh?”

Your lips are puffy and used, shining with slick. The room smells like sex, heavy and intoxicating.

“I think you’d better clean up the mess I made of her,” she gestures towards you and Joel doesn’t hesitate. “Hands and knees, Miller.”

He moves from his seat, crawling up the bed, wrapping his hands around your thighs and spreading them further.

The first stroke of his tongue feels like coming home. The hot, wet pass of it is intoxicating, and you’re already so sensitive you don’t need any focus on your clit to feel the build clutch at you again already.

“Good boy,” Tess praises him. He growls into you, the strokes of his tongue growing wider and faster, drinking up every drop of you.

He pulls away for only a moment. “Fuck me, Tess, please-”

“You focus on her and you’ll get what you need,” she promises, “But you’d better move fast, Texas.”

He sighs, but glances up at you. He nods, more weight to it than you’d expect, before he runs another lick up your cunt.

You shudder at the sensation, your legs turning to mush again. His calloused hands scrape against your thighs as he holds them apart, nuzzles at your pussy, dives back in, alternating between licking and sucking. 

There are many things that can be said about the man worshiping between your legs, but no one could ever say he eats pussy with anything less than religious devotion.

He nibbles gently in a way that devastates, knocks you back and wears you down. Once you’ve hit one peak it doesn’t take you long to hit the next, and he has you on the edge so damn fast you’d feel embarrassed if you didn’t also feel so fucking good.

“Fuck,-” you breathe, “Fuck, Joel-! Can’t fucking stop coming- Fuuuckkk–!”

He blinks, dark brown eyes gazing up at you as he continues, relentless, barely impeded by the way your body is convulsing from the overwhelm of sensation.  

You shudder on his mouth, legs shaking, involuntary whimpers turning into something more like panting whines and moans. You’re pretty sure the entire building can hear you. You really don’t care.

Tess has been watching the whole time, smirking but silent. Now she lines up her still-wet cock against his slick hole.

“Y’ready, Miller?” She asks, and you feel yourself melt at the tenderness of it. You fall in love just a little bit more, every time you see her soft.

He grunts an affirmation. His mouth is still on you but his movements slow and he buries his nose between your folds, nudging at you gently as Tess presses the head of her cock to his slick hole. The most beautiful whine slips out his mouth, reverberating against your cunt. You can feel the way his entire body moves, pressing up into you, as she lets herself loose, thrusting shallowly at first before snapping her hips in longer, deeper strokes.

With one particularly brutal thrust, he knocks forward. The curve of his nose hits against your clit and you come again with a shriek, soaking his face as he takes everything she gives him.

You’re worn out, spent and satisfied. You clutch him by the hair and yank him off of you, and now his moans aren’t muffled anymore. 

He keeps his head between your thighs, breathing in your scent as the cum on his face cools and starts to dry. He’s loud, whining and grunting, taking Tess’s cock like it’s his only purpose.

“Fuck, Tessa-” he sobs, the heat of his breath on your used-up cunt. “Feels- so fucking- good.”

“Feels real fuckin good, don’t it?” she echoes, rhythm never ceasing, “Lettin’ your daddy fuck you like this.”

“Uh huh.”

“You wanna be good for me, say thank you?”

“I-” His words come out stilted, punctuated by each thrust. “Yes-”

“Say thank you, Daddy.”

“Thank- Thank- you- daddy-” he chokes.

“Thank you for what?” you prompt, and Tess grins. Joel looks up at you with a flash of something that could be fury or hunger.

“Thank you-” he hisses, “Thank you- daddy- for teaching me a lesson-”

“Good boy,” she soothes, “Say ‘thank you daddy, for teaching me how silly and childish I’ve been.’”

“Thank you daddy,” he echoes, “For teaching me how silly I’ve been. How childish. Ain’t been actin’ right. Not to you honey-” he presses a gentle kiss to the inside of your thigh. Closes his eyes when he speaks to her. “Not to you either, daddy.”

“You feelin good, baby?” she asks him.

He breathes out a shudder. “Feels so fucking good, but–”

“But?”

“Need more. Need to be touched.”

“Poor baby,” Tess pouts, “I’m afraid we can’t do that.”

He whines, but nods.

“But since you’re taking this lil attitude adjustment so well, I suppose we can let you cum. That sound alright to you honey?”

“Sure,” you beam, “He can rub himself up against the mattress if he likes. Cum just like that.”

“Mmm yeah,” Tess agrees, “You able to cum from rutting up against the bed?”

“Yes- yes anything, please-”

“Love it when he begs,” you sigh and Tess hums in affirmation.

She presses him down, keeps her cock in him as she knocks him so he’s flat on the bed, legs splayed, swollen dick rubbing against the covers as she holds him by the hips.

This whole time, she’s kept a steady pace. Not quite brutal, but certainly not leisurely. You see the way his own hips rock as he humps the bed, trying to find an angle that’ll give him the release he needs.

“I’m- fuck, I’m getting close Tessa– Gonna fuckin cum–”

“Good,” she smacks him hard and watches the flesh of his ass shake deliciously from the blow.

The masochist he is, it’s all he needs to tumble over the edge.

He comes with a shout, cum painting the bedsheets and pooling on the fabric, coating his stomach, his cock, his balls. Tess is still inside him, still hitting his prostate with every stroke, and it strengthens his orgasm to a point of almost overwhelming intensity. After a few moments, you’re not sure if he’ll ever stop coming, the amount of it verges on concerning as the pool of cum threatens to trickle over the edge of the bed.

Finally, his orgasm comes to an end, and Tess’s thrusts slow. 

They both reel back, panting, Tess pulling out gently and Joel whimpering at the loss of sensation. 

“Good boy,” she tells him, unbuckling the harness and letting the strap fall to the floor.

“Fuuuuuckkkkkk-” he sighs, and you giggle. His eyes snap up to you, but he’s laughing too. 

He shakes his head and starts to peel himself up from the sticky mess he’s made. “Sorry I’m such a jackass.” 

“Eh,” you shrug, “We know you’re a jackass.”

He nods, considering.

“And–” Tess joins in, “We know how to set you straight.”

He snorts.

“Just– I know you were scared out there,” you tell him, and he must’ve been fucked real good because he doesn’t even try to argue. “We’re always gonna have close calls. But we’re in this together, yeah? Don’t shut me out just because you’re afraid.”

He’s silent for a moment. Then nods at you.

“Okay, honey. And- thank you, Tessa. You know how t’ keep me in line.”

“Anytime, Texas,” she grins.

You get up and turn on the shower. The rest of the day, you’ll get clean. You’ll rest. You’ll let your aching bones start their healing. Just over the sound of the shower spray, you hear Tess speaking to Joel; “Now, unless I’m much mistaken, it’s your turn to change the sheets-”

#joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #tlou #joel miller x tess servopoulos #tess servopoulos x f!reader #tess servopoulos x reader #save me daddy tess #daddy tess save me

[exstasyplague]

GOJO WON'T DIE ㅡ JJK Chapter 236 Analysis

!SPOILERS AHEAD!

hi guys. it's your favourite overthinker again. after a few hours of hardcore coping, i calmed down amd re-read the chapter.

i am not saying this is certain but gege's writing is never unintentional so... let's get started!

first of all, from the get-go we are met with the symbolism of lotus flowers.

lotuses rise from the mud without stains. they represent purity, strength and rebirth.

after the (soul wrenching, tear jerker, mentally draining) conversation he had with suguru, nanami and haibara, he bids them farewell, taking a different path.

ㅡ"move north, if you are looking for a new side of yourself or move south if you want to stay who you are." (nanami speaking about death)

gojo has always been the strongest; a bit of a thrill seeker, taking things for granted, fooling around with his enemies etc. without being the strongest he wasn't... anything, that's how the world shaped him. geto pointed the same issue out when asking —'are you the strongest because you're gojo satoru? or are you gojo satoru because you're the strongest?'

it's time gojo will finally figure this out.

you might say: "but plague, that's just metaphors, give me some SOLID evidence, NOW!"

RCT comes from the brain.

gojo went from this expression

to this smile when sukuna was praising him.

yuta and shoko can do RCT on others, gojo can maintain himself (barely) alive. kashimo jumping sukuna will be a good enough distraction for them to finally set foot on the battle ground and help him.

also, the editor's note at the end says: "run, quickly, to death's pace." so. pfft. what else should i add, really?

kashimo, i may have hated you a bit for being overhyped yet you are fulfilling your role magnificently.

i can confidently say this is not a cope. so have some faith.

#jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #geto suguru #jjk manga #ryoumen sukuna #jjk analysis #jjk 236 #jjk spoilers #jjk leaks #jujutsu kaisen manga #jjk manga spoilers #manga panel #jjk panel analysis #jujutsu kaisen panel #sukuna vs gojo #jujutsu gojo #jjk gojo

[thewickedspinster]

Of Eternity (Thranduil x Reader)

pairing: Thranduil x F!Reader

synopsis: Thranduil and Y/N know each other from what seems like a past life; one that both would rather forget. Once secret lovers, hidden from the prying eyes of the Elvenking's court, the two elves' disagreements became too much, their opinions too divided. Y/N departed for Rivendell and sought shelter with her friend, Elrond. But when the Elvenking of Mirkwood comes to parlay with the Lord of Rivendell, he once again meets Y/N, and someone else who looks awfully familiar...

warnings: afab!Reader, pregnancy, elf children, war

Tathrenion = son of one willow-made

requested by @starlight5cat

Of Eternity

In Rivendell, the seasons turned as flowers bloomed; with a sudden burst of color against the greys of winter. They came and went quickly for elvenkind, rising and eddying like the tide, and with them came new wonders and sounds, new flavors. Song.

Y/N could hardly remember a time when her life was not dictated by these rhythms, when time was so magnified as to hear her own heartbeat, to watch the sunlight catch upon a dewdrop. Though, it was not so long ago she was in a place where seasons hardly touched, where time stood still and light lingered in honeyed moments. Where her breath raced in her body, and youth stretched into eternity. Where naïveté was all too familiar.

Here, she had more responsibility. Here, she was unequivocally welcome. When she had fled the confines of her life before in Mirkwood, where she had been daughter of a Ñoldor house descended from Fingolfin, and gone westward into the Misty Mountains, she had only hoped her old friend, Elrond, would grant her sanctuary. He welcomed her with open arms. Here, she sat on his council of advisors. Here, life was warm and full of light once more.

For a short time of twenty-odd years, there was peace east of the Misty Mountains. Though her cousin Galadriel could not believe it, it had appeared the dark servant of Morgoth named Sauron had been vanquished. The grey elves lived in peace with the sons of Durin and helped the wayward man, but kept to their forests and their mountains. All had seemed well, and with the protection of the haven of Rivendell, the darkness of old seemed unable to touch her.

Such comforts cannot last. Not so long as Morgoth and his fell creations plagued Arda.

As soon as word reached Rivendell of a darkness fallen upon southern Mirkwood, Elrond sought Y/N's counsel.

"You know the eastern forests well," Elrond said softly, guiding them both down towards the river. Water fell in a gentle curtain of silver ahead, glinting in the moonlight. "What sort of evil could cause these things?"

The pair ducked behind the waterfall, and the sound of rushing water hushed their voices. There hidden was an alcove, large enough for a small group, with cushions surrounding the burnt-out embers of a fire. Elrond had come here often in the early days of ruling Rivendell, and when Y/N had arrived, had brought her here in her most vulnerable moments.

"The Elvenking's Halls are to the north, but in my many wanderings, I went south," she answered, settling on the floor alongside Elrond. "Mirkwood is vast and its creatures untold, but I have never seen anything that would produce this sort of rot."

Elrond hummed, deep in thought. Elven and human messengers alike had been passing along rumors of dark creatures in the southern Mirkwood, things that walked on more than four legs, with slavering maws and the stench of evil surrounding them. Elves who more often ventured south returned with harrowing stories of voices, of song coming from the dark trees. The canopies had grown so thick that sunlight hardly reached the ground. Some had even reported sightings of Orcs.

"You know what this means," Y/N said, interrupting Elrond's reverie. "Galadriel was right. She was always right. We cannot know that Sauron is vanquished. We burned no body. Isildur brought no head. Only the Silmaril."

"There are no credible rumors of Morgoth's creatures, Y/N."

"There are," she insisted. "They have started calling this force 'The Necromancer.' This is no coincidence, Elrond. All evil in these lands comes back to Sauron. To Morgoth. So long as their discord remains, none of the children of Eru are safe."

Beyond his red head, with his noble face, the silvered water fell in sheets, dulling to a gentle sheaving. Waiting. When he raised his gaze, he said, "What would you have me do?"

Galadriel would have them go to war. Though she had grown less brash since the last age, she had grown no less desperate for Sauron's defeat. But Rivendell was a haven, a place of peace for wandering elves. She could not see amassing forces and marching to Mirkwood unaided. Besides, it was not Elrond's territory to march on.

"You know exactly what you must do, my friend," she said at last.

"You do not like him."

"What of it?"

"He is the reason you fled your home."

It was true enough, though it still gave Y/N pause. Mirkwood had been a home for long centuries, it was true. But before that, she had known the lushness of Beleriand, and the glory of Númenor. She would always be a wanderer. But the Elvenking of Mirkwood brought with him memories too fresh to be painless.

"He is the lord of Mirkwood, and should you wish to do anything at all about this rising evil, you must first confer with him," she said firmly. "Invite him here. Invite his entire court. They will leave Prince Legolas to guard the north, but Thranduil will come."

"I would have you by my side upon his reception."

Y/N caught the glimmer of ancient mischief in Elrond's eyes, and offered him a faint smile in return. "It would be an honor."

~~~

Word came within a fortnight that the Elvenking's party would embark on the Elf-path by the full moon. This gave the people of Rivendell little time to prepare, but showed Elrond and his council how dire circumstances were in Mirkwood.

As Y/N stood at Elrond's side on the dais before the sweeping steps to the city, she knew that in this matter, as all others, that Thranduil would be stubborn, cunning, and seemingly omniscient. It was in his power as king to appear so to his people. But Y/N, he could not fool. She and Elrond would simply need maneuver with tact, to force Thranduil into showing his hand.

In the distance, the royal traveling party rounded a bend and came into view, the Elvenking in his raiment of grey and silver astride his great antlered steed. From here, Y/N could feel his piercing gaze upon them, focusing on her at the Lord of Rivendell's side. Robed in rich, dark green against Elrond's golden raiment, Y/N stood tall. A circlet of gold sat upon her brow, and in it, an opal enshrined. Befitting of her station, she stood to Elrond's left, his wife Celebrían to his right.

Y/N had known true fear in the face of evil, yet facing the Elvenking of Mirkwood after these twenty years turned her chest cold. She could never fear him - she knew him too well, but that was just the problem. They shared a deep past of friendship, of love, forbidden though it may have been. And pain, at the last. Since their parting, she had, for the first time, lived many secrets that she kept from him still.

The party finally arrived at the dais, the great reindeer's feet clapping against the stone as thunder. The Elvenking dismounted, stepped before Elrond, and inclined his head.

"Lord Elrond of Rivendell, you honor me with your great hospitality," he said formally, the Sindarin tongue rolling like quicksilver from his mouth. "And Lady Celebrían, thank you for welcoming my host into your household."

Elrond, Y/N, and the council assembled bowed to the king.

"We are pleased you answered our invitation," Elrond replied, his tone, as ever, one of deliberate lightness, as if he knew something no one else did. "How long shall you stay?"

"A week," Thranduil said shortly. Finally, finally, his silvered eyes shifted to Y/N. She breathed in deeply. "There are matters to attend to in Mirkwood."

"I do hope Prince Legolas is well," she said softly, smoothly.

Thranduil looked momentarily surprised she'd spoken, his eyebrows drawing together at the sound of her voice. "He is taking to his responsibilities well."

A moment of silence passed. The river roared below. Then, Celebrían was taking gesturing towards the king, leading him away into the great wood house of Rivendell.

Formal greetings complete, the rest of the crowd quickly dispersed, and elves moved swiftly in preparation for the feast prepared in the king's honor. Soon, only Elrond and Y/N remained. She watched the sun setting over the vale, eyes fixed on the rushing waters surrounding.

"Will you tell him?" Elrond asked, voice so quiet only she could hear.

"How could I?" Y/N whispered. She felt her fingers tremble.

"It is unfair to -"

"You shall not tell me what is fair or unfair, Elrond," Y/N whirled, suddenly furious. "You know not what it is to have my fears."

Elrond held up his hands. "I only wish to say that truths are better spoken. Deception is the chaos-sower."

"It will put him in danger."

"It will give him power."

"A curse," she hissed. "A bounty upon his head."

"Or a crown."

She stared at her friend, stunned. "You do not mean that."

Elrond only watched her in return.

With no words left between them, Y/N turned and disappeared into the house, bracing herself for the week to come.

~~~

It was the fourth day of the accursed sessions of counsel, and Thranduil had still not admitted there being any disturbance in Mirkwood. He spoke on matters of trade, of agriculture, of relations with Khazad-Dûn, but nothing of the murmurs from the Sutherlands.

Y/N was beginning to lose her patience.

Elrond, blessedly, had more of it to spare. Ever the diplomat, he listened to Thranduil's concerns and complaints of their relations, and constructed plans to fix them. Ever the master of compromise, he kept Rivendell's secrecy and best interests at heard. Ever the more patient of the two, he kept prodding the Elvenking towards revealing his secrets, to no avail.

Y/N sat, posture relaxed, around the dais at the center of Elrond's pubic chambers. The elves around her deliberated, debated, while she kept her mouth closed. As Elrond's chief advisor, her primary duty was to listen. She interjected when Elrond looked to her, and when someone said something entirely ludicrous. Elves tended to take a laboriously long time to come to any sort of agreement in politics, and were reasonable to the point of boredom. Y/N's engagement had thus far been minimal, though she heard all.

They had turned to the topic of weapons, and of Rivendell's protection. They were inching closer to the topic at hand, but she knew Thranduil had a deep well of patience, particularly when it came to dealing with elves. The high noon sun blazed down on the white marble.

"How have you fared in the training of your ranks?" Thranduil inquired, sipping at a goblet of honeywine.

"The archers excel, under the tutelage of Sindarin masters," Elrond said. "The swordsmen, under that of the Ñoldor. Khazad-Dûn has agreed to provide us with weapon designs, and with materials to forge them. Durin is all too happy to help an old friend."

Thranduil scoffed lightly into his cup. "Old friend, indeed."

Y/N sat up straighter at the tone, the scoff. She had heard it many times. "Prince Durin has provided us with an excellent relationship over the years. He is a close friend to Rivendell."

Thranduil looked at her, through her, in her. Before her mind's eye flashed his face, poised over her, abed. Soft candlelight shone from beyond his features, and his face was softened into the loveliest of smiles. Gone in an instant.

Just then, lithe footsteps from just inside, and bursting from behind the curtains came three elven children, small and laughing. A maid reached out, trying to snatch them by their tunics, but too late. They sprinted into the circle, and straight up to Elrond.

"Father, we would like to go the Gates," one boy panted. Elrohir.

"Apologies, Father," the other interjected, suddenly serious. Elladan, his twin. "I told him not to come."

"Our swordmaster is at the Gates, and asked us to join him," the third explained. Y/N sat forward, staring down at the boys.

"Tathrenion," she said severely, hiding the quake to her voice, "you know not to enter this chamber when Lord Elrond is taking counsel."

The third boy, unlike the other two, with (Y/HC) hair and striking grey eyes, paled, bowing to Y/N. Even when he straightened, he kept his eyes averted. "Forgive me, Mother. Elladan and Elrohir wished to go, and I wished to accompany them."

It was only then, as the boys turned to glance around at the present company, that Elrond spoke.

"You are in the presence of Thranduil, Elvenking of Mirkwood."

Shuffling, with a soft gasp from Elrohir, the three boys bowed low to the king. Thranduil said nothing for a moment. Instead of on the children, his eyes were pinned on Y/N, wide with unbridled shock. When he finally did look at the boys, at the one called Tathrenion, he found his own eyes staring back, steady and calm.

Thranduil stood abruptly, setting down his goblet. He opened his mouth, closed it, then said, "We shall eat. Elrond, you shall decide what to do with your sons."

He swept off the dais, out of view, and Y/N was left staring at the spot he once occupied.

"Go after him," Elrond murmured to her, leaning close.

"Tathrenion-"

"Leave the child to me." And an unspoken promise to keep her son safe.

Y/N was up in an instant, following in Thranduil's wake as quickly as possible. But he was moving fast, and kept dodging out of sight, around corners that he did not know. Servants moved out of the way as Y/N passed through an adjoining kitchen at a sprint, intercepting Thranduil as he rounded the corner into the next room.

She caught him by his elbow as he tried to pull from her grasp, but she held firm.

"Thranduil," she said. "Stop. Just... Stop. And listen."

His rage made his jaw tight, his brows drawn low. "I will not stand here and listen to you when you have -"

"I had to leave," she interrupted, holding his gaze unflinchingly. "I could not be your concubine, Thranduil. I would not."

He scoffed, that same sound he made when he thought someone foolish. Beneath him. It hadn't started this way, but as they fell deeper into each other, he'd started scoffing at her the same way. It was part of what drove Y/N away from Mirkwood. "You were not a concubine, Y/N."

"Then tell me what I was to you."

Thranduil bent lower, so their faces were inches apart. "You know exactly what you were to me."

"I know that I was not your wife." And that was venom in her tone, sour and deadly.

A shadow passed over his features. "You were everything she was not."

"And that makes me whore to a king."

"You have never been a whore!" He shouted.

The surrounding house went quiet. Y/N trembled, fingertips numb.

"Tathrenion is your son," she said lowly, practically hissing into his mouth. "Your son, Thranduil. Our place in Rivendell is of your doing. You never recognized what it was to be in my place, with no guarantee of my safety in your court."

"I always would have protected the both of you."

Tears gathered in her eyes. "Our love felt increasingly fragile. I doubted that it even existed any longer. Had we been found out, I doubted you would protect me from exile."

Thranduil was quiet. The house had moved on from his sharp outburst, exhaling as his anger passed. Y/N's grip loosened on his tunic, her truth spoken. But her touch lingered.

"Did you know?" He murmured hoarsely.

"Not when I left your halls. Not until I reached the Misty Mountains."

"And all... went well? With the birth?"

Elven births were rare, and dangerous for mother and child. "Blessedly, Elrond's midwives and healers some of the most gifted, and I healed swiftly. He was born squalling."

He loosed a soft breath, and some of the tension left his features. He had always been beautiful, but it was when he was away from prying eyes that he truly became ethereal. Radiant. Himself.

"You should always have been in Mirkwood, with me." She just looked up at him. "I am sorry, my Y/N. I never meant to make you afraid."

"It is safer for both of us away from you and Legolas."

Thranduil snorted. "My son has proven impertinent. And lacking the character to succeed me."

"He will mature," she said softly. "He is young still."

"He will have to fight soon."

"Then this Necromancer..."

"Is a threat. Whatever darkness lurks in the south of my lands, it is dangerous and spreading."

"Tell Elrond," she urged. "He wishes to aid any fight against Morgoth's darkness in these lands."

"My forces are strong."

"They will be stronger with Rivendell's. Don't let your pride cloud your judgement."

At that, a small smile graced his mouth. "That has always been your advice for me."

"It will always stand. Unless you change."

"Would you come home?"

The question surprised her. "You would have us? So soon after the death of your wife?"

"I would have your company," he said. "And I would have my son raised by the both of us."

Y/N did not have an answer, and she was about to say as much when a smaller voice said, "I would like to go to Mirkwood."

Y/N whipped around, and found young Tathrenion standing behind them. She took a large step away from Thranduil, then lowered herself to her son's level, steeling herself.

"What did Lord Elrond tell you and the twins?" She asked.

"He said we may go to the Gates, but I decided to stay behind." Tathrenion peered past Y/N, to the Elvenking. "I wished to speak with you."

Thranduil could hardly stomach looking at his son's face, the very reflection of his own, untouched by age yet full of a strange wisdom. "Speak, child."

"I know little of why my mother left your kingdom, but I know she has done everything since for my sake. Please, do not ply her with false hopes. If you invite us to Mirkwood, you pledge to keep her safe."

"And you," Thranduil answered immediately. "I will protect you both, and welcome you into my household in places of honor."

Y/N was speechless, her throat swollen around pride for her young son.

"I know you not, Your Majesty, but I would like to," said Tathrenion simply.

Thranduil smiled.

Y/N sent him on his way, leaving her alone once again with the Elvenking. This time, he reached out to her, and against logic, she stepped into him, leaning into his fingers upon her cheek. She had longed for his touch, his kiss, his steadfastness ever since she left the forest. Leaving Mirkwood had been one of the hardest decisions of her long life.

"Let us think about this," she whispered. "And let these diplomatic matters be done first. Speak to Elrond in earnest."

"I will wait for your return to my side, Y/N," he murmured. "I have been waiting since the moment you left."

~~~

Dappled sunlight shone down upon the glade, lighting the page Y/N read. It was a letter, signed in Elrond's familiar hand, detailing the phalanxes marching towards Mirkwood. They would join Thranduil's army in patrolling for evil in the south, just as they had hoped.

Amongst the trees, a young boy laughed, and an older one hollered. Legolas was nearly fully mature, but had taken to playing with his younger half-brother in earnest. Together, they romped through the forest, and Tathrenion adored having someone elder to look up to and learn from. He excelled in archery, now, thanks to Legolas's tutelage.

A hand wrapped around her arm, pulling her backwards, and she fell upon Thranduil's chest. He was stretched upon the grass, feline at ease. She luxuriated in the feel of his body against hers, in his fingers in her unbound hair. In his mouth, pressed to her shoulder.

She had refused to take him to bed since her return, but she had begun to let him back into her heart. He had honored his word, and the loss of his wife had left him in need of comfort, in need of counsel and a tender hand.

Besides that, over honeywine in the candlelight one night in Rivendell, he had finally told her he loved her. Words were the playthings of elves, and though they meant little to some, they meant everything to Y/N. She opened up visions of the future that had ere been clouded.

"Of what do you think, my love?" Thranduil breathed against her skin.

She came back to the dampness of the grass beneath them, the golden green of the canopy above, the laughter of her son in the distance. The warmth of her king at her back.

She smiled. "Eternity."

#thranduil x reader #lotr #the hobbit #the silmarillion #fanfic #f!reader #please be kind this is my first fic

[netherfeildren]

Greener Memories of Better Men

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Best Story of the Day! South Austin elementary school started a “Breakfast With Dads” program but many dads couldn’t make it and several students didn’t have father figures. The school posted fliers at the local YMCA’s for 50 volunteer fathers… 600 different people from all backgrounds showed up…

Joel Miller is one of them. 

-OR- 

Sarah’s gone and Joel wants to feel close to her again. He reconnects with someone he used to know along the way.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: No outbreak; Grief; Child loss; Emotional hurt/comfort; Angst; Fluff and smut; Unprotected sex; Creampie; Oral Sex (f!receiving); Size Difference; Size kink; Dirty talk; Truck sex; Praise kink

A/N: This was planned for a long time, and then just happened all at once today without prior thought. Enjoy! :)

Word Count: 10.8K

Read on AO3

When she got very sick, towards the end, they used to listen to “The Weight” by The Band all the time. He’d sit at her bedside playing it for her over and over again, and he’d watch her breathe. For hours, he’d sit there and watch the rise and fall of her chest, the slow, weak thrum of her pulse in her neck beneath the wan and clammy skin, listen to the sound of her fight to continue existing. Sometimes, when she was a little more on this side of lucid, when she’d let him look at those gorgeous green eyes, she’d mouth the words at him through cracked, parched lips. Hey, mister, can you tell me where a man might find a bed? The still beautiful sound of her laughter, not made any less lovely despite its weakness now, when she adapted the lyrics to suit herself, take a load off, daddy. 

And sometimes, when she was keen on showing that superior and tremendous wit, that intelligent mind, the eye she had for seeing within and through him, she’d say that Fanny was the friend they’d always needed, but had never had. Like she knew, she knew there were times, only sometimes, where there was something missing, an imaginary figure that would have been nice or helpful, that was sometimes wished for. A mother, a wife, a partner, a friend, something they might have both needed or liked to have, perhaps, even especially, now, at the end. 

It had been a slow crawl towards death, for a long time, and then, suddenly, a mad dash to the finish line she’d seemed desperate to win. 

At times he’d been angry, angry and resentful and so fucking filled with a rage so deep it terrified him at the unfairness of it all. Sometimes there were parts of Joel that wished it was him lying in that bed, rotting away from the inside out by that invisible poison crawling through his little girls veins, but then the idea of Sarah being the one left behind, the one left alone, seemed an equally terrible fate, and he could not discern which was the worse of the two evils. And so he was left with nothing but this terrible impotence warring inside of him against his equally terrible anger. 

If he could have carried the weight of her illness for her, he would have. If he could have bore the pain and suffering of it, he would have. He would have eaten his own heart, cut off his own limb, forsaken everything he’d ever known, to have taken her suffering from her. He’d told her they’d be brave together, that they’d get out of it together. Eventually though, that mad dash had ended, and after it was all done, she’d been the only one to be brave, and he’d been the only one to get out of it. If that’s what it could even be called. Sarah had died and Joel had been left with nothing more than whatever half life he pretended at now. 

It’d been a year and a half since then, five hundred and sixty seven days since he’d put his only child in the ground. Days of living his life as if a thousand raging gladiators screamed and readied for battle in his mind while he lay limp and motionless in their midst. While he lay limp and motionless as the rest of the world went on around him. He failed all the time now, it seemed. Failed at being a father, a man, a brother, in his waking hours and in his dreams. And sometimes he wondered or worried at what she’d think of him now, if she saw what he’d let himself become. A limp and useless thing in the shadow of the memory of what he’d always been or wanted to be. 

But he remembered love, he remembered loving her, and he thought that if he held onto that, perhaps, he could be something again. Certainly not himself, or who or what he’d been before, but he could find the wherewithal or the strength or the conviction to be something, surely, he could be something again. How could death have the ability to touch such perfection? He could not understand. So, if he could no longer be a father, Sarah's father, then he could find it in himself to at least be alive, couldn’t he? For her, at least, for that memory of loving her. 

He sees the flier at the YMCA one evening, after he’s finished his workout. For months he’d gone from work to bed and bed to work. Gotten soft and lazy and horrible, half dead, but he’d had a dream a few weeks ago, a memory of them at Lady Bird Lake when they’d go and feed the ducks. She’d wanted to burst into the water after them, catch one for herself. Skinny little arms and legs flailing as he caught her around the waist, stopping her from rushing in after the poor things as they paddled madly away from the lovely little terror that she was. The thing he was now was not the man, the father, he had been before, not even a fraction. And he’d felt disgusted and ashamed and frightened with himself at the thought of her ever seeing the creature he’d become. He’d gone for a jog that evening after work. As exhausted and beaten down from the day as he’d been, he’d tied on his sneakers and forced his body to move. It had felt terrible and cathartic and he’d thrown up in his front yard afterwards, pathetic, heaving sobs wracking his body as he emptied the contents of his stomach in the overgrown grass and tears dripped down the tip of his nose, right there for the whole world to witness. But he’d gone out again the next day and the next and the next, and then he’d gone and gotten a membership for the Y, paid the thirty dollars and promised himself he’d make it there a few days every week. Pushed himself week after week to exhaustion and tears, even, sometimes. Wilting into bed at the end of the day like a felled weed, but he couldn’t stop. 

Don’t stop to think, don’t interrupt the scream. 

So he tried to not think, and he tried to keep going. 

They used to walk down there all the time before, to the Y, Joel, Sarah and Tommy. She loved to swim, and the three of them would jump in the pool together and play for hours every summer. They were good memories he knew he needed to keep fresh in his mind, like a muscle that needed to be exercised constantly. He couldn’t, didn’t want to lose them. 

The flier called for volunteers to show up for an event at Sarah’s old elementary school, “Breakfast with Dads” requesting fathers who could show up for those children who didn’t have a father figure in their lives. He’d stood still as a statue, reading the poster over and over again for almost ten minutes there, in the middle of the bustle of the busy gym around him. He could still remember the last time he’d picked her up at school with perfect clarity, the way she’d looked, curls bobbing around her, green eyes shining, shooting out the double doors towards him. She’d always been good in school, smart and lovely and friendly. He’d had to make the difficult decision to pull her out almost a year before she’d died, when she’d started getting too weak from the treatments to continue going in person. He’d not been back to the place since. Didn’t know if he was capable of walking through those halls she used to walk through, where she’d been happy, had friends, been a kid. 

He thinks about it for days afterwards, afraid and unsure and awkward with himself. Worried the children will be able to smell the deceit on him, the fact that he isn’t really a father anymore, lying on the soft purple rug of her perfectly preserved bedroom. A mausoleum to her memory that he meticulously cleans every Sunday to maintain exactly as she left it, staring up at the stick-on stars of the ceiling. He thinks that perhaps it would be good for him, that perhaps he would like the chance to feel like a father again, to remember what it is to have some spunky little kid talk at him for hours on end the way Sarah used to. And if nothing else, he thinks that there might be some child out there without the commodity of a father, the way he is without the blessing of his daughter, who would appreciate the fact that he’d shown up. Perhaps, he can make some kid not feel as alone as he always feels now. 

The morning of the breakfast dawns bright and warm, but with the faint scent of impending rain in the ether. She’d died on the same kind of sunny, tremulous day, and Joel’s hands shake as he walks up the steps of the elementary school. Flashes of the memory of her running out of these same double doors, skipping down the steps, curls flopping and gap toothed smile more luminous and sillier than any sight he’d ever beheld before. His heart beats like a hummingbird in his chest, hands clammy and shaking and ridiculous. He cries all the time now, at any and everything and it embarrasses him but is also so strangely freeing. He’d watched that ridiculous, but not really, movie Uptown Girls last night and had wept like a child at the end of it, all throughout it if he’s being honest. Huge mistake for the night before he was supposed to show face bright and early and have some kid inspecting him. Tommy’d shown up this morning with coffee and burritos and told him his face looked swollen, fucking asshole, and he’s once again ridiculous and embarrassed and awkward and shaking with nerves as he takes a few deep, calming breaths, before stepping into the Sarah’s old cafeteria. 

The large room is loud and chaotic, the bright sound of children’s voices and laughter and commotion, and people, there are a lot of fucking people. Two different lines of men, traversing the entire wide room, starting at a long table on one end and snaking through the lunch tables. It seems he wasn’t the only one who’d seen the posters, who had felt the need to come here today. He’s inspecting the lines, deciding which one seems to be moving faster when he hears his name, soft and breathy and incredulous, voice like a fucking angel: “Joel?”

He turns and there you are. “Joel Miller?” You almost stumble towards him, hand almost outstretched, eyes almost swimming. The last time he’d seen you was the last time he’d picked Sarah up here, and there’d been real tears in your eyes that time as you got to your knees, and his daughter buried her face in your neck, your soft hair, as she cried and told you how much she’d miss you, how much she didn’t want to go. You’d been her last teacher before she’d had to leave school – she’d never gotten to finish the year with you, and it had been a painful and difficult parting for the both of you. One he’d not appreciated fully in the moment, but now, looking at your shocked face, like you’ve seen a ghost, the memory rears its head in his mind, the sound of your voice trying to soothe her, trying to remain strong, stifle the sound of your own tears. You’d gone to the hospital once, near the end, the nurses had told him, in the quick hour he allotted himself to go home and shower every day, to say goodbye to her. Had sat at her bedside and laughed with her, brought her a card and a bright bouquet of yellow daisies in a pretty, blown glass vase from her entire class. It had been near the end of the school year, what would have been the end of Sarah’s second grade year, and he’d been glad, after the nurse had gushed about the pretty young woman who’d come in, made Sarah laugh and smile, perked her up for even a few brief moments, he’d been so fucking glad he’d missed you. He hoped he’d never have to see you again, could avoid the memory of his daughter in your care, the way the two of you looked at each other, like you shared a secret, a friendship, a connection, that of pupil and teacher, but also just two girls, something special and sacred. He envied it and resented it and was glad he’d missed you and grateful he’d not had to see you, but he was also grateful for the fact of you, that you’d been able to give her something she’d needed and he could not provide. 

He whispers your name, and you finally reach him, hand fully outstretched now, not an almost anything anymore, and your small, delicate fingers grasp at his thick forearm. The soft touch burns. 

He places his big hand over yours, completely engulfing you, and when he whispers your name back he feels a tremble in your limb. “Joel, I’m so glad to see you,” said with so much sincerity he feels the backs of his eyes pinch. He did not think the hardest part of this day would be seeing you again, a person who’d known and cared for his daughter so deeply. 

“I– I’m glad to be here,” he chokes, coughs, tries to take a steadying breath. “I saw the posters– just thought… I just thought it’d be nice for me to come around.”

“Yes,” you squeeze his arm gently, “Yes, of course. Welcome, please, I’m really so glad to see you here. There are so many great kids here today–” you cut yourself off, and your face does a funny sort of uncertain thing, you shake your head, try and give him a small smile. A deep breath, and then: “There are so many kids here that need someone. It’s a real good thing you came.”

“Yeah, well… I just wanted to– to feel– to remember–” he shakes his head too, unable to continue, but he sees that you understand. You slide that small hand into his, wrapping around two of his thick fingers and pull him around and further into the room. Nodding your head and smiling back at him like you’ve got the best sort of secret you’re about to let him in on. “Of course. Come on, I’ll show you to your seat. I know just the person for you.”

-

“Joel, this is my niece–”

“Who the fuck is this guy?” All the sass in the world and a scarred eyebrow to boot. 

“Ellie,” you say nice and slow, voice soothing as if trying to calm a wild banshee on the verge of revolt, it makes him smile a small smile, “We’re gonna be nice. You promised this morning.”

“Ugh, fine,” she drops her head back on her neck, and he can see the whites of her eyes flash as she rolls them as far back as they can surely go. “Stick me with the dinosaur, what do I care?” Christ, he mutters under his breath, trying to hide his scoff of a laugh with a rough cough. He turns his head to rub his chin against the hill of his shoulder, running a hand over his whiskered face. 

“Ellie– Mom said you can’t go to the sleepover tonight if you aren’t nice. Right?” You try and reason with her. 

“Fine. Whatever – nice.” And she flashes a big old, saccharine grin, wagging her eyebrows at you. 

“Okay,” you turn back to him, bringing your hands together in a soft clap beneath your chin and giving him a small and painfully sweet little smile – worried and probably a little afraid for him. He shakes his head, “It’s alright, we’ll be okay,” he says low, distracted by the sight of your small hands, fine and delicate looking, and the dainty gold necklace that sits at the hollow of your throat, a little golden pendant of your initial. 

You nod your head slowly, turn back to give the kid, Ellie, one more stern look, and then turn to walk away, leaving him to face her alone, and no, he most definitely does not glance at your ass as you walk away from him.

He turns back to look at the kid, and she rolls her eyes again, turning back to flip open the book she’s got infront of her on the lunch table, a one Will Livingston’s No Pun Intended: Volume Too. 

He snorts a little, sighs and settles into the cramped bench made for a child, thick thighs barely squeezing into the space between the table’s edge and the seat, knees bumping the underside. “Well aren’t you a pleasant one.”

“Yeah, a ray of fuckin’ sunshine. What’s your problem?”

“Jesus, kid. How old are you?”

“Thirteen. How old are you?”

“Forty eight.”

“Old.”

“Yeah.”

“So, why'd you get stuck with the leftovers? Where's your kid?”

He clears his throat, “Uh well, she– she’s not here anymore. Or I mean– she doesn’t go to school here anymore. She died. A while ago.”

“Oh, shit.” She’s quiet for a beat, looking down at the open page of the book, It doesn’t matter how much you push the envelope. It’ll still be stationary. “That sucks, man. I'm sorry.”

He supposes the correct response is: “Thank you,” he nods his head awkwardly, still unaccustomed to going through the motions of having to tell people and accept condolences. He doesn’t think it’ll ever be something he gets used to. 

“I think…” she tilts her head side to side, letting the thought slide between her ears, flips to the next page, I walked into my sister’s room and tripped on a bra. It was a booby trap. “That my dad is dead, or at least a dead beat or something,” she snickers. “Don’t know. My mom never talks about him.”

Dead or a dead beat, he mutters, shaking his head, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s hard– being a parent, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah… hardest thing in the world–”

“Is it like – like weird… to not be one anymore?”

He feels his stomach drop out from under him, coughs roughly, “Dunno… I guess– I guess in ways I still feel like a parent. Think I’ll always feel like that. But in other ways, yes, it’s… weird.”

“Yeah… I guess that makes sense. You don’t forget how stuff feels, right?”

“Yeah, you don’t forget how stuff feels.”

“Do you like space?” she asks suddenly, very seriously, knocking her head to the side, looking up at him with big, baleful, hazel eyes. His heart twists in his chest.

“Sure, yeah. Space is alright.”

And then another seeming one eighty: “If you could do anything you wanted, where would you go? What would you do?”

“Don’t know, never really thought about it. Maybe… an old farmhouse, some land, a ranch.”

“Cool. What kind?”

He shakes his head, Jesus, I don’t know… “Sheep. I would raise sheep.” She nods, doubtful, unimpressed look on her face, and he frowns at the look, “They’re quiet, do what they’re told.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. So, just you and a bunch of sheep. Romantic,” she says sarcastically. 

“What about you? What would you do?”

She points a single finger up towards the ceiling, ah, space… “Probably because I’ve always been here, never left Austin, single mom and all, ya know– I’ve read everything I could in the school library… Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin, Jim Lovell. But you know who my favorite is?”

He could understand her on this. He felt, too often, like he was still right where she’d left him. “Sally Ride,” he says, of course.

“Sally fuckin’ Ride!” She slaps her hands down on the table, “Best astronaut name ever,” Shakes her head, whistling through her teeth appreciatively. 

He nods his head, yeah, figures. “So, your aunt…” and he feels a hot flush spread over the tops of his cheekbones, real smooth, Joel. At least he’d waited this long. 

“She’s my mom’s sister. She’s great. The three of us live together – kind of like my second mom, I guess. Or like they take turns being mom and dad. We’ve always been together.”

“That’s great, kid. She’s great. She– she was my daughter’s teacher, I’ve known her for a while now.”

“Yeah, she really is. I punched this girl last year,” she says way too excitedly, “Bethany,” rolls her eyes, “For being a huge dick, man, like seriously, she was. And she got me out of it. Backed me up with the principal, Mr. Kwong. No one else would’ve stuck up for me that way.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Seems like her style–”

“Protective,” she snickers.

“Yeah–” 

“And good. Her and my mom, they’re a unit, the three of us. Don’t know, I’ve never seen anyone take care of each other the way they do. Sometimes…” she looks away a little shyly, “I misbehave,” she says slowly, “Like the fighting. For no reason, I guess. And I know it worries them. But I’m trying to be better, not fight as much. My friend Riley, she’s a good influence. She stops me when I get too riled up.”

“I reckon it’s a lot easier said than done, but the fact that you’re trying to be good is what counts, is what I’d say. I’m sure being thirteen is difficult,” he says a little sarcastically, but giving her the approximation of a small, warm smile.

“Fuck you, man,” she laughs, “It’s difficult as shit.” It hits him then, suddenly, that the kid just needs someone to talk to, someone other than perhaps her mother or her aunt who she knows love and worry for her so much. A third, impartial party. Joel had come here today and been able to be that for her, and as inconsequential as it may seem, after all he’s lived through, it’s everything to him. 

The teachers and school administrators begin the process of handing out the breakfast: pancakes and bacon and sausage and fruit, and Ellie tells him about her book, full of terrible puns he pretends to frown at but also can’t really help but laugh at with her, and about a comic she loves Savage Starlight. Endure and survive, she tells him, is the motto, and he can’t help but think the idea is far reaching and significant in its truth. They sit and talk and laugh together, and it’s easy, this surly kid who pretends at being angry, hiding her charm with a potty mouth and a scowl, but who’s really nothing but sweet. It makes his chest ache and his throat go tight. So much so, that after a while he needs to excuse himself. He tells her he’s going to the restroom and runs off like a coward, the devil and his memories on his heels to take a few deep breaths, a moment alone to collect himself. 

He rushes out of the cafeteria, bursting through the double doors and out into the hallway, scurrying to find a lone corner to hide himself and his shame and grief away in. He makes it to a shadowed alcove at the mouth of an empty hallway of classrooms and presses his hands to the concrete blocks of the wall, painted a soft blue color. He stares at the pockets in the aggregate and tries to take deep breaths, feels the air pass through his lungs, inflate his belly, and then back out, transformed into the world as something else. Sometimes he wishes he had the ability to transform his grief into something else – a non-memory, perhaps. Sometimes he wishes he could forget the whole thing, a terrible, selfish, disgusting thought. But pain makes terrible creatures out of us sometimes, and Joel has existed in a pool of such pain these past five hundred and sixty seven days that sometimes it’s difficult to recognize himself anymore, his desires, his goals, if he even has those anymore. Like he’d said to the kid, it’s a lot easier said than done, but the fact that you’re trying to be good is what counts, and he was trying so very hard to be good, better. 

“Joel?” That soft voice again, a shiver claws its way down his spine, and he shakes his head at the wall, letting his hot, pinched eyes fall closed. 

He coughs, trying to clear his throat, “M’fine. Just needed a second–” Coughs again. And then he feels that small hand from before, at the small of his back. You rest there, gifting him that brief, comforting touch, and he reaches behind himself to clasp you around the wrist, keep you there with him, silent for a moment while he tries and fails to collect himself. His fingers wrap entirely around your wrist and something different and hot and alive flutters deep in his belly. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I can’t talk about it. I’m just– It’s overwhelming being here. I’m sorry. I’m okay,” he rambles. 

“It’s okay, Joel. Just take your time.” Your voice is too soft and gentle for a hard and broken thing like him. 

“She’s a good kid,” he tries and fails to keep his voice steady, comes out all hiccupped and cracked instead, and he feels you step closer, not touching him anywhere else, but he can feel the heat of you against his back. 

“She is,” you whisper.

“S’got a fuckin’ mouth on her.”

“Yeah…” You try and laugh, fail.

He cracks and splinters: “I didn’t think it would be like this coming back here… seeing you,” voice breaking, “She was sick for so long, and I knew she didn’t want to leave me. I knew she was so fucking tired, but she kept holding on just for me. And I told her it was okay, I told her to go and that I’d find her again one day, and now I don't know who I am or what I’ve become, and all I can think about every single day is that if she saw me now I worry she wouldn't recognize me anymore.”

“You’re trying, Joel. That's all that matters. I know you are. I can see it now even just here today, you being here–”

“I wish I could see her smile again, just once–” he cuts you off, not really listening. His ears filled with static noise, chest heaving. Your other hand comes to his flank, and it’s too much: this place, your touch, the kid, all of it, all of his memories and all of his grief, and he shouldn’t have come here today. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, and for a second, right before he pushes you away, he squeezes your wrist tightly, as tight as he can without really hurting you, lets the heat of your skin burn him, and then lets go of you, harshly shaking you off. 

“I’m fine. I shouldn’t have come here today, I’m sorry. This was a mistake.”

“Joel–”

“Tell Ellie I’m sorry, but I have to go.” And like a fucking coward, like a man his daughter’d be ashamed of, he leaves, runs away from you and the memory of her and another child who needs something he is not equipped to give. 

He listens to the sound of your voice calling after him, and he is nothing but sorry and nothing but too much of a man he wishes he’d never been made into. 

-

You’re on your second margarita when he walks in. Trailing his brother, serious, sullen look on his handsome face. When you’d seen him this morning, after all that time, after the last time which had been so painful and so sad and so full of regret for the circumstance of it, you’d felt like your heart was about to burst through your chest. You thought about him so often, about her, more often, probably, than was warranted or healthy, but the experience of having a child such as that in your care, such a special little person, and having to witness the extinguishing of such a bright flame… Well, calling it a tragedy was entirely inadequate in the face of all it truly was. 

Anna was kind of dating the bartender that worked here, and with Ellie away at a slumber party tonight, the two of you’d decided to have a girl’s night out that you were almost certain was going to turn into a slumber party for Anna with her bartender, Ben, as well. 

You eye the two brothers as they find their spot at the far end of the bar, watch as Tommy, you remember she used to talk about him all the time, flags down Ben to order them two beers, appreciating the way Joel pulls on the glass bottle with that soft, frowning mouth of his. 

He’s so sad. There’s no other word for it. Sad and hurt and made into a sort of tragedy of a man that you wish desperately, and even though it’s not your place, that you could do something to help. The sound of him choking back tears this morning, the sight of him laughing with Ellie, she’d warmed to him immediately which was a miracle all on its own, and he is, you think, a man with so much tenderness to give that has nowhere to go now. And it is nothing but the gravest and saddest sort of tragedy. 

“Hi, Joel.” Eventually, you muster up enough courage, after one more margarita, to approach him. You think that, perhaps, he’ll be annoyed to see you again, another reminder of his past and the difficulty of the morning, but you need to just talk to him one more time. To thank him again for being so brave, to reassure him that he’d done good. Tommy’d abandoned him to brave the waters of the bar a while ago, and he turns in his stool at the sound of your voice to peer over his shoulder. You love his beard, thick and lush and so soft looking, his thick, dark curls, slightly threaded with silver at the temples, and his ridiculously broad back. He’s wearing a dark green button down that brings out the colors in his eyes, tight around the swell of his thick biceps. He’s gorgeous and so fucking hot, and he makes you feel silly with nerves and fizzy bubbles deep in your belly. 

“Hey–” he clears his throat, says your name softly, with a hint of apology. “Hey.”

“I saw you come in earlier, and I– I just wanted to come over and say hi and thank you again for this morning. It was a real nice thing of you to come today.” You try and swallow the shyness and nerves in your voice, but you’re pretty sure you fail spectacularly, can just picture Anna’s mocking giggles as she watches you twist your fingers and fidget in front of the man. 

“You already thanked me,” he says gruffly, “And besides there’s nothing really to thank me for.”

“I know, but again, or anyways,” you stutter, “And there is.” There’s absolutely no reason for these nerves, you know this man, have known him for years, “It was a good thing of you to do. Ellie really liked you–”

“You gave her my apologies, right?” He cuts you off, a thing akin to desperation and worry coloring his tone. 

“I did, don’t worry. She understood.” He looks like he wants to ask what excuse you gave her but forces himself into silence, looking down at his hands in his lap sullenly. “I don’t know… I just wanted to say thank you again.”

“Alright. And I’m sorry too, about earlier – after. I was an ass.”

“You weren’t. I shouldn’t have gone after you, should’ve given you your privacy. I’m sorry. I was nosey.”

He shakes his head, looks up at you with those hazel eyes, “No, I wanted you to come after me.” His voice is rough, like it costs him something to admit this truth to you, “Thank you.”

You have to look away, glancing back at Anna who gives you a wide, cheesy grin and a thumbs up, followed by a much more inappropriate hand gesture. You roll your eyes at her, a hot flush burning your cheeks. “That’s your brother, right? Tommy?” You turn back to him. 

“Yeah, it is… You wanna sit?” He gestures to Tommy’s empty stool. 

“She used to talk about him all the time.” You take the offered seat, nervous for a second that he’ll resent you bringing her up, react badly, but he gives a soft laugh, looking after his brother. “Yeah…” he says slowly, “They were real close.”

“That’s really nice,” you say sincerely. You catch Ben’s eye, and he nods his head at you, turning to get the two of you another round. “You two having a boys night out?”

He gives a short laugh, bringing his beer to his mouth again, pressing the lip of the bottle to his smile, “Guess he was just trying to do the same thing you are right now, distract me, make sure I’m alright or somethin’,” a quick shake of his head, and then takes another drag, and you watch the thick muscles of his neck work as he swallows. You have to look away from the sight, cross your knees together tightly, pulling down the hem of your wrap dress to keep it from riding too high. 

Ben comes around at that moment to place two shots in front of the two of you. “Here you go, baby girl,” a wink and that smarmy little smirk that makes Anna lose her head, for some inexplicable reason, “Tequila for you and your friend here.”

“Baby girl?” Joel eyes you, as you push the shot towards him. 

You roll your eyes, “Ignore him.” He takes the shot from you, fingers brushing yours briefly and you swear you feel a slight jerk move through him. You want him to want you so badly, you think suddenly. 

“Shall we?” you wiggle your eyebrows at him, and he gives you a soft laugh. 

“Seems I don’t got much of a choice,” before clinking his glass against yours, touching the base of it to the bar’s surface, and then shooting it back, not even an insinuation of a grimace as he swallows the strong alcohol, while your face puckers ridiculously. 

Gross. You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut and sucking on the lime Ben had left also. “He sweet on you or somethin’?” 

“No, not at all.”

“Huh, not so sure about that,” he eyes your sister’s boytoy almost sourly, and you get brave or reckless or something, all of a sudden, when you press right up to his ear, your breasts against his arm, emboldened by the liquor or the soft hazel of his eys, or the breadth of his shoulders when you whisper right into the peach fuzz covered shell of his ear, “He’s fucking my sister. Not me.”

He freezes, a soft, masculine sound rumbling deep in his chest before he clears his throat. He sets the glass down, and then slowly turns to face you, gripping your knee briefly as he spins on the barstool to bring your legs between the space of his spread thighs. He’s so thick everywhere. 

“Is that so?” The place on your legs where he’d gripped you burns and throbs and the other, softer place between your thighs drips and aches. You nod your head at him, temple resting in your palm propped on the edge of the bar. Ben walks by again, snagging your attention from Joel’s molten gaze, “Gimme permission to come over tonight?” he says as he passes. 

“Oh, fuck off,” you laugh after him, and you swear you feel the whisper of Joel’s touch on the curve of your bare knee again. When you turn to look back at him he’s staring down at you, a flush sitting high on his cheekbones. 

There’s something slightly bold or desperate or sad stirring inside of you, and you need to hear the sound of his voice. You wish you could make things better for him. You wish that perpetual look of grief didn’t sit so deeply embedded in his gaze all the time now. 

“You know that feeling of knowing someone, but not knowing them?” He asks you suddenly. “You and I, we’ve known each other for years. You were Sarah’s teacher, and she talked about you all the time – her last teacher – and I felt like I knew you, even though I didn’t really, not in a way that mattered, not in the way I would have liked, if I’m bein’ honest, but we knew each other peripherally. And I wanted you, all that time ago,” he laughs a boyishly shy little huff of laughter interrupting the rush of his confessed words, the crests of his cheeks flushing bright, “In that way you want someone you don't know but see all the time and want to know better. And now, it’s like… like we’re meeting again for the first time, but in a different way, in a way we’ve never met before, and yet you know so much about me already. You knew my daughter, spent time with her, you cared about her – it’s… I don’t really know what it is I’m trying to say, to be honest. I’m sorry.” He shakes his head, another unsurely shy laugh, and you reach out to set your hand softly on his knee, rubbing the thick, muscular ball of it. It’s okay, you nod and shake your head at him at the same time. Confused also, with what you’re trying to convey, but knowing you want him to continue anyway. “You knew me before in a different way, and I’m not that man anymore. And I don’t know who I am now, or I’m beginning to relearn, but I’m not there just yet,” He trails off, and then softly: “Have you ever not known yourself?”

You tilt your chin slowly, watching the slow rove of the leftover tequila in the glass as you roll the base of it along the grain of the bar. “I’m… I’m not sure. Would it be very naive or arrogant or shallow to say, no? That I’ve always known myself, that even when I was lost or afraid, I was still certain of who I was, or at the very least, who I wanted to be? Like… like sometimes when you’re uncertain of the next step, or– or of what it is that you want to do next, but you still know the direction, maybe? Or what ending you’d like?” You give a brief huff of laughter, not really meaning to laugh, but expelling the air anyway, glancing down at where you’re still gripping his knee. He lays his own large paw over your much finer hand, calluses on his palm that you can feel on the back of your knuckles. “I think now we’re both, maybe, not making sense. But I think that sometimes happiness is only the peripheral thought, the peripheral ending, like obviously we all always want to end up happy. I was always open to the journey, open to the different avenues my life could take, but all I’ve ever wanted was for me and Anna, and then later, Ellie, to be okay, to be happy. Nothing else matters after that. The way I get there, the way I’d make it happen never mattered. Only that, in the end, we’re okay.”

“No… I know exactly what you mean.” His brow caves in on itself, “I know exactly what you mean because I failed at that. That was all I ever wanted too, and look at what I ended up with. She’s gone, I failed her.”

“But you didn’t, Joel,” you say with all the fervor you can pull from your heart, all the certainty you absolutely know that he’s wrong with. You bring your other hand to his other knee, leaning forward to make absolutely sure he’s understanding. “You can’t honestly say that. You’re right, I did know her, and that little girl was an exceedingly happy child. If anything, you were nothing but a triumph, and you need to hold on to that, and think of it every single day for the rest of your life. You were triumphant in that girl. Never forget it.  There is not even a shadow of failure in the memory of that child and the life she led.” And this does not seem like the appropriate environment to be having such a conversation, but you push on. His hand tightens over yours almost painfully, his blunt rough nails digging into your soft skin. “When she died – was she scared? Or peaceful?”

“She was so fucking brave,” he chokes. “She was so fucking brave. There wasn’t an ounce of fear in that heart. I’d swallowed all of it. I’d swallowed all the fear either of us could ever carry. She’s the one that held me while I fell to pieces. While I lied through my fucking teeth and told her it would be okay, that I’d be okay, that she could rest, she could go. And held me and tried to soothe me and told me she’d see me again one day, but not too soon. Eight years old, dying and comforting her father, cracking jokes. She was so fucking brave, and I’d promised her that we’d both be – that we’d both have courage and both get out of it, and in the end, I ended up being nothing but a goddamn liar.” And there are tears in his eyes, and maybe you shouldn’t and maybe you’re overstepping and maybe it’s the alcohol, but you lean forward in your barstool, that boldness and that desperation and that sadness pushing you along so that your knees are sliding further between his spread thighs to wrap your arms around his neck to hug him tightly to yourself, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck, big hand coming up to cup the back of your head. 

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, even though you know the words are redundant. Even though he’s probably heard them an antagonizing amount of times. You are so sorry, and you have to tell him that you wish you could help him in some other way, that he’d not have to bear this alone, that he’d never have had to live it at all. I’m so sorry, Joel. I’m sorry that you lost your daughter, and I’m sorry you’re alone now, and I’m sorry we didn’t know each other better before, but maybe we can know each other now. I’d like to know you now more than anything else.

You feel the rattle of his wide back as he takes in a shaky breath, and you slide your hand soothingly up the broad expanse to tangle in the curls at the nape of his neck. 

“I’m sorry,” he laughs wetly into the warm space beneath your jaw, rolling his forehead against your shoulder, “I’m killing the mood,” and you feel the wet press of lips to the soft spot beneath your ear, right at the vulnerable hollow. Your heart stutters, and you shiver a syrupy sweet little jitter down the line of your vertebrae in the clutch of his arms, letting your head fall to the side to open yourself further to him, you smell good, whispered into your skin, but the two of you are sitting at the center of the crowded bar, industriously dedicated patrons hooting and hollering around you, and you can feel Anna’s nosey gaze zeroed into the back of your head so you pull away, letting your hand on the back of his head drag around along the edge of his jaw, fingernails pulling through the soft whiskers of his beard so that you can feel the snick, snick, snick of each bristle beneath your nail. 

“Let’s go outside,” you whisper, made only of boldness and desperation and want now. Wetness pooling at the center of you. 

He pulls back, and his hand slides to grip your jaw in his wide, rough hand. The architecture of you feels inconsequential and without strength or steel in his grasp. “For what?” Voice serious but also knowing, also provoking. 

“I wanna kiss you.” Might as well be honest now that you’ve got his hands on you.

“I think that if we go out there, I’m gonna do more than just kiss you. You prepared for that?”

“Yes, let’s go,” and you’re already pulling him out of his barstool before the words are even fully out. His hand goes to your elbow to steady you as your feet meet the ground, and you can’t help but give him a small laugh. “Are you okay?” Just making sure.

“Yeah, I’m okay, sweetheart. Are you?” His gaze is so warm. 

“Yes.” And you can’t help but smile widely up at him. He gives you a huff of laugh through a half crooked smile that looks a little bit like the sliver of the moon when it’s nothing but a silver crescent in the sky, hand wrapping entirely around your bicep to tug you closer. You feel a little bit out of control when you slide your hand over his belly, and his eyes go immediately dark and molten, rubbing slowly up his chest. He makes a deep, rough sound, low in his throat. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.” He pulls you along behind him, and as you’re making your way together out the door, you hear the sound of Anna whooping and whistling loudly behind you right before the bar door slams shut. 

He tugs you along behind him, and then passes you gently in his hands to walk in front of him as he weaves through the crowded parking lot, his wide chest, smoldering hot through his clothes, pressed up against your back, big hands wrapped around the soft of your hips. You feel him nosing into the curtain of your hair, smelling you and humming appreciatively, and you realize that he’s steering you towards the back of the parking lot, his familiar truck tucked into the far dark corner, and you twist, suddenly, in his arms, walking backwards and reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck. His hands go to the small of your back, bunching your dress in his hands tightly so that you feel the humid night air against the uppermost backs of your thighs. The look in his eyes is so dark, so wanting, and he presses you tight against his chest, your breasts squished up against the hard planes of him. He’s not even looking where he’s going, and your feet are barely touching the ground anymore as you tiptoe backwards, guided by his embrace. One of his hands comes up to grip the curve of your jaw, and then you feel the side of the truck against your back. He hoists you higher up towards his mouth, “I’m going to kiss you now,” he says, and before you can even think about saying yes, yes, please, finally, he’s swallowing your breath in his mouth, eyes still slightly open to watch you as he does it, pushing his tongue into the wet gleam of you to taste everything you so desperately want to offer him. He nips at your full bottom lip, then laps at it soothingly, and you moan for him, head falling back on your neck to open further for him, cradled now in the palm of his hand. Your hands smooth down the sides of his neck and then curl to scrape your nails down his stomach, and he groans into you, one thick thigh shoving between your knees. One of his palms slides over your hip to grip the curve of your ass, the other coming up, gentle yet unyielding, to circle your throat and tip your chin up to him as he pulls back to look down at you. The hand on your ass tips your pelvis into his and pulls your core along the broad expanse of his thigh so that your pussy slowly rides the hard muscle, once, twice. “Joel–” you gasp. 

“Back seat,” he orders, tugging the truck door open and hoisting you inside. Are you really about to let this man fuck you in the back seat of his truck in a crowded parking lot? Yes, yes, you are. He follows in after you, and then slams the door shut behind him, encasing the both of you in this quiet, paused moment before he’s pulling you forward to straddle his lap, spreading his legs wide to widen your own stance perched atop him. You listen to the sound of your panting breaths as he runs his hands over your curves, squeezing and kneading as he goes, and you plant your palms on his strong chest, smoothing them down over his belly, reaching the line of his belt to tuck them inside, he growls low, leans forward to lick at your throat and you feel the tug of his fingers at the tie of your wrap dress, then the pull of the fabric as he bares you for his eyes. You pop the first few buttons of his shirt as his wet mouth moves down the thrumming line of your neck, over the wing of your clavicle to the tops of your breasts where he pulls back to take you in. You’re wearing a soft pink lace bra and a matching thong, and as his eyes move down the length of you, the fire already smoldering within seems to ricochet up to a burning inferno. There is something about the look in his eyes, compared to before, compared to the usual look, that is even more thrilling than just the fact of him gazing upon your naked body. He’s always so serious, melancholy and sad and straightforward, in a way. But taking him in like this, the way he’s looking at you now like he wants nothing more than to devour you, to push inside of you, it makes it all the headier. “Fuckin’ gorgeous, look at you,” he murmurs, smoothes his hand over your breasts, thumb catching and flicking at your nipple, down the soft swell of your belly, stopping at the little bow at the front of your thong. He pushes the sleeve of your dress over one shoulder and tugs you forwards, you feel him lift the back of your dress over the curve of your bottom, his hand following the path of bared skin, taking in the tiny scap of lace disappearing between your asscheeks, and he makes a breathy, desperate sound, “Where the fuck are the rest of your panties, little girl?” He pinches the lush of your ass, smoothes his hand down and around to cup you between your legs, and you’re sure he can feel the soaking wet there because you listen to the sound of his gasp, and then he’s pressing there, seeking out your clit and rolling gentle circles to the swollen, throbbing nub. You run your hands up his chest into his hair, gripping there, pressing your nose into the thick curls to take in the scent of him and then running them down the heavy swell of his biceps. He’s so masculine, hard in all the places you’re soft, and wet, for him. His other hand grips your hip to pull you closer, rolling you onto the thick line of his erection, and oh God, he’s big. You can tell just like this, thick and long. Your hand moves to his belt buckle, pulling at the leather and the zipper of his jeans, and then you’re slipping your fingers beneath his boxers and wrapping around the thick heft of him. “Jesus, fuck–” he gasps. 

You fist him tightly, squeezing at the thick root of his cock and sliding up to the fat head to twist there gently. His fingers move beneath the line of your panties, finally making contact with your bare skin. 

“Fucking wet little cunt. Shit, you’re soaked for me, baby.” All you can do is moan as you pull him out of his jeans. He’s heavy in your palm and your mouth waters as you take in the sight of his big cock. Thick and long, wide, drooling head an angry red verging on purple. He hooks the gusset of your panties to the side and slides the underside of the shaft through your swollen lips, pressing the fat tip to your clit, and then sliding along your slit to catch softly at your opening. “Joel, please–” you moan. The head of his cock catches again and again, and you’re so wet, coating his thick length in your slick. He reaches to pull both cups of your bra down, exposing your breasts to his gaze and when his mouth latches onto one peaked nipple, sucking sharply, his other hand wrapping around the heavy weight of your other breast you cry out, fingernails digging into his thick shoulders. You use your grip on his shoulders to drag yourself along the length of his shaft while he sucks and nips at your breasts, pulling back to gently slap the full side of one, sending a jerking shiver through you while he watches how it jiggles and sways for him. “Shit, you’re too fuckin’ pretty,” he groans, and you’re about to come just from this, just the feeling of his thick cock sliding through the lips of your sex, and you tell him so, wet mouth presses to the arch of his ear, you tell him you’re about to come, but he changes the angle, presses his hips up and then the tip of his cock is breaching the dripping mouth of your cunt, stretching you wide to take him and you both pant and gasp, burying your face in his neck as one wide hand presses at the base of your spine, forcing you to take more of that impossible length. You feel the pinch and snap of your thong around your hips as he rips the scrap of lace off of you, and you think you must shake your head or something, make some soft sound because he tuts his tongue in a gentle reprimand, “All of it, baby. The whole thing.” He squeezes your breast, strums at your nipple, presses a feather light kiss to the hinge of your jaw, and you feel your cunt flutter around him, sucking him deeper so that he can wedge that thick cock further inside of you. “Yeah… Fuck, yeah. Just like that, good girl. You asked for this, sweet girl.” You hitch and sob into his neck, clawing at his shoulders as he finally forces you down all the way onto him, buried balls deep in your weeping, fluttering pussy. “Now you’ve gotta take the whole thing, no cryin’” He sounds like he’s spitting the words through clenched teeth, struggling to get them out despite the demand of them. “You’re doing so good,” he whispers, “Taking my big cock in this tiny little cunt.” He kisses your ear, your throat, pulls back to suck on your nipples, all while his hands on your ass start to rock you on his length, working you loose and wet and pliant. 

“Fuck– fuck, Joel–” 

“I know, I know, it’s so much, isn’t it? But you can take it– deep breath, you can take it.” He fucks up into you, holding your hips steady as he feeds you his cock over and over again, and you drip down onto his balls and the leather seat beneath. “Does that feel good, sweet girl? Tell me–”

“It’s so– it’s so good. Wanted it so bad–” you slur, wet cheek pressed to his shoulder, you mouth at his neck, little teeth digging into the thick line of muscle so that he’s growling, thrusting up quick and a little painful into your cunt, tip punching right at your cervix. 

“Lemme see you– I’ve gotta see you,” he says suddenly and presses you back. You reach back to plant your hands on his spread knees, arching your back to present yourself to him. His gaze is almost manic, licking over your skin, your bouncing tits as he fucks up into you, the swell of your tummy glistening with a fine sheen of sweat, down finally to the place where he’s fucking in and out of your swollen, blushed cunt, stretched obscenely around the base of him. “You’re so goddamned lucky we’re in a car right now,” he growls. He jerks you back into him, both hands squeezing your ass in each palm and rolling you hard and fast onto his impaling cock, your swollen clit presses into his pelvis on every thrust in, and you feel your cunt pull tight and then go loose as you start to come around him. Yes, yes, yes, fuck, yes – just like that. His cock kissing your g-spot with every press inside. You sob into his neck, pull at his hair, scratch at his shoulders and neck as you gush around him. 

He surges up then, orgasm not entirely abated, and flips you over onto your back, laying you down on the truck’s bench. He pulls his dripping cock out of your still grasping clutch to kneel down on the floorboard, hulking form entirely too large to fit in the tight space, and drags the broad, flat of his tongue through your drenched sex, tasting the echoes and throbs of your climax, sucking your clit and your come into his mouth while you sob up into the roof of his truck. He pushes your knees up to your chest, displaying you for himself entirely and devours you. “Fuck, there ain’t enough room in this fuckin’ truck to eat your cunt the way I need to,” his accent suddenly heavier, a sharper twang cutting off the end of his words, lost to the taste of you and the feel of you and the scent of you. You lean up onto your elbows, sweaty face burning bright hot with shyness as you take in the sight of his mouth wrapped around your clit, lapping at your leaking sex. He looks up at you, reaches up to wrap one hand around your breast, one of your legs is hanging down the length of his back over his shoulder, the other hooked at the bend of his elbow to keep you open and spread wide for him, and the two of you hold gazes for a moment. His eyes flash with something… different to desire or lust, something more in tune with whatever it is that’s happening here between the two of you right now, something more than just a quick fuck. You whisper his name, and his eyes flash again, predatory and desperate, and he’s pushing up, the wet sound of his mouth unlatching from your pussy and crawling back up onto the seat bench, pressing his slick wet mouth to yours and licking into you, sloppy. “Taste–” he orders, he pulls back, fists the root of his cock and feeds it back into your gaping cunt, “That’s what it tastes like when you come for me.” His voice is a growl, something like a commandment or a promise, something else that hums beneath the mere words, something that says this is happening again, I need this to happen again, I’ve wanted this longer than I can say. He fucks into the very end of you, and you squeeze your eyes shut, let him maneuver and manhandle you to his liking so that both of your ankles lay limply over his shoulders, pressed entirely in half for him to pound into you. 

“Open your fucking eyes,” he pants. “Look at me,” he begs. You do, and you watch a bead of sweat roll slowly down his temple, over the curve of his jaw to the point of his chin, and then drip and splash down onto the swell of your breast, seep into your skin. 

He’s so deep like this, right at the heart of you, and it hurts and it feels good and you can’t help but think about the next time already, hope that this can happen again. “Yes, Joel,” you gasp, “Please, don’t stop.”

“Yeah?” He grits, lifting one hand to hold on to the edge of the window above your head, the other gripping at your ass to pull you onto him harder. “Yeah, just like that– Taking me so well, baby. Taking the whole thing like such a good girl.” He’s so big, maybe too big, and he pounds into your cunt, forces you to take the entire thing, thick thighs bracketing your frame, cock punching at your womb over and over again. You feel cock drunk, Joel drunk, and you turn your face to press into the back of the seat crying, telling him you’re about to come again. 

“God, yes, yes, you’re such a good girl. Come on my cock again, one more time for me.” His thrusts speed up, harsher, stronger and he’s saying your name while you sob out his, while you leak around him. “Hey,” he grips your jaw, gives your head a little shake, “Hey, baby– you gotta tell me where. Where can I come? Inside? Can I come inside?” It sounds, a little bit, like he’s beginning. 

You nod your head, yes, gaze delirious, unfocused, the swell of his anchoring bicep is so thick and distracting, and you start to milk his thrusting cock inside of you, muscles squeezing tight, fluttering loose – please, please, please, come inside of me, please, I want it so bad. He groans, grits a curse, your name, something that sounds like gratitude, and then he’s filling you, thick cock kicking and jerking and spitting his come right at the mouth of your womb, inciting your own orgasm to throb again, again, harder, deeper. 

-

He drops his head to the damp crook of your shoulder, takes in the heady scent of your sweat and sex, licks a path up the side of your throat. He’s careful not to ask you to bear the full, heavy weight of him, and he pulls his hips back, shivering at the sensitive slide of his spent cock falling from your wet cunt. He sits back, grasps your knees to keep you spread and watches the flutter and clench of your hole as the thick white leak of his spend starts to drool out of you. He gives a low, appreciative hum, and then bends forwards to press his face into your tummy, nuzzling there softly. Your hands come to his hair, panting chest heaving, and he mouths and sucks at the skin of your stomach, the undersides of your breasts as you both catch your breaths. He looks up, then, suddenly, a thought occurring to him, “You’re going to have dinner with me, right?” Voice a little frantic. 

You give him a slow, lovely smile, eyes sparkling, “Think we’ve gone and done things a little out of order here, haven’t we?”

He frowns in mock severity, then presses his face back into your tummy, another soft kiss, and shakes his head slowly, “No,” another kiss, this one to your hip, “Not at all. This morning counts as breakfast together.” He looks up to give you a quick, boyish grin. “How I see it, that’s actually an extreme dedication to order. Breakfast, sex, dinner.”

You sigh, laugh softly, “You know… I’m actually a little hungry right now,” you say contemplatively.

“Burgers? Fries?”

“Milkshake?”

“Well, we’ve gotta have somethin’ to dip ‘em in, right?”

“Of course.” Your fingers twist in his hair, pulling him up towards your mouth, “You’re so smart.”

“Very true. You’ve gotta stick with me now, I’ll teach you everything I know.” A kiss, another and another. 

He rests his face back on your belly, looking up at you, and you run the pad of your thumb over the fan of his lashes, and he feels so happy. 

-

It’s been months since then… and still even now, when he looks at you, all he knows is that he’s sure you saved his fucking life. 

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

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#vic fic #joel miller #the last of us #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #joel miller fic #pedro pascal #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller/reader #Joel Miller smut #joel miller imagine #the last of us fanfiction

[benkeibear]

⋆꙳✧༄ First time

꒰ ͜͡➸ In which Tengen takes your virginity with utmost care and full of devotion to bring you pleasure

❖ Character: Tengen

❖ Reader: female | AFAB

❖ Wordcount: 1.5k

❖ WARNINGS: sub!reader, body worship, fingering, oral (reader receiving), mentions of handjobs, virginity loss, painful first time with comforting Tengen, love making, creampie, aftercare

❖ A/n: reposting this piece of gold 🫶

Tengen was clear and respectful about it when you first told him that you have no experience and would therefore rather wait to indulge in any bedroom activities with him or even with his wives. He would wait for you as long as you needed, no pressure from his side, not even any advances. Your one on one time was usually spent showing each other nonsexual acts of intimacy or maybe making out if you felt brave. Each time you felt how excited he got, he would simply excuse himself and settle to cuddling you or doing something else entirely, always making sure to keep his promise of waiting and showing that he respects you - that was until you climbed back onto his lap after he carefully lifted you off. “My flower… do you want me to hold you?” He asked in a gentle voice, trying to keep your hips from touching his clothed erection. His smile faltered for a fraction of a moment when you shook your head but it came back when your lips locked with his again, trying to wiggle your hips out of his grasp. “What's your plan, hm?” He asked curious between kisses and you finally managed to rub your covered core against him “I'm ready… I think,” you whispered in his ear before leaving open mouthed kisses on his neck and his grip on your hips loosened, letting you grind yourself against him.

With Tengen, nothing was taboo as long as it brought you pleasure, enjoying the way you tried to pleasure yourself by grinding against him, big hands guiding your hips slightly for more friction on both sides. “You think? Or are you sure?” He questioned curious, his lips ghosting over your pulse on your neck “You know I will wait forever and ever without a single complaint,” he whispered the reminder against your skin but you let go of a shaky breath. “I’m sure Tengen Uzui… I want to be yours, body and soul,” you whispered back, sounding as sure as never before which made him shudder. To have you entirely was all he ever desired, to love and protect you, to call you his wife and part of his family.

As if a switch flipped within him, his kisses grew more desperate, tongue begging your lips for entrance with a smooth swipe across them and you let him in. His wet muscle was exploring your mouth like all these times before but it still felt so unfamiliar, a need behind it you never experienced before. Your arms wrapped around your lover, grabbing and tugging at the fabric of his shirt which resulted in him taking it off quickly. “Someone’s eager… calm down, flower. Let me take care of you,” he hummed and flipped you around so you were beneath him, his impressive frame looming above yours which made the heat rise to your cheeks.

Skilled hands had your clothes removed in no time, leaving you in your underwear beneath him as endless praise fell from his lips. He compared you to the most beautiful things in the world, making your heart flutter for him. “If you need me to stop or slow down… don't hesitate to open your pretty mouth. Tonight is just about you,” he reminded you, lips traveling from your neck to your breast where he slowly took your bra off before attacking your chest with his skilled hands and lips. Soft mewls escaped your lips when he started gently sucking on your hardened bud, pinching the other one so you got equal stimulation. Before you got restless his kisses trailed further south, ending right above the hem of your underwear “Are you sure, my love?” He asked once more, looking at you full of love and lust, earning a nod from you in return - you were ready, needing him to touch you.

Tengen didn't need to ask a second time, trusting your words and actions and that you would stop him if you happened to change your mind. Gentle hands removed the last piece of fabric on your body, a small smirk crept on his face upon seeing the effect he had on you. “You're so wet for me already,” he hummed in a teasing way before letting a single finger glide through your folds, stopping right on your clit just to see your reaction. The little whine he heard was enough to make him move his finger in slow circular motions until he had you squirming, replacing his finger with his tongue soon after, a loud moan erupting from his chest when he tasted your slick. His eyes fluttered close, enjoying the way your juices melted on his tongue, the warmth of your cunt was addicting and before you knew it two of his thick fingers were buried knuckle deep inside of you. He took his time to push them inside but the sensation of his tongue swirling around your clit had all your attention at that moment, the attention slowly shifting over to his fingers working you open, curling against your sweet spot and scissoring them slightly.

Only after three orgasms he slowly pulled away, his face glistening with your juices while he licked his fingers clean. “Do you want more? Or was this enough for your first?” He asked curious, not expecting you to please him in return or to go further than just getting pleased for the first time - he didn't mind much about his own pleasure, it was enough to see your chest heaving up and down from the harsh breaths you took after he worked his magic on you. To his surprise you sat up, skin glowing in the dim light and he swore that there's an angel sitting in his bed. When you reached for his pants, slowly pulling them down to expose his rock had length and letting it hit his abs he couldn't even react, enthralled by your ethereal beauty. With utmost care he took your hand from his length and held it in both of his “You don't need to touch me… i just want you to lay back and relax today, let me spoil you,” he hummed, not wanting to be selfish and take the attention away from you when this was your first time - something he should make unforgettable for you. Your little pout caught him off guard “I promise you can touch me all you want after this… Tonight still or whenever but for now let me take care of you, yes?” He asked so gentle, trying to bring his plan across to you and you gave in, agreeing to him which also made you a little grateful that he's so selfless for your first time.

Tengens fingers resumed to your core, fingering you and rubbing your clit with his thumb while he kissed you passionately for a while, his body back on top of yours. the moment you were asking for him to make you his, he chuckled and wrapped your legs around his hips, the tip of his cock already nestling between your folds, gently pushing into your entrance. He was kissing you the entire time he pushed in, knowing that he was quite big so he took it slow, his hands laced with yours. The way your nails left behind crescent shaped cuts in his hands hurt his heart, hating the fact that he was the one hurting you - but the sweet moans falling from your lips once you got used to the stretch were like band aids to soothe his heart.

He wiped the tears from your cheeks with his thumb and cupped your face gently before kissing your forehead and your lips “You're doing so well for me, my flower. Taking me so well,” He whispered loving, hips rocking against yours with a slow rhythm along with his hand snaking between your bodies to rub your bundle of nerves to give you the most pleasure. Your walls squeezed him like a vice when the knot in your stomach tightened and his hips started to stutter, his eyes shut tight until he felt your walls pulsate around him, watching your face contorted in pleasure as a silent scream fell from your lips followed by his name, whispered in repeat like some lewd chant and that was all it took for him to reach his high, pushing himself as deep as he possibly could before emptying his hot seed inside of you. The way he moaned your name almost had you falling over the edge once more, never have you heard your name in such a context, he sounded like an angel falling from grace above you.

Once the both of you have calmed down he remained slotted deep inside of you, his forehead resting against yours until he caught his breath. “I love you” he whispered with a dumb grin, one of his hands traveling over your body to caress your sore thighs, knowing how your poor cunt must hurt after all of this and he couldn't wait to spoil you some more. “Let's take a bath, shall we?” He asked, grinning like he just won the lottery as he picked you up, still impaled on his cock. “Only if you promise to keep going,” You giggled into his neck, addicted to having him inside of you already.

Networks: @enchantedforest-network @themovingcastlez

#demon slayer x reader #demon slayer smut #tengen x reader #tengen smut #kny x reader #kny smut #tengen uzui #tengen uzui x reader #tengen uzui smut #kny tengen #demon slayer tengen

[buckymorelikefuckme]

a helping hand

jake jensen x fem reader

words: 3.7k

warnings: **18+ ONLY** friends to lovers, handjob, fingering, p in v sex, unprotected sex (don't do that), jake has a big dick, my lame attempts at humor. please let me know if i missed anything!

a/n: SURPRISE!! this is honestly so silly. and filthy. i wrote it in a frenzy last night after the idea randomly came to me. keep in mind it's all based off the vague info i have about him. i probably took a lot of liberties. it wasn't planned for my first jakey fic to be this, but oh well lmao! any and all mistakes are my own. feedback is encouraged and greatly appreciated :) xo

❀ part two

With an exaggerated, put-upon sigh, you gesture vaguely at Jake to stand and say, “Alright, let me see it.”

“What?” Jake asks, brows furrowed so deeply you worry he’ll get a migraine.

“You’re being awfully dramatic about this, so I need to see what all the fuss is about,” you calmly explain, though still skeptical.

Jake had showed up at your apartment with a look of pure despair, ranting about how yet another hookup went south when they took their clothes off and his would-be partner saw his cock for the first time. Said they almost begged him to leave and take his monster with him.

Surely his dick can’t be that big, right?

Jake hesitates, watching you warily as he contemplates, but then he sighs heavily and he rises to his feet, grumbling as he unbuttons and lowers the zip on his jeans. His thumbs curl under the waistband of both the jeans and his underwear before he unceremoniously shoves them down to mid-thigh. And then there’s only silence that follows.

You blink. You stare. You blink again.

Jake shifts his weight on his feet, settling his hands on his hips awkwardly.

Finally, you find your voice.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you wheeze, your voice tight and airy as you struggle to remember how to inhale.

Jake groans, covering his face mournfully. “I told you!” he wails. “It’s too big! And I know, I know—boohoo woe is me I have a big dick—but listen, this is literally a big fucking problem. I’m going crazy here. It’s just not the same with only my hands!”

Probably because not even both of your hands can cover your gigantic fucking penis, you think to yourself, but thankfully, do not say aloud. And, alright, maybe you’re exaggerating just a little, but Jake is still easily the biggest you’ve ever seen. Like, leaps and bounds bigger. The length of it isn't overly scary or anything, it's just… thick, and veiny, has the slightest curve to it.

And the thing is, you really shouldn’t be so surprised. In general, Jake himself is… big. He’s tall, and broad, and his hands are works of fucking art with his long fingers and wide palms, and his thighs—Jesus, fuck, his thighs. They deserve sonnets alone, just for how sculpted and muscled they are. Even Jake’s pecs are big. And you’re normally not a tit person, but Jake’s? You’ve cupped and squeezed and fondled them probably too many times to be appropriate.

The point is, though, that Jake is fucking hot. You have always thought so, in an offhand kind of way, like, a passing observation. Jake is also sweet and attentive, always periodically checking in on each person in his friend group, always willing to offer advice or a listening ear. He’s incredibly smart while also endearingly dumb about so much. He never asks for help with anything because he doesn’t want to be a burden, no matter how many times he’s told he could never be. So you’re pretty sure that Jake has used up all of his courage and vulnerability by coming to you with his problem. And you are flummoxed as to why he chose you, but you will not let this opportunity pass you by.

“Jake,” you start after a slight pause, “I have lube, patience, and willpower.”

And Jake says, “Huh?”

Which is fair, to be honest.

“Can you, um, put your dick away so I can think properly?” you ask after delicately clearing your throat.

Jake flushes and hastily obeys before taking his spot on the couch again.

You shift to face him fully, taking in his pink cheeks and inability to meet your gaze, and you feel bad for being so blunt, for speaking before thinking.

“Sorry,” you apologize, “I just wasn't… You know.” You wave your hand around in a way that you hope says, I wasn't expecting you to have the most perfect cock I've ever seen, when your mind blanks on how to continue.

Then again, maybe it's a good thing you couldn't figure out a way to say that verbally.

You clear your throat again. “What I was trying to say is that, um, maybe I could help you?”

Jake tilts his head. “Help me?” he repeats.

“Yeah, you know, like,” you say, licking your lips, “I could lend a hand. So to speak.”

It only takes a split second for him to understand what you're saying. His eyes widen, round like saucers behind his glasses, ears now burning a bright red as he sputters.

“What? You're offering to—no, that's. No, you're not—this isn't what I—fuck, I think I’m gonna pass out,” he stammers breathlessly, and honestly, he is starting to look a bit lightheaded. He shakes himself, closing his eyes, then takes in a deep breath and releases it slowly.

You quietly wait for him to gather himself, almost wishing you hadn't said anything. Almost, but not really, not enough to try to take it back.

Finally, he blinks his eyes open and turns to you. “I didn't come here expecting you to–to help me with my… problem.”

“Jakey,” you say on an exhale, smiling. “I know that. I offered because I wanted to.”

“But why?” he questions, bewildered.

You purse your lips, glancing up at the ceiling as you think about your response carefully this time. “Because you're one of my best friends, and you're hurting, in a way. I know it's not like, the worst thing in the world to just get off with your own hands, but I feel like getting shot down at the last minute every time you go to have sex can't be good for you mentally, either.”

Jake shifts his gaze to his lap then, mouth twisting into something disappointed, and that just confirms what you've said. He's started taking this to heart, beating himself up over something entirely out of his control. Sure, you wanna get your hands, mouth, and everything else on his dick, but a guy like Jake deserves to be brought to orgasm by someone else.

“Think of it as a favor,” you try, quietly, nudging his arm.

Swallowing roughly, he meets your eyes, searching. “Are you sure?” he asks after a long pause.

You reach out and grab his hand, twining your fingers with his. “I’m sure.” When he still hesitates, you squeeze his hand lightly. “You can say no, Jake.”

“No.” You start to pull away, and then he shakes his head quickly, holding on to you tighter. “No, I mean—I don't want to say no. I'm just. I'm a little nervous.”

His confession breaks your heart a little more. On the surface, this problem isn't all that serious, but underneath it all, Jake is craving connection. You’ll make sure he leaves your apartment more than satisfied.

“If at any point, for any reason, you want to stop then we’ll stop,” you promise.

He finally smiles, small and lopsided, and nods in agreement. You stand up, tugging him to rise with you and struggling to lift all that muscle mass.

“Come on,” you instruct, “let's go to my bedroom. We’ll have more space there.”

Silently, he follows you to your room, palm clammy against yours. The sun is shining through your windows, beams landing directly on your bed like some kind of spotlight. You let go of Jake’s hand to quickly shove your comforter to the foot of your bed then climb onto it.

“C’mere,” you murmur when you see him hovering unsurely beside the bed, patting the space between your legs.

First, Jake makes quick work of the button and zip on his jeans, before knee-walking to where you indicated. You both settle on the mattress, your back to the headboard and Jake getting comfortable against your chest and into the cradle of your spread thighs. The position really highlights your size difference, almost comically, and you have to swallow down all the things you want to say or sounds that threaten to escape.

Jake already has his jeans back down around his knees and quickly wiggles his underwear down to get his dick out. He’s jittery, his movements stilted and awkward, like he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.

“Relax, Jakey,” you softly instruct, reaching up to squeeze at his shoulders comfortingly. “It’s just me. I’m here to help, okay?”

“Right,” Jake replies on an exhale, nodding, “okay. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Your lips quirk slightly. “Good. I’m gonna touch you now, alright?”

“Okay,” Jake murmurs.

You hear him swallow, see his fists clench and unclench where they’re resting beside his thighs. Tentatively, as if not to startle him, you move your hands to Jake’s hips, petting over the exposed skin there. You hear Jake’s breath hitch then, so you keep going. You trail your fingers down the tops of Jake’s thighs, into the crease where they meet his groin and back up, just a touch higher than before, and you repeat the motion a few times until you’ve worked the hem of Jake’s shirt up to give you better access to his torso.

Slowly, Jake sinks further and further into your embrace, getting heavier and heavier the more you touch him. You are quietly loving the weight of him, the way his head is starting to loll and his eyelids beginning to flutter. You watch Jake bite his lip when you finally tease closer to his hardening cock, running your fingernails lightly across the trimmed hair above it.

You raise one of your hands, palm up, with a soft, “Jake,” as instruction.

He blinks down at your hand for a second, dazed, and then he’s carefully holding your hand and bringing it up to press a surprisingly gentle kiss to your palm. You feel your face grow hot as you hide your smile in Jake’s shoulder, though you’re positive he can feel it anyway.

“Jakey,” you say again, painfully endeared, “I meant for you to, you know, get my hand wet.”

“Oh.” He huffs a little at himself, but he doesn’t hesitate to bring your hand back up to his mouth and drag his tongue across your open palm.

Now it’s your turn for your breath to catch in your throat, locking every part of your body so you don't make any sudden movements or do something stupid. That gets more difficult to avoid when Jake, after thoroughly licking all over your hand, tops it all off by gathering the remaining saliva in his mouth, makes you cup your hand and then spits into it. For a split second, you think you’re about to come, which would be mortifying, so you’re glad when you’re able to reign in your hormones and offer a small thank you so you can get back to the task at hand. Literally.

You bite the inside of your cheek as you finally allow yourself to look over Jake’s shoulder, and honestly, you could weep at the sight before you. Jake’s cock is fully hard now, lying against his toned stomach, looking more intimidating than ever. Somehow his cock seems bigger, and thicker too. Your mouth waters, but you tell yourself to focus.

With your dry hand, you lift Jake’s cock, holding him at the base while you bring your other hand down to curl around the head. Jake gasps lightly, but otherwise stays still and quiet, at least until you begin stroking him. Slow and steady, you drag your hand down to the base of Jake’s cock, then add a little more pressure on the upstroke. Jake makes a punched out kind of sound, his knees jerking up slightly before settling back in place. A thrill rushes through you, powerful and giddy at the thought of Jake being at your mercy, of being the one to pull out even these tiny reactions. It makes you want to see just how loud you can make him. For now, though, you continue your steady pace, feeling more than hearing Jake’s sigh when you use your free hand to start touching him everywhere you can reach again.

What’s dangerous about this is that you could get used to it. You’re pretty sure you already are, and that could spell disaster for you, because you’re just supposed to be helping him out. This is only supposed to be offering Jake some relief after being unable to get off with a partner, to give him pleasure that isn’t by his own hands. You press your lips together and speed up your stroking, just a smidge, squeeze a bit more around the head and dig your thumb into Jake’s slit.

“Oh,” he utters, head falling back to rest on your shoulder, eyes closed tight and hips twitching up into your touch, chasing the feeling.

“Does it feel good, Jakey?” you boldly ask.

Jake nods and hums. “So good,” he affirms. He moves his hands to grip your knees as he adds, “Being so good to me, sweetheart.”

And, well. Fuck. You've been trying to pretend your pussy isn't wetter than it's been in a long while, but his words have you wishing you could close your thighs for some much needed friction. Subtly, you try to shift your hips and all it does is make you more frustrated. You let out a huff, breath fanning out against Jake’s neck. He shivers against you and you pause. Your lack of movement makes him whine, low and pleading, and it jolts you back into action.

Dragging your gaze down the line of his throat only makes you want to put your mouth on it, see if you can get him to shiver again. You peek at his face and see his eyes are still closed. Softly, so soft, you lean in and press a kiss to the side of his neck, and the way he responds is beautiful.

He whimpers, tilts his head back further to give you more room, his hips bucking up into your hold as you continue stroking him at a rhythmic pace. And you really can't say no to that kind of invitation. So, sufficiently sure that he doesn't mind it, you press even more kisses into his skin, trailing them up and down his neck and shoulder, as far as you can reach. The kisses turn wet, your tongue flicking out to taste him. Jake’s stomach muscles clench, and you quicken the pace of your hand up a bit, mouthing sloppily up his neck to his ear.

“Don't know how anyone could refuse you,” you mutter, your own breathing getting heavier to match his. “How can anyone look at your cock and not want to sit on it, Jakey? It doesn't make sense.”

He groans, planting his feet on the mattress so he has better leverage to thrust up into your fist, panting and letting out needy sounds.

“God, Jake,” you whine. You suck and bite a mark on his throat, pulling away once you're happy with it. “I bet you would feel perfect inside me,” you confess in a whisper.

“Stop,” he pants, and you let go of him in an instant, stomach dropping.

Before you can start to panic too much, Jake clumsily shifts around until he's on his haunches facing you, flushed all the way down his chest, eyes blazing behind his frames. You open your mouth to ask him what's wrong, but then he's gripping you under your knees and yanking. You fall flat on your back with a startled yelp and Jake is there to swallow the sound, kissing you like it's his lifeline. A moan rips its way out of your chest, arms coming up to wrap around his shoulders and pull him closer to you.

He breaks the kiss, glasses askew, to ask, “Can I please fuck you?”

Any other time you'd snort at the politeness of such a vulgar question, but at the moment all you can do is nod, roughly tugging at his shirt until he gets the hint and removes it, almost knocking his glasses off entirely. It lands somewhere on the floor, along with his jeans and underwear a second later. You squirm once you see his body fully naked, core throbbing in need to have it against you, on top of you.

“You too,” he murmurs, reaching for your shorts.

You lift your hips to help him, biting your lip at the way he curses when he realizes you aren’t wearing panties. With a grin, you surprise him further by taking off your t-shirt and reveal you're also not wearing a bra.

“Would it totally ruin the moment if I say I’ve wanted this for way too long?” he wonders, eyes raking over your body, his hands joining soon after.

You smile softly and shake your head. “Not at all.” He returns your smile, but yours eases into something mischievous. “But what will ruin the moment is if you don't get your fingers in me to get me ready for your big cock.”

Jake’s smile drops. “Fuck,” he says with feeling.

To incentivize him, you spread your legs, hand tracing a path down to where you're dripping. He watches with blown pupils and a slack jaw. When you hum as your fingers lightly glide down your slit, he snaps into focus. He knocks your hand away to replace it with his own. You sigh at the touch of his calluses on your sensitive skin, tilting your hips up and moaning when he finally sinks one finger inside you.

Thankfully, he doesn't seem to want to waste time, thrusting his finger steadily. You've never appreciated how long his fingers are more than you are at this very moment. He works you up to three of them much too fast for your liking, but you understand the urgency he’s feeling, and you can't really deny that you're feeling it too.

“That's good, Jake, c’mon, please get in me already,” you beg, shifting restlessly.

“Shit,” he breathes, “okay, yeah, let me just—”

He shuffles closer, taking his cock in hand and rubbing it up and down your slit, the head catching on your opening, making you whine. He curses under his breath some more and starts pushing in. Your mouth drops open, but no sound comes out, brows furrowing deeply as he splits you open on his cock. When he bottoms out, you let out a sharp exhale that hitches in your chest, while Jake’s chest is heaving like he's run a marathon.

“So tight,” he mutters.

“So—” You hiccup through a desperate sob. “So big, oh my god, Jakey, baby, please move, I need you to move.”

His chin drops to his chest with a pained sounding groan, but he listens. He draws his hips back, cock dragging deliciously out of you, before he thrusts back in. You're not sure you've stopped making noise since he started pulling out, high and needy and hungry pleas for more, and he's barely even gotten started.

Every sensation feels dialed up to a million. You're not sure sex has ever been like this for you; like your skin is on fire, like you can feel your pulse throb through every limb, through every single finger and toe, but especially in your clit. Your nipples even feel more sensitive than usual as they brush against his chest. Your body is positively singing with pleasure.

And Jake… Oh, that sweet, precious man is in heaven. You know you're tight around him, warm and wet, the perfect place to fuck into, and now that he's finally getting what he's wanted he's not holding back. He's fucking you like he’s gonna be graded on it after. His hips slam into yours and he can't stop making noises of his own. Grunts, soft gasps, neverending praise over how you feel, how he's so happy this is happening, how he's never going to stop fucking you.

Your nails dig into the flesh on his back, dragging all the way down until you flatten your palms on his ass and squeeze. His thrusting falters for a second, but he finds his rhythm again quickly, dropping to his elbows so that he's even closer. He kisses along your collarbones, nipping at the base of your throat before sucking at the spot harshly. You moan brokenly and clutch at him tighter.

“Left my mark on you, too,” he declares, kissing the bruise he’s made, then kisses you properly, tongue sliding across yours and dipping into your mouth.

You're not sure how much longer you can hold back from touching your clit, your need ratcheting higher and higher, but you know Jake is right there with you. He's pounding into you roughly now, chasing his climax with determination. Reaching down, you swipe your fingers through your slick and use it to rub your clit, a whimper escaping you when you tighten around him from the added stimulation. Jake growls and speeds up some, hitching one of your legs up his side. It changes the angle just enough that he's hitting that spot inside you that has you crying out, a long warble of his name, fingers quickening their pace on your clit.

“Yeah, that's it,” he encourages. “Please, come for me. Come on, baby, let me see it, wanna watch you fall apart.”

All of your breath gets trapped in your lungs as warmth pools in your core and bursts outward, your pussy fluttering and clamping down on his cock. Your body shivers through your climax, thighs trembling unceasingly as Jake groans and fucks you harder, three, four more times before stilling. He comes with a loud moan, grinding inside you as he rides it out.

After a moment, he collapses on top of you. You grunt at his weight, but smile tiredly at your ceiling, combing your fingers through his hair. You feel him press a kiss on your shoulder.

“Thank you,” he mumbles.

That makes you giggle, which in turn makes you clench and has Jake whining since he's still buried inside you. Gingerly, he pulls out, both of you hissing at the sensation. He runs a tender finger along the outside of your opening.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, concerned.

“No, baby,” you whisper.

He meets your gaze then, hopeful, still flushed with exertion and glasses slightly foggy. “Baby?”

You hum with a grin. “Yes. My big, beefy baby,” you tease. “I’m keeping you all to myself now.”

“You know, I think I just might be okay with that,” he replies, beaming in a way that puts the sunlight through your window to shame.

#jake jensen #jake jensen x reader #jake jensen x you #jake jensen fic #jake jensen fanfiction #jake jensen smut #jake jensen fluff

[st1llwthyou]

POPPIN’ CHERRY.

fandom ꕀ bts

pairing ꕀ jungkook x f!reader

applicable aus & genre ꕀ roommate au, smut

synopsis ꕀ those were the last words he ever expected to come out of your mouth. but heck, jungkook would be lying if he said that he didn’t fucking love it.

word count ꕀ 2,322

warnings & tags ꕀ language, inexperienced reader, dom/sub dynamics, biting, pet names (fem! – baby, angel etc.), nipple play, dacryphilia, corruption kink (implied), dirty talk, cunnilingus, pussy drunk!jk, fingering — RATED E for explicit content.

notes ꕀ hello! i’m a newbie lskjdikdj and this is my tumblr debut 🫣! i’m so, very nervous and scared, but i hope you enjoy <3!

“You want me to… what?!” Jungkook looks at you wide-eyed, clearly flabbergasted by your proposition. You swallow nervously, hoping with all your might that your little plan works out. 

“Make me orgasm… can you not?” You whisper with bated breath. It’s uncertain where your boldness is coming from, but you’ve come a bit too far to back out now. 

He shakes his head a few times, getting up from his bed to approach you. “It’s not about if I can or not, ____. Do you not understand how fucking abrupt this is? I’m sort of weirded out, where is this coming from, huh?” 

You lean against the door frame to his room, heaving out a sigh. Of course, you know how out of the blue this is, to him. It almost makes you sad that he’s never picked up on any of the hints you’ve dropped before. That you like him. 

“I… um, heard you.” You murmur. It won’t hurt to tell a bit of truth.

“... Heard what exactly?” Jungkook quirks an eyebrow at you, skeptical. 

“You… and the girls you bring back sometimes.” That sentence stings to even utter, but you manage somehow. 

A sigh escapes his pretty lips. “Fuck… I thought you’d be sleeping. And the walls seem pretty darn thick so I assumed not a lot of noise will travel.” 

“I was sleeping, I just… woke up again to the sounds of, y’know…” 

A heavy silence falls between you two. You wait for him to say something, anything, but he doesn’t. Jungkook just regards you silently, those magnetic pools of honey trailing over your figure with no prominent emotions visible. 

“Hey… you can decline, by the way. If it wasn’t clear. I’ll go back and we can just, um, pretend that nothing happened and go back to being normal roommates.” Tears burn in the back of your eyes, but you still try to appear brave and strong in front him. 

“I know I can decline. But I’m not sure if I want to.” Jungkook takes a few more steps forward, reaching for you. As his warm, big hand finds your jaw, you lean into the comforting touch instinctively. “You’re so sweet and adorable, I never thought I’d hear those words out of your mouth.” 

“Can you just—” 

“But I liked it. Say it again.” He disrupts your complaint even before you could start. It takes you a few moments to properly register what he said. But once you do, your whole body thrums from excitement, heartbeat going crazy.

“Mm–make me come, Jungkook.” Your voice is barely audible, but just enough for his blood to rush south. His strong arms wrap around your smaller frame to hoist you up, carrying you to his bed. 

“I might just not survive this, fuck.” Jungkook hisses under his breath, gently dropping you on his mattress. He’s over aware of every little thing about you now, from the outline of your pebbled nipples on your pajama, to your glossy eyes that are locked on him. 

“Can I call you ‘baby’? And other nicknames?” He enquires hopefully, his hands eagerly exploring your curves. You tremble under his touch, vigorously shaking your head in an assertive manner. Jungkook chuckles.

“Aww, you’re so cute and eager, baby.” He hovers over you, his eyes searching for yours. “You want me to make you come, hm?” 

Even though your heart feels like it’ll burst out of your chest, you lock your eyes with him. “Yea… I– I’ve never orgasmed in my life.” Your voice is small, heat rising to your cheeks as you confess, embarrassed. Jungkook leans down to nuzzle your face, dropping a butterfly kiss right beneath your eye.

“Is that so? Not even by yourself?” One of his hands slips beneath your pajama, gently stroking your tummy. He smiles when you nod, his other hand cupping your face. “It’s okay, we can try it out today and see what happens.” 

Jungkook is so close, studying you and everything you do — almost enamored by your nuances. “May I kiss you?” He rests his forehead against yours, waiting for your confirmation. 

“Yes please.” He doesn’t waste a second, soft lips finding yours in a sweet kiss. The simple touch alone gets you exhilarated, hands gripping onto his t-shirt. He lets his tongue run over your lower lip, making you twitch under him. 

That snaps something in Jungkook, his hand firmly grasping your jaw while he coaxes your mouth open to him. You gasp when he teases your tongue with his, taking control of the kiss from the get go. The way he moves his tongue against yours makes you dizzy, strange sensations flooding your body. It feels like he’s unraveling you. 

Your little moans and whimpers egg him on, his teeth nibbling at your lower lip. Jungkook is feeling partially intoxicated by you, his mind hazy from lust. Although, he pulls away from the mind-numbing kiss a while later to give you some space to breathe. “Fuck,” he curses, enticed by your teary eyes and swollen lips. 

It takes you a while to gather yourself, but you soon realize how much effect that single kiss had on you. Your underwear has soaked through with your arousal, uncomfortably sticking to your skin. Your nipples are also rock hard, aching to be touched. 

“Jungkook,” you whine weakly, thrashing a bit to show your distress. His mouth returns to yours, right hand swifty unbuttoning your pajama. Jungkook trails down wet kisses down your neck, suckling on the soft skin in places. A moan escapes you when he tweaks your clothed nipple between his fingers. 

“I haven’t started anything yet, princess.” His whisper is hot against your cleavage, right hand slipping beneath your back to unhook your bra. “So pretty,” he coos, throwing it away somewhere in the room. A sudden wave of embarrassment hits you as you realize that this is the most bare you’ve ever been to anyone. So, you try to cover yourself, but he’s faster to stop you, narrowing his eyes. “Don’t. Did I not mention how fucking pretty you are?”

Face flushed, you avoid eye contact. “Sorry… it’s just– um, the first time someone saw me like this.” 

Jungkook lets go of your wrists, the weight of your words sinking in. “Good fucking lord, ____.” His eyes darken, breathing uneven. “Let me take care of you, angel.” He captures your lips in a searing kiss, strong, calloused hand massaging your breast. His other hand is at the small of your back, supporting both of you. 

Eventually, he trails downward, pressing open-mouthed kisses until he reaches your unoccupied breast. With his eyes locked on you, Jungkook licks at your stiffened bud, earning a whimper from you. “Look at me, princess.” He encourages, almost losing it when your droopy eyes fixate on his face. 

With his cock throbbing inside his boxer-briefs, he wraps his lips around your nipple, earning him a lewd whine. You place your arm over your mouth quickly, head falling back as he runs his teeth and tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves. It feels unbelievably good, you had no idea having your nipples sucked would be like this.

“Oh my god,” you cry out, overwhelmed by the sensation when Jungkook also starts tweaking and teasing your other nipple with his finger. More arousal has leaked from your sopping hole, a tight feeling inside your lower belly coiling. The pleasure is almost blinding, making you twitch and tremble under him.

Soon, he impatiently moves to ravish the unattended breast, adding more to your devastation. You’re just barely hanging in there, extremely unsure of what’s happening with your body, feeling like you might explode any minute. Jungkook, on the other hand, bites and suckles on your tits like his life depends on it, frenzied by your sweet taste and reactions. 

But he stops short when he notices your hips bucking up, eyes teary, ready to spill the diamond drops. “My baby,” he murmurs, letting his right hand slip inside your pajama bottoms. You moan out of relief when he presses down on your clit, inner walls clenching around nothing. Jungkook is almost surprised when he finally feels the damp cloth of your cotton panties. “Fuck, can’t believe you.” 

He quickly gets rid of your bottoms, eyes falling upon the massive wet patch on your panties. “No– it’s embarrassing—” You try to cross your legs shut. Quite genuinely, you had no idea that it’s possible to produce that much liquid down there. Unfortunately, he’s way too strong, spreading your legs apart with bare-minimum effort. 

“Shh, nothing is embarrassing, angel. You’re a fucking goddess, out of the world, even.” Jungkook sounds so sincere that your heart skips a beat. “I’ll make you feel so good, baby.” He pulls at the waistband of your panties, slowly taking the offending material off. An expletive rumbles in his throat when he sees the strings of your arousal attaching you to your underwear. 

“You’re gonna drive me crazy.” He hisses, struggling to keep his urges on check. Blindly throwing away the panties somewhere, Jungkook eagerly settles down between your legs, already feeling his cock twitch at the sight of your drenched pussy. “Goddamn…” He gingerly parts your nether lips, exposing your dripping hole to his hungry gaze. 

“Don’t stare at it like that,” your voice is small, heart doing backflips in your chest. It makes you feel so shy, the way his eyes are trained on your lady bits. His short laugh makes you wanna rub your thighs together. 

“Awe, is my princess feeling embarrassed? Don’t be, you have the prettiest pussy, all swollen and wet for me~” Jungkook rubs his middle finger along your slit, letting it coat into your nectar. New to the feeling of his thick, calloused finger, you whimper out of sensitivity. Oh, the way he’s absolutely adored by you. 

He tilts his head as if he’s contemplating something. Then all of a sudden, he starts lowering himself until he is face to face with your core. “Wan’ a taste of your cute, little pussy.” Goosebumps spread over your skin as you clench at the thought. Jungkook lazily thumbs your swollen clit, enamored by your responses. “You’re so fucking responsive, makes me wanna play with you forever.” 

“Nngh— Jungkook!” you squeal as he licks a fat stroke along your pussy, covering the whole area with his saliva. It’s weird — the way it feels, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like it. He moans at the initial taste, putting your legs on his shoulder to really get in there. 

Jungkook laps at your cunt hungrily, his thumb diligently rubbing your clit. His tongue teasingly rims around your entrance, before plunging into the depths of your core. You jolt, crying out of despair, hypersensitive to his ministrations. The flexible muscle strokes at your gummy walls, increasing the weird feeling inside your stomach. Now, you feel certain that you will burst at any moment, clenching on his tongue helplessly. 

But he doesn’t stop, his little groans going straight through your core. Jungkook is in a frenzy, his whole mouth buried in your pussy as he greedily devours every single drop of your nectar. With his movements getting quicker and rougher, the knots in your lower stomach start to feel like they’ll snap. “Oh my god,” you cry out loud, “Jungkook, it– ugh, feels so weird— wait— Aah!” 

Your body goes rigid as soon as he pinches your clit between his fingers, a flooding sensation spreading throughout you. White spots appear in your vision while your body breaks out in exhilarating shivers, a string of incoherent words leaving you. Jungkook, on the other hand, slurps at your juices, his heart swelling in his chest. This is the first time you experienced a release. And he’s the first person to taste your sweet cherry pop. 

Your body loosens up soon after, leaving you all mushy. He holds you close, slowly retracting his tongue from your pussy, making you whine weakly. It makes an embarrassingly loud popping sound when he finally pulls away, his whole mouth covered with your slick, glistening under the dim lighting of his bedroom. 

“Baby,” Jungkook coos at you, noticing the tear streaks on your temples. He never thought he’d be seeing you like this, but he’s loving every second of it. You look messed up in the best way possible, all for him. “Did I make you feel good, hm? You came all over my face, look at me, c’mon~” 

His voice is cocky, eyes twinkling with mischief. When you finally meet his eyes, Jungkook reaches for your with his left hand, wiping away the stray tears. You’re unsure what to say, still processing everything that just happened. But still, you clear your throat, starting, “Um… Thank you…” 

“Oh? For what?” He can’t help his chuckle. You’re just so freaking cute.

“For… for making me come, like I asked, Jungkook.” you whisper, nuzzling his hand affectionately. 

“Trust me, it was my pleasure. But you’re welcome! Care to receive my other services regarding this?” 

You flush at his words, immediately realizing what he means exactly.

“Well…?” Jungkook raises an eyebrow, quite impatient.

“Mmm… I’d love to.” He doesn’t waste a single second upon your confirmation, his tattooed right hand cupping your pussy in a rough manner. 

“God—” you moan as he pushes his middle finger inside, overwhelmed by how thick and long it is compared to your own, familiar one. Jungkook leans down to press a sweet kiss on your lips.

“I’m really sorry, but I don’t think you’ll be getting any sleep tonight.” His big, brown eyes look into yours, full of lust and something softer that you can’t really place. 

“I don’t mind.” Your smile turns into a broken moan when he hits a specific spot deep inside you, your gummy walls squeezing his finger appreciatively. 

Being stupidly bold isn’t so bad all the time, maybe. 

˗ˏˋ ★ extended notes ˎˊ˗

thanks so much for reading 🥺! i hope this was okay >.< (pls ignore typos or other mistakes, english is not my 1st language) ; i’d love to hear your thoughts about this! please reblog, comment, or even send me asks, feedback is very much appreciated!

#taffy writes ⁂ fics. #taffy writes ⁂ bts. #taffy writes ⁂ jungkook. #bts smut #jungkook smut #kpop smut #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #bts imagines #jungkook imagine #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #bts fanfic #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #jungkook fanfic #i am shaking :')) ; oh the horror of being perceived... #here goes nothing

[youremyheaven]

Ketu: Detachment & Connection

I thought I would expand more on the nature of Ketu in this post. Although both Rahu and Ketu are shadow planets (they are the north and south node of the moon) they experience this darkness very differently. Rahu seeks intense immersion in their experiences and seeks to absorb as much of their material realm (Rahu is the head) but Ketu is disconnected from this completely (Ketu being the headless torso) and even if they want to, they cannot immerse themselves in the material realm, they find it disorienting or simply feel disconnected from it all. Its meaningless to them.

The Ketu nakshatras are Ashwini, Magha & Mula

Ketu is in the darkness and to be Ketuvian is to be in a tunnel perpetually seeking the light. It can be a very uneasy energy to inhabit if imbalanced but this is why spirituality is so important to Ketu natives, they have to cultivate spiritual discipline if they are to peacefully embody this energy and find clarity in its detachment. Most people struggle with overattachment, so having this Ketuvian energy is a great starting point since you're already detached but grounding is very important as there is such a thing as being too detached or uncaring.

The Ketuvian struggle for connection reminds me of certain 8h themes and I think 8housers and Ketuvians have a lot in common in that regard. You need to have an intense kind of connection to feel anything at all, everything else feels kind of mild to your senses. Only intensity can wake you up and make you feel "awake" or "aware" as Ketuvians are sort of in this passive detached state otherwise.

I noticed many of these themes in Jungkook's solo songs. He is a Magha Moon and Mula Rising (he has such a puppy energy, it must be Mula's dog yoni hehe)

I had mentioned in one of my previous posts that being heavily tatted (a full sleeve of tattoos or just being covered in tattoos) is a very Nodal thing to do because they're plunged in shadows and making a mark spiritually helps them feel more connected or because they have to indulge in the extremes of anything for it to feel impactful.

Jungkook has a song called "Still With You" released in 2020, widely considered a love letter to army. These are the English translation of some of its lyrics that I found correlating to his Ketuvian energy

"That faint voice of yours that grazed me Please call my name one more time I'm standing under the frozen light, but I'll walk step by step towards you Still with you

With no light in the darkroom I shouldn't get used to it But I'm used to it again The low-pitched sound of this air conditioner If I don't have this, I will fall apart We laugh together, we cry together I guess these simple feelings were everything to me"

Fame can be a very intoxicating and addictive experience for Nodal natives. Since they feel very disconnected otherwise, they experience connection when it is pouring in such a large or vast scale. But this sort of dependence on fame and fans can also be destabilising and unhealthy because you never know when it might all go away. Since fame is so fickle, its dangerous to rely on it to feel "connected". This is why soooo many Nodal natives who are celebrities are sooo often self-destructive. You keep chasing that high and you'll never feel satisfied, you can never fill the vacuum you have and the harder you try, the more empty you feel.

I don't say any of this to be discouraging, im only trying to point out the emotional expectations we place upon certain experiences and even relationships and how it turns toxic and unhealthy when we do that. If we were to use another person to feel connected or tethered to the world, whilst it may work for us, they must feel very drained by being our anchor.

Jungkook has another demo called Decalcomania and the lyrics go like this:

When I see you smile in the screen You're good at everything You're just perfect Feels like I've never been you

Do you even see me? Do you know who I am? Or how do I look now? You don't like me like that

Come and tell me so much, you beautiful heart Oh, I'm gonna listen to you Please

All the numbers too big Can't get out of your game Oh, I want to paint it like you Please

I want to be your decalcomania I want you I want to be your decalcomania I want I want you

He is singing about himself and how he feels dissociated from himself. Fame can be a very dissociative experience for Ketu natives as their search for connection means they feel even more disconnected from the person they become to achieve this connection. Decalcomania refers to the process by which engravings are transferred to another surface (paper, pottery etc). It ties back to Ketu's need to be marked upon, they need something to make an impression on them, literally, because otherwise it does not feel real to them. Jungkook is asking himself to transfer the person he sees on screen to himself, so that he can embody the lightness and joy he sees on him.

Jungkook has another solo song called My Time in which he sings:

"24, feels like I became a grown-up faster than everyone else My life has been a movie, all the time I ran to where the sun rises every single night It's like I've been to someone's tomorrow The boy who found the world too big Keep on runnin' errday, pick the mic up Friends ridin' subway, I'll be in the aeroplane mode All over the world rock on, I made my own lotto But is it too fast? There are traces of losses Don't know what to do with, am I livin' this right? Why am I alone in a different time and space?"

Nodal natives (both Rahu & Ketu) regardless of whether they're child stars or not, have to grow up faster than others. This again makes them feel very disconnected from kids their age, you feel vv lonely.

Oh, I think I was in yesterday 'Cause everybody walk too fast I'm a little kid grown up not knowing it (Like a child who got lost) This got me oh just trippin’ It feels I'm roaming over Don't know what to do with, am I livin' this right? Why am I alone in a different time and space?

It feels confusing and disorienting to live a life that others cant relate to you. Immense wealth and fame can make you feel this way but Ketuvians feel this way in general. They look around them and they feel lost like everybody else is moving too fast.

"Sometimes when I'm gasping for air I wear my hat low and keep running Yeah, I don't gotta know where I go Even if it's opposite of sun One time for the present Two time for the past Happy that we met each other Now 'til the very end"

He's expressing his gratitude for everything even though it feels so alienating and confusing.

There is another song called Stay Alive in which he sings:

"그림잔 커져가지만 Although my shadow grows larger,

괜찮아 너란 큰 빛 덕분이니 It’s okay because it’s thanks to the great light that is you"

This is such a sincere explanation of what its like to be a Ketuvian in the limelight, he's thankful for having such a vast fanbase, the source of his "light" (remember that Ketu is in darkness and is always seeking light) but chasing this light means having to morph into somebody else/feeling disconnected from yourself which he succinctly expresses through the line "my shadow grows larger". Since Ketu is in perpetual darkness and is a shadow planet, it does not confront its shadow on its own. Its the seeking, the constant chasing for the light which they need that brings them to see their shadow.

Perhaps you feel very void and disconnected in general but you have a friend or a partner who makes you feel very tethered, through them you absorb their light but this also means you learn to look at yourself more clearly (Ketuvians are blind to their own nature) and this can be a very disconcerting and difficult experience if you've seldom ever felt "seen".

Emma Watson, Ashwini Sun, Mula Moon

I remember reading this interview in like 2010 where she said that whilst doing red carpets for the last Harry Potter movies she would have these moments where she looked into the mirror and felt very disconnected from the person she saw.

She subsequently turned to yoga and meditation and is even a certified yoga instructor. She has also mentioned going on silent retreats.

Ketu natives truly find balance in their lives when they cultivate a spiritual practice and devote themselves to it. Emma has largely stayed out of the limelight in the last decade or so and will probably continue to do so, this is very Ketuvian again, these natives find social interactions, especially the kind of intensive press tour celebrity life to be very draining, they need to retreat and do things in a way that is "real" to them. Emma has spoken about taking a break from acting and working behind the scenes.

Jungkook deleted his IG despite having 40+ million followers and like most Ketu natives he is very private and has no social media. It does not feel natural or real to them.

In her British Vogue interview, Emma said,

"...Her characters have felt, at times, “much realer” than she was. “I’m just so glad that I did [step away from acting] because I have this feeling of having my own voice and creative space and sovereignty in some way that I don’t think I did before".

This time has allowed Watson to concentrate on her “inner scorecard” (how you feel about yourself on the inside), versus her “outer scorecard” (your outward success, as seen on social media, for example). “I get a front row seat [with] some of the most successful, beautiful, incredible people in the world,” she says of Hollywood’s inner sanctum. “And when you have that seat it becomes very, very clear that there is just absolutely no level of success that will make you in any way happy or content if you do not like who you are or enjoy what you’re doing when no one’s watching.”

All of this feels like evolved, balanced and mature Ketu energy.

Miranda Kerr, Ashwini Sun

She is another person who I've always thought embodies a very healthy and evolved Ketuvian energy

Here's an excerpt from her interview:

“First, I try to do a little meditation and yoga, depending on how I feel. I've been meditating since I was 18. I've learnt Transcendental Meditation and Kriya Yoga Meditation, but sometimes I'm just too much in my head and so I need to put on an app. I use Insight Timer, which has different guided meditations, from a five- or 10-minute meditation or deeper ones which help if I can't sleep.

“Gratitude puts everything into perspective. The way that we speak to ourselves is really important, and to be aware to pull yourself up if you’re being self-critical and try and look at things in a positive way. For example, we can look outside and say, ‘oh my goodness, I can't believe it's raining’, or we can look outside and go, ‘well, it's cosy when it rains, I'd love to be inside and I get to wear my favourite scarf’ – we can switch our whole perspective on so many things. For me, waking up in the morning and thinking of at least three things I’m grateful for is so important. Just simple things like, ‘I’m grateful that we have fresh running water’.”

Salma Hayek, Magha Rising

Salma has been practising meditation and yoga for decades and has said: “It’s actually feeling the energy,” she said. “It moves and it dances inside of you, different sensations and emotions. So I use a lot of the frequency machines.”

Hayek claimed that her meditation works wonders for her appearance. “Sometimes when I’m doing it, people tell me when I come out of the room, ‘Oh my god. You look 20 again,'" she said.

She also warned that if she stopped meditating, her face would suffer. “When I don’t do it for a while, guess what?” she said. “The face starts to drop and everything starts to drop.”

Spirituality comes easier for women than men imo and Ketuvian women are more likely to buy into all things spiritual like crystal cleansing, chakra reading and even other offbeat spiritual techniques.

Gigi Hadid, Ashwini Sun & Rising

Gigi is another person who embodies really healthy Ketuvian energy

In her interviews, she always sounds very grounded and tethered. She said:

"I got pregnant and I really started to think about what I wanted after, when the world opened back up. (she got pregnant during covid) It kept coming back to just a more stabilized schedule where I’m not in a different country every week. This is very stabilizing. I have an office that I come to. I know everyone here. I don’t have to look a certain way to show up. It’s a different experience for me, and it was the right time because I was ready for that,” 

To realize what is causing you to feel unstable and deliberately manoeuvre your life to create that stability requires self-awareness and maturity.

Arnold Schwarzenegger, Mula Moon

He has talked about how bodybuilding and building his physique really helped him feel connected to himself in a different way. I think this is an interesting manifestation of Ketu's disconnection and need to go to extremes to feel anything. Arnold's workout routine from his Mr World days is pretty insane, he worked harder than anybody else and was single-mindedly focused on it. Pushing yourself to such extremes and committing to it is difficult but those Ketuvians who can do so will benefit from it immensely.

Ketu is detached from the material realm. For a Ketu native that isn't tuned into their spiritual side, this can mean feeling disconnected in general but the blessings of retreating to spirituality, slowness, stillness etc means shifting to a version of life where you feel anchored within yourself without depending on anybody or anything to feel that way.

All of the people I mentioned above turned away from the spotlight or made choices to make their lives more grounded and stable and as a result they feel content and satiated. They are detached from the material realm but firmly tethered to the things that matter to them.

I just wanted to make a brief post about how Ketuvians embrace their shadows and how spirituality anchors them.

I hope this was insightful.

#astrology notes #astrology observations #sidereal astrology #vedic astro notes #nakshatras #vedic astrology #astro notes #astro observations #astrology #astroblr #ketu #magha #mula #ashwini

[intothegenshinworld]

Fate’s Destiny ~ Chapter 13 || The heavens and us

You somehow, not being able to explain it, had fallen into the Genshin world you know oh-so-well. You were no new player and had explored most of the nooks and crannies of the world. When you first had woken up in Windrise you wondered; it might be a dream, after all, you were behind your screen usually, and now- here? It made no sense, and the world was keen on keeping it that way.

Warnings: Spoilers for main story.

Word count: 3k+

Auteurs note: We ballin!!

↺ PREVIOUS CHAPTER || ↻ NEXT CHAPTER || MASTERLIST

The people on the street are in a state of panic, and rightfully so. 

In the not-so-far distance, it’s becoming more obvious that whatever went on between the Jade Chamber and the rising waves had affected Liyue Harbor in its entirety. 

In between the mountains, the Jade Chamber lays in ruin. Even before hitting the ground, it has been fragmented into multiple chunks. And with no walls to keep all of its previous furniture inside, its contents litters throughout the paths in the surrounding area.

For a while longer, smoke surges from the wreckage—as the initial fall had set fire to the cloths and paper inside. Candles had been tossed over and caught whatever they could during the fall, burning all of the silk tapestries with the Creator’s face and history until it leaves nothing but dust in its wake.

The harbour doesn’t fare better under the destruction. 

The people in the area have had enough time to evacuate, but the docking boats and multiple shops are flooded, destroyed by the large waves that came crashing down not too long ago.

ㅤ

Often when reaching this point, you’d find out that the Adepti and the Qixing assisted the newly reborn geo Archon with his task of protecting his city. 

However, you will never find out why they are bound to fail.

Going south from Wangshu Inn, leads you through the Guili Plains once more. Your previous journey through this area had been relaxed, with little to none interactions from anyone aside from Lumine, Paimon, and Dainsleif. But with pandemonium reigning the nation ever since the Jade Chamber fell, you aren’t surprised to see the crowds grow thicker. 

Around you, people are both leaving and heading towards Liyue Harbor. You aren’t certain why anyone would be going towards the city in its current state, but you assume it has to do with people believing in the geo Archon and seeking shelter in times of uncertainty.

Of course, you are part of the same group, but your reasons for heading towards Liyue Harbor are quite different. 

Earlier, you had remembered an interaction with a certain someone who could give you clarity on the current situation. 

"Call my name." 

A hand holds yours in a gentle but firm hold.  The workers in Wangshu Inn had been occupied well before sunrise, but the morning remained fresh. Rays of sunlight hit the side of Xiao’s face, bringing forward the teal streaks in his hair and a golden shimmer in his eyes. 

His expression holds concern for something. You don’t ask him about it.

Xiao speaks again. His voice sounds clearer this time. 

"Call my name if you need me."

You’ve spent more than enough time with Xiao to know that he would help you if you needed it. Like when he suspected the Fatui to be a danger, or when he teleported you away when the Jade Chamber fell down—he'd always been there for you.

Another reason for you to remember him was the fact that the Adeptus would be at the geo Archon’s side. If you called out his name, he could tell you what was going on in Liyue Harbor.

However, when you call out his name, he doesn’t answer.

“Xiao?” You say it again, this time a bit louder.

You’re unsure if you should be concerned about the silence that follows. He’s proven to be capable of handling many difficult situations but something within makes you feel uneasy at the lack of response. 

The white haired pixie floats over to your side.

“Maybe he is busy? Whatever lights we saw flash out from the Jade Chamber during the fight, it had to have been elemental energy. Paimon thinks the Adepti might’ve helped during the battle.” Paimon turns away to face Lumine, who’s busy trying to keep the chaos at a distance from the three of you. 

And as you follow your eyes in the outlander’s direction, a strangely familiar carriage flies by. 

For a moment, your attention is captured. Instead of Lumine, your eyes are glued to the vehicle.  

At first glance, it doesn’t look extraordinary. It has a simple wooden base with a white frame, made out of cloth, perched atop it, keeping the contents inside hidden. And as you look at it, you realise that instead of the carriage looking familiar to you, it’s the man with fiery red hair that chimes familiarity. 

With a stern and concentrated look, he rides the horse that pulls the carriage along. The stranger’s red eyes are always focused in front of him to make sure no accidents were caused by the chaos on the roads. 

And then his eyes move to you. 

Your cloak should’ve been concealing you, but with the mass panic, you had assumed no one would be concerned about your resemblance to the creator. Everyone would’ve been distracted and no one should’ve noticed you. Unless they felt your aura. 

So, did he?

The moment passes as quickly as it came, for the carriage nor the red haired man stops to confirm your suspicions. Instead, a small hand settles on your shoulder, pulling you out of your thoughts once more.

With a smile, Paimon gently tugs the cloak down for you, and once she finishes, you return your mind to the current situation: Xiao being unresponsive as Liyue Harbor remains in shambles. 

You frown, an expression that remains hidden since no one can see your face with the fabric casting a shadow over it. At last, you respond to Paimon. “Xiao might be busy, but that doesn’t help our current situation.”

Lumine looks at Paimon and then turns to you. She seems hesitant and takes a second to speak up. “Is the gnosis still working?”

Your eyes fall upon the orange rays escaping the fingers that encase the object. A soft hum of recognition is sent in response. “I think so. It’s been pulling me along towards Liyue Harbor.”

The outlander is silent for a second. Once she makes sure the crowds are safe, Lumine walks over to you. “Is there a chance that the geo Archon still has power over it?”

Confusion makes you stumble over your first words. “No. If he could, he would’ve told me or helped me with regaining my memories.” 

Then, she explains her questions. “I think Paimon was right. It might be worth it to follow the gnosis’s pull for now.” Lumine looks at the gnosis before her eyes trail back to you. She continues to talk,

“Perhaps you did resonate with it. Your aura has been growing weaker ever since we left camp in the morning, so the gnosis might’ve been absorbing your aura so it can communicate.”

Indifferently, you nod. “Maybe. Either way, we should continue. The crowds don’t seem to calm down and we’ll never know the reasoning behind the gnosis’ activation if we stop now.”

A while back, when Paimon had expressed her theory about the gnosis needing to recognise your aura, you felt like you were one step closer to figuring out what you needed to do. 

Somehow, that feeling of excitement and relief was now gone.

If you were honest with yourself, you’ve forgotten why your lost memories were supposed to be troublesome in the first place. If the geo Archon recognised you, wasn’t that enough? You are the Creator, after all. 

But then again,

if you are Teyvat’s Creator, 

where did you come from?

As you approach Liyue Harbor,  an eerie absence invades the landscape that surrounds you. Not a single soul or creature is in sight—a stark contrast to the bustling roads you previously experienced. You halt to look at Lumine after you’ve observed the roads. 

“Where did you think they went?” You ask.

She stops in her tracks. “The people?”

You nod. 

“The people…” Lumine scans the empty streets. The treelines separating you from the wilderness of the Guili Plains are completely abandoned. No birds are flying in the sky and there are no tracks of anyone else having passed this area. 

It is just you, her, and Paimon. 

“I’m not sure,” she admits.

“Paimon knows!” Your white haired eagerly interjects. “The geo Archon must’ve evacuated them.”

Your grip tightens on the gnosis, its weight a reminder of the journey ahead. 

A despondent expression settles onto your face as you caress the metal outlines separating you from the contained geo energy within. The godly object whines at your standstill, urging you to continue now that your destination is within reach. 

Despite Paimon's optimism, a nagging doubt gnaws at your resolve. It might’ve been the pull from the gnosis, or the fact that you had no idea what just occurred, but you needed to move forward.

You hear soft footsteps move in your direction until Lumine stands next to you on the hill. Her eyes follow your gaze to Liyue Harbor.

From here, everything looks still. The smoke from between the mountains has calmed down and the waters are quiet. But however still it might look, destruction is evident the longer you look at the view in front of you. 

Somehow, with Lumine by your side, you feel more confident. And despite her own destiny, time and time again, she has chosen to stand with you. It’s something you can’t properly appreciate because it means too much to you. 

Your mind drifts to Dainsleif and your last interactions with him. 

You feel bothered about his departure. Sure, there was something peculiar about him, something you couldn’t figure out, but he made you feel at home. Despite the time spent with him being sparse, it felt like you should’ve known him—as if you had met before. 

His entire appearance and disappearance felt like a puzzle you can’t quite solve. 

Why did he leave?

But with a more urgent mystery ahead, and things appearing to be more complicated as time passes, you decide to push him and your doubts aside to focus on the problem in front of you.

“Do you have any idea why those waves emerged?” You ask Lumine. 

“No.” she moves her head sideways to look at you. Her blonde hair flies over her shoulders when a soft breeze passes you. She furrows her eyebrows slightly before they relax again. Her golden eyes shine in the golden hour. “I'm not sure. Do you think that the gnosis activating is connected to all of this?”

Without looking at it, you brush your finger over the object. Its gleam has turned into a beautiful golden colour, mirroring the sun and Lumine’s radiance, growing brighter the closer you get to Liyue Harbor. The small thing continues to be a mystery to seemingly everyone around you—even the geo Archon. Aside from saving Liyue Harbor, going back with the knowledge of knowing that you’ve potentially resonated with it…

Somehow everything seemed to be falling into place.

After a moment, you remove the cloak from your head. With ease, Lumine’s eyes find yours. “I’m not sure why, but the gnosis becomes intenser the closer we get. It must mean something , at the very least.” You respond.

Paimon chimes in from Lumine’s other side with an encouraging tone. “I’m sure we can uncover what happened in the city if we work together!”

The pixie’s smile is bright and infectious, a stark contrast to your doubt, and yet it never fails to make you feel more at ease. 

Facing away from the view, you respond.

“Let’s continue. The journey won’t be long anymore.”

Somewhere between your last stop and the waypoint that’s on the hill before Liyue Harbor, the gnosis starts to freak out. The pulsations that it produces becomes less controlled— frenzied. 

If you hadn’t felt its usually softer vibrations prior to this moment, you would’ve thought the shakes were coming from an earthquake. Unfortunately, you are familiar with this feeling and know something is about to go terribly wrong.

“Wait, we need to stop.” You stand with shaking legs upon the stone and dirt below your feet. These convulsions are not coming from the city, but your hand. 

A second after you feel it, Lumine’s hands extend to her sides as she tries to balance herself. Her eyes are wide, before they dart around, trying to make sense of what’s happening. 

You call out to her. “The gnosis, something is wrong!”

“What?” Her voice fades as the geo energy energy becomes louder. A buzzing sound gives you a headache. You watch Paimon lift her hands to her ears as she shakes in the air. 

Again, you try to call out. “The gnosis!”

Lumine tries to reach her hand out towards you. While you were travelling, you and Paimon walked behind her. Conversing while she kept her eyes open for danger. Now, you regretted the distance between you and her. 

You reach your free hand out to her, but then a deep rumble erupts followed by the ground shaking. Perhaps due to its suddenness, or the sheer power behind it, you stumble forward and then down. Your knees hit the ground first, and you brace yourself with your palms forward when the earth convulses again. 

The air from your lungs forcefully escapes your lips when Paimon lands on your back right after. She is much smaller than you are, so it doesn’t damage you any further, but it gives you discomfort and more disorientation. 

After a second of recovery, you pull your head up from the dirt. 

A short distance separated from you, you see the gnosis lying between small pebbles and rocks on the ground. Its golden glow shines brighter than the twilight sky, and then it dims again to a soft orange glow, before it radiates the same liquid gold as before. 

Something is wrong. Something is really really wrong.

Paimon is still recovering from her fall when you gather your arms below your chin. While the ground continues to shake with vigour, you’re able to get yourself up halfway with a push to your limbs, making the pixie on your back roll to the side and fall next to you.

From the corner of your eyes, you see Lumine down on the ground as well. She sits a few meters away from you with her hands stabilising her body at her sides. The outlander seems to have taken less of a fall than either you or Paimon did, so her agility must have aided her somehow. 

Be that as it may, something is wrong with her too . Her eyes are fixated on the skies and she seems to be caught in a stupor.  

Without the weight of a child on your back, you have free reign to move and grab the gnosis. You refocus your mind and you crawl over. 

While the ground shaking below makes it harder to reach, it’s only a few arm-lengths away. Surprisingly, the object itself doesn’t seem affected by the vibrations. But perhaps that shouldn’t have been surprising at all, considering it was made out of pure geo energy.

You stretch your arm forward and fingers curl around the gnosis. Soft flesh touches the metal, and right as you’re about to close your hold, it dissipates. 

Soft dust escapes your fingers and your eyes widen as your mouth falls open in disbelief. 

It doesn't make sense. How can a gnosis suddenly disappear in front of you? 

Your fingers grasp at the ground below, desperately trying to catch the pixels of what remains before the gnosis is fully gone. 

A flicker of vulnerability flashes through your eyes. The gnosis was your only current lead but it’s now lost, leaving you with an empty feeling. Then, your eyebrows furrow together, trying with all your power to cling to your composure and fight the storm of frustration and disconsolation raging within. 

You bite your lip when the corners of your mouth begin to tremble. With each passing moment, tension rises in your body, and then before you can break, Lumine grabs your arm and yanks you up. 

“We need to run!” Lumine looks over her shoulder, and when you follow her gaze—you see it.

An elongated structure was descending from the heavens to the ground below. With it came a palpable tension that suffused the air, thickening it with each passing second. The massive silhouette of the nail-like stone loomed ominously against the twilight sky, casting a shadow that seemed to swallow Liyue Harbor whole. 

As it continues to plummet, the ground below quivers beneath its impending impact, shaking in fear and anticipation of the cataclysm to come. 

Lumine's grip tightens on your arm. Her urgency acts as a silent plea for swift action. With every step forward, the weight of what is to come presses down upon you, urging you to hasten your escape despite the burn on your knees. 

Paimon too, is at your side. She flutters anxiously, her voice lost amidst the chaos as the world seems to hold its breath. 

Then, a deafening roar that could shake the very foundations of Teyvat itself echoes through the area as the object strikes the ground with an unfathomable force. The impact reverberates through the air, sending shockwaves in all directions. Dust and debris rise up from the area of impact, obscuring the horizon in a shroud of darkness as the ground trembles beneath your feet.  

Amid the chaos, time stands still. Flames writhe and twist amidst the smoke, painting the once blue and purple sky in hues of orange and red. Blow, the city succumbs to destruction. What once was a thriving and fortunate city, would be covered by dust before the end of the night. 

In this moment, a dreadful realisation settles in. 

Even if you had arrived in Liyue Harbor before this cataclysm, you never would've been able to protect its people— yourself . 

Reality itself seems to shatter under the weight of the unfolding tragedy. The sky unravels before your eyes as black streaks shatter the world. With a desperate cry, Lumine's grip on your arm falters, her strength wavering against the soundwave that hits you.

As the world blurs into darkness, a sense of helplessness grips at your very being, forcing you to face whatever may come next even as the world breaks apart around you. And despite the destruction cradling your very being, a single voice stands out—,

ㅤ

“[Y/N].”

If you liked this chapter and think I deserve a comment, please leave one behind! I appreciate it a lot and it'll make me more motivated to write in the future ♡

© intothegenshinworld. Do not copy, repost, translate or take heavy inspiration from my content. Thanks for reading.

#isegau #sagau #lumine x reader #genshin x reader #sagau x reader #isegau x reader #genshin impact x reader #sagau isekai #lumine #xiao #dainsleif #dainsleif x reader #xiao x reader

[queenshelby]

Chemical Reactions (P. 3)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy as J Robert Oppenheimer x Student Reader

Warning: Smut in later parts, Age-Gap, Infidelity

Words: 2,567

Note: The fic is spoiler free and fantasy. Thank you for @forgottenpeakywriter for this amazing collage. 

Previous Parts: 1; 2

Later that day, you finally made your way home which, to you, did not feel much like home at all. You had a room with beautiful views, overlooking the park across from central station. It was magnificent and, yet, you felt somewhat out of place inside this rather large property.

Since commencing your studies at Berkley, you were staying with family friends who, just like your mother and father, entertained strong communist believes.

The Chevaliers were well known party members and, whilst you never joined the party yourself, you retained your associations for the sake of mutual benefit.

Haakon Chevalier was an English professor at Berkley and it was through him that you have heard about the scholarship in the physics department at the university which, in the end, he aided you to obtain.

You thus owed him a great deal and, even though you were at odds with communism yourself, you did not mind presenting yourself at the events him and his wife invited you to.

With your father in charge of the party branch in the south and running for Senate, having you there meant a great deal to them and you were certain that, with the right amount of alcohol, you could get through the night effortless. But, apparently not tonight.

Tonight, was going to be different and, just as you got yourself ready for the event which was hosted by a friend of Haakon, you thought about it again. You thought about how your professor’s fingertips felt on you, raising goosebumps on your bare skin.

It was a feeling quite unfamiliar to you and you thought that, if he would have known that you had never been touched by a man before, he would have apologised to you for this somewhat inappropriate gesture.

An apology though was not what you were after. To the contrary. You wanted something completely different to this man taking pity on you. You wanted him to desire you for who you were, which was something that, to most men was off-putting.

Your mother always called you condescending. According to her, you were too fixated on the sciences and not interested enough in what mattered the most. To her, you were wasting your youth on problems that could not and should not be solved by human kind and this, itself, was a frustrating revelation to you.

Did you miss out on being loved where everyone else around you was focused on exactly that? Romantic relations, marriage and children?

You quickly realised that none of this interested you and not once, in your twenty-two years on this planet, have you felt intellectually challenged by a man. Not until now at least, which is when you met J Robert Oppenheimer who, out of all people on this earth, had to be your professor.

With him in mind, you looked at yourself in the mirror and reached up and clapped your hand over the place he touched, fizzling out the tingling that was beginning to rise there again by just thinking of him.

“Don’t be ridiculous” you then said to your image in the mirror, trying to snap out of your thoughts. Not only was he your superior, but he was also a married man who had a child and was at least fifteen years older than you.

It was pointless, so to speak and you really had to focus on your studies rather than on your professor.

***

Eventually, the evening came around and you caught a ride with Haakon and his wife Barbara to a property nearby. The drive was no more than twenty minutes and, when you arrived in front of the largest mansion you had ever seen, you could not help but laugh.

“Now that is the definition of communism” you said sarcastically, seeing the irony in the fact that communism was all about equality and, yet, whomever lived here probably had enough money to end poverty all together.

“Be nice and polite. We are hoping to receive some funding for our campaign” Barbara said and you reassured her that, of course, you would be on your best behaviour.

As such, you greeted the owners of the house with a smile and were introduced to them as a future senator’s daughter which was a term that sent uncomfortable shivers down your spine. You hated being reduced to being someone else’s child as, in your mind, you were a person with value of your own.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, sir” you said nonetheless before stepping inside and taking a look around.

The mansion contained a vast collection of artwork and antiques all of which you took an interest in even though you failed to see the value in these items. To you, they were worthless and impractical, but yet quite pretty to look at. Then, when you were finished looking around and assessing your surroundings, you engaged into some meaningless conversations about the cause with a man named Frank as well as woman named Jaen Tatlock.

Jean, herself, appeared to be rather intelligent. She studied both, psychology and philosophy but, yet, you couldn’t feather her ideas and ideologies. It did not resonate with you and you failed to see the distinction between communism and oppression when she spoke. Her approach was too radical and you thought about just how much your parents, in particular, would have enjoyed her company. You, on the other hand, did not and excused yourself rather quickly.

You then moved on and wandered through the dining room, scanning the large table in the middle of it for something to eat as, suddenly, you spotted another familiar face.

“Damn” you cursed as you saw him, standing there, talking to a man who you did not know and doing so in the most profound way.

There was something about him and, what really caught your eye was his body language. He was so sure of himself as he with angled toward the corner of the table, propping himself up on the palm of his hand.

You were practically hyperventilating at this point, trying desperately to keep your cool, but you could feel the heat rising to your chest. He gave you a quick look before standing up straight and excusing himself from the conversation with the stranger.

Then, he approached you and your face contorted as his eyes met yours.

“I did not take you to be a communist, Dr Oppenheimer. I am surprised” you said almost instantly when your professor greeted you silently and, just as you said these words, you could feel a challenge in his eyes. You screwed up again and Dr Oppenheimer was, quite obviously, surprised by your directness.

“I am not a party member, Miss Y/LN” he then assured you almost bluntly before lightening himself a cigarette and offering you one as well.

“That wasn’t my question Dr Oppenheimer” you pointed out before taking a cigarette from him which, out of politeness, he lit for you.

“You did not ask me a question Miss Y/LN. You simply made an assertion” he then pointed out before taking the liberty to ask you a question of his own and, thus, turning the tables on you. “Are you a communist?” he asked somewhat playfully and, by now, you were stuck wondering what the point of this interaction was.

“No, Dr Oppenheimer. I am an opportunist” you informed him in an attempt to catch him off guard and your words seemed to have had the desired effect as now he was keen to engage in some further conversation with you.

“Right. So may I ask, what opportunity has presented itself to you tonight, Miss Y/LN? Anything yet?” Dr Oppenheimer then asked as he was surveying your reactions to his question.

“No, nothing yet, I am afraid” you laughed, causing the professor to laugh as well before speaking up again.

“Then, perhaps I can change that” he said before reaching for your hand somewhat unexpectedly and, immediately, you felt that sensational tingling again.

“Come, I will show you something” Dr Oppenheimer then said and you quickly put out your cigarette and followed him through the empty hallway at the back of the house which, in your naivety, you believed to lead to an empty bedroom perhaps.

“I think that, perhaps, us leaving together like this, may be a little inappropriate?” you thus pointed out while following him nonetheless, which is when you reached a pair of stairs, leading to the very top of the mansion.

“Not if there is a scientific reason involved” he answered you almost sharply and his statement well and truly confused you until, eventually, Dr Oppenheimer pulled you out on to the balcony and you spotted what appeared to be a rather large commercial telescope.

“You submitted your thesis proposal to the board earlier today and, when I saw what it was about, I became intrigued”  he explained and you were rather delighted to know that he had looked at your proposal even though he did not have to.

“I submitted the same proposal to the physics department at Harvard, but I was denied due to the lack of tutors in the theoretical department” you pointed out nonetheless, causing Dr Oppenheimer to chuckle lightly.

“Harvard has a theoretical physics department? That’s news to me” he said sarcastically, smiling, which was something that made you nervous. His smile was mesmerising and he certainly appeared at ease around you.

“No, which is exactly why my proposal got rejected and I applied to Berkley” you admitted to him but he already knew all this, given his contacts at Harvard.

“You really want to dedicate five years or more to researching dark matter?” he then asked you nonetheless while leading you closer towards the large telescope which you knew must have cost the owner of this mansion much more than a car.

“Yes” you stammered nervously, hoping that he would push for your research proposal to be accepted. He was a member of the board and could surely convince them to give you funding, you thought.

“Good” Dr Oppenheimer said sharply again while looking at you with his deep blue eyes.

“Why is that good?” you asked as you watched him scanning your face for cues. He tried to read you and your reactions.

“Because I already suggested to the board to accept your research proposal and provide you with all necessary resources” Dr Oppenheimer explained which, to you, came as a relief.

“And what did they say?” you wanted to know as your excitement took over your sense of nervousness.

“They said yes, provided that you work under my supervision” Dr Oppenheimer pointed out and, before you even had time to react, he pulled you closer.

“Now come. I need to show you something” he said while gesturing for you to step in front of the telescope, which was something that confused you.

“With respect, Dr Oppenheimer, you cannot see dark matter through this telescope” you chuckled, but he already knew that and acknowledged your concerns.

“You are right. You can’t. But you can see other matters. You tell me what you can see through the telescope because, in order for your research to be successful, you need to address more than just mere possibilities. The average person cannot comprehend what they cannot see…” Dr Oppenheimer explained before telling you that, in order for your research to become known, you would need to connect what is visible to what is not and explain the reasons behind the things that cannot be seen and why you believe that they do, in fact, exist.

“I suppose that makes sense” you told him nervously before, finally, stepping all the way in front of the telescope while Dr Oppenheimer positioned himself behind you.

“Ironically, I never used one of those before” you then told him after having only spent some time at the planetarium which, of course, is far more advanced than this.

“Here, let me show you” Dr Oppenheimer said as he drifted closer while putting one hand on the telescope and the other onto your back. He then adjusted the tilt and showed you how to move the device around while brushing your back with his hand.

You could feel the warmth of it through the thin fabric of your blouse and you felt like you were on the verge of flames.

“What can you see?” he then asked while you breathed out heavily. You could not remember a time where anyone has touched you in such a minuscule way, causing arousal inside of you, and answering his question had become rather difficult.

You tried to explain something of relevance nonetheless, but his nonchalant nature was well and truly driving you crazy.

“Watch closely and tell me what you can see” he then said again, wanting something more from you than the absurd little answer you had already given him and when you began to stammer out something else, you could feel his warm hand again, this time at the crook of your neck, moving aside your hair and causing you to turn around.

“I can see the stars, made of atoms, in different strengths, depending on their age” you began to say, feeling the goosebumps on your skin and struggling to catch your breath after your small, yet intimate moment.

“And what else?” Dr Oppenheimer then asked, now facing you and running his thumb gently over your cheek.

“Uhm…” you stammered nervously as he was not just working on you physically, but also mentally. He was challenging you and this created passion and urgency.

“Did you loose your train of thought again?” he then asked almost sarcastically as your eyes met his, making you suddenly aware of how infatuated you must have looked right then. Your lips were apart and your chest was obviously pulling large breaths. Your resolve was completely gone but you still managed to keep your eyes on him as he drew closer towards you, cupping your face, until suddenly, there was another voice in the background. It was one that was familiar to him and he startled.

“Robert? What are you doing here?” an attractive looking woman asked before giving you both a stern look.

“Kitty, this Y/N Y/LN, one of my students. We were just discussing her thesis on dark matter” Dr Oppenheimer explained rather quickly, making an excuse for being here with you on your own without even bothering to actually answer her question.

“Out here? Really?” the woman asked and the look on her face gave it all away. She did not believe a word he was saying.

“Yes” Dr Oppenheimer said nonetheless and, after moment of silence, the woman introduced herself to you.

“Hi, I am Katherine. Katherine Oppenheimer. I am his wife and perhaps, next time, any questions you may have for my husband could be brought to his attention at university, don’t you think?” she suggested and, even though she spoke to you in such a belittling manner, you nodded nervously.

“Of course. It is nice to meet you Katherine” you said, but she corrected you.

“It is Mrs Oppenheimer. Don’t call me by my first name” she pointed out, causing you to bite your tongue.

To be continued…

Please comment and engage. I love getting comments and predictions pretty please!

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[rebeccathenaturalist]

Hey, so I live on unceded Chinook land. The Chinook never formally gave up the land around the mouth of the Columbia or Willapa Bay. They began getting hit hard by European diseases in the late 1700s, before Lewis and Clark ever arrived, and eventually the survivors of those communities in what is now south Pacific County headed further north up Willapa Bay to relatives up there.

When European settlers showed up in larger numbers in the mid-1800s, they assumed the land wasn't being used, so they took over pretty much everything; you still have descendants of some of these settlers who have large parcels of land here, to say nothing of all the timber interests in the area that control thousands more acres throughout the Willapa Hills.

The Chinook Indian Nation received federal recognition in 2001, but it was rescinded a year and a half later due to complaints from the Quinault Indian Nation. Since then, the Chinook have been unable to access much-needed resources from the U.S. government such as health care, housing and utilities. Federally recognized tribes receive these benefits and more, and many also have reservations; it is absolutely not an ideal situation nor is it anywhere near making up for the violent removal of indigenous people from their ancestral lands. But even these resources would have helped the Chinook a great deal over the past two decades, to include during the COVID pandemic.

The above petition is to urge the state of Washington to turn the old Naselle Youth Camp over to the Chinook Indian Nation. It would be a much larger and more stable headquarters, particularly as their current one is at risk from sea level rise and a potential earthquake and tsunami in the Cascadia Subduction Zone (which is a when situation, not an if.) Again, the NYC wouldn't undo all of the injustices over the past couple centuries and more, but it would be a step in the right direction on the part of Washington's government.

Even if you are not a resident of Washington, please show your support by signing this petition. U.S. folks can also contact their elected officials asking them to support the recognition of the Chinook Indian Nation.

Finally, here's a really good article outlining the history of Chinook recognition. And you can learn more about the Chinook's work toward recognition and how to help at http://www.chinookjustice.org.

#indigenous rights #indigenous people #Chinook #Chinook Indian Nation #Pacific Northwest #PNW #Washington #social justice #Chinook Justice