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peachesofteal · 3 days

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Simple Math / Part Seventeen

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader - AO3 - 4K words Tags: 18+ mdni. nurse!reader. PTSD, references and descriptions of domestic violence , grooming, manipulation, pregnancy. Simon's back story. Trauma. Bun opens up a bit more. Domesticity, feelings of anxiety, self doubt. Simon is a nervous dad. Emotional confessions.

“It’s Beth.” Simon wipes the countertop, chasing little dirty fingerprints with a wet cloth, before fixing a hesitant set of eyes on yours.

“That’s pretty… I like it.” There’s something odd about his expression, something haunted almost, a deep, dark well filled to the brim with rancid, stagnant water. You sense it immediately. “What’s wrong?”

He motions to the chair and slides your mug into your waiting hands. “Sit.”

“Simon?”

“It was my sister in law’s name. My brother’s wife.” Was. Your throat goes dry, muscles tensing.

“Was?” He pulls your fingers into his, cradled in the palm of his hand, thumb rubbing circles into your skin, over and over on a loop. A mechanism of comfort, connection. A thread stitch into the fabric between your heart and his.

“They died, sweetheart. My family… I lost them.” Grief, a shared experience you know now, froths in the pit of your heart. You tremble, he holds you steady, though it should be the other way around.

“What… what happened?” He sighs, dragging your palm to his lips.

“Let’s sit down on the couch.”

He holds you as he talks, diaphragm rumbling against your ear. You’re laid on his chest, unable to see his face, watch his expressions, but for this, you don’t feel the urge to dissect each one.

You’re content against him. Listening. Mourning.

There’s a swath of silence afterwards, and then he clears his throat. “So, I was dead. Dead until I met Johnny, I think. And then everything changed.” Johnny’s words from weeks and weeks ago make more sense, Simon’s actions and reactions rapidly gaining clarity. “When we found you, I saw it, the look in your eyes. It was the same one that used to haunt my mother’s.”

“You saved her.” He burrows his face in your neck and shakes his head.

“I did what I could to piece them back together. Helped get Tommy clean and on his feet, got rid of the old man for good, but the damage… the way she suffered, it was irreversible. The best I could do was be there as much as often as possible.” You comb through his hair, short strands of silk like Penny’s, and hold him close. “I promised myself, when I met Johnny, when we fell in love, I’d do better by my own family. For him, and then by Penny. And now you. Promised I wouldn’t become him.” Your heart clenches, squeezing in on itself. “Violence may have been a part of my job, but it wasn’t a part of me.” His fingers dance along your spine until they reach your chin, tilting you back to meet his gaze. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.” You whisper, leaning into his touch. He doesn’t need to ask for your trust, he already has it.

“Johnny thinks I’ve got a bit of a savior complex now, but I want you to know… that’s not what this is, bunny.”

“I know,” you clear your throat, fighting through the thick of emotion building there, accumulating in heaps, “I know that.”

“But we do need to talk about him, you know that?” Darkness creeps along the wispy, dream-like cocoon the two of you built on the couch, and you push it away, try to banish it, basking in the comfort of his arms instead.

“I can’t, I… right now it feels like I’m in a dream where nothing hurts and nothing can scare me or hurt me, and I don’t-“

“You’re not in a dream, bunny. That’s your reality. This is real. Nothing can, or will, hurt you, scare you. No one will ever touch you again.”

“I need more time. Please.” Simon sighs, but doesn’t push, and the two of you lay there, together, suspended in comforting silence. For another moment, your world is a dream. A safe, beautiful dream, where happy endings are real, where love stretches on for eternity, unconditional, limitless, unbreakable.

You’re so different now, stark changes shocking to the girl you once knew, the one who doubled back on her routes to and from work, the one that walked everywhere with her hackles up. Little pieces of black rot now turned a blinding white, a brilliant beam seeking to shine on the whole of your life.

It’s a dream.

One you won’t easily surrender.

“I was really young.” It comes during a lapse in conversation, practically a blurt, an interruption pushing heat to your cheeks. Expelled from your mind, your body without choice, cracks appearing in the preservation that you’ve so defiantly clung to. You have to tell them, eventually. You have to break it all apart, let them see. Johnny’s mouth opens, and Simon’s hand darts to his wrist faster than a snake could strike, a clear signal. Don’t speak. “Obviously now, looking back on it, I realize I was groomed, or I guess, easily influenced. He was older, and I graduated early, started college early. I was in my second year when I turned eighteen. My mom,” the lump in your throat nearly chokes you until you swallow it down, “my mom busted her ass for me. I went to college on scholarships and her hard work.” Metal clanks against ceramic, forks settling on the edges of plates. “Anyway, everyone always thought I was a know-it-all and pretty awkward. We weren’t officially like, together right away but it was pretty serious from the day I met him. Eventually… he started to change me. Change my goals. He even manipulated my career path.”

“What did you go to school for?” Simon asks casually, head tilted.

“Bioscience. I wanted to be a doctor, so I thought it would transition well for med school. Thought I could become a surgeon.” You were a girl then; you know that now. Naïve, misguided by a hand that sought to control you, not love you as you hoped. It’s embarrassing, baring this, showing these broken bits and pieces to them, shattered shards of a mirror never glued back together.

“What happened?”

“He did.” Johnny squeezes your hand. “Made it to pre-med but ended up leaving and starting a nursing program instead. It’s what he wanted, and by then, I couldn’t say no.”

“But ye didnae want it, to be a nurse.”

“No. I didn’t. I love my job now, of course, and I’m happy in it, but originally, I wanted something else. He tricked me, in all honesty. Showed me something that wasn’t real, reeled me in, and then revealed his true colors.” You shudder. “The first time… the first time it happened, I shook it off, forgave him. I-“ the memory is still so strong, it stuns you. The blood from your busted lip is fresh on your tongue, sting on the side of your face turning to a blooming ache.

“Bunny?” Johnny’s grip moves to your elbow, strong, but not too tight. An anchor. You shake your head.

“Sorry.”

“Ye’re alright, ye can stop if-“

“No, I… I want to share these things with you. It feels like I’m supposed to, like you should know me… like this.”

“We already know you, sweetheart. Don’t push yourself.” Simon’s tone is serious, and you nod.

“It’s embarrassing, looking back on it and realizing how bad it was, how bad I let it get. How I let him cut me off from everyone, change my career, squash me like a bug.” You laugh, but it’s empty.

“Ye did nothin’ wrong,” Johnny’s lips press together, muscles in his jaw straining, “was never yer fault.” You don’t answer, just trace the woodgrain of the table, texture moving beneath your fingers. The conversation is draining you, leeching light away like a horizon swallowing the last of the sun.

“He’s rich. Like, fuck you money rich. Rich like make problems go away rich, and his job…” your head shakes again. It’s the most you’ve ever said, heavy buried secrets finally dug up, resurrected, the truth trembles through your bones. “He has resources. Has chased me across the globe more than once. My only saving grace is that when he has to work, he has to work, and it’s usually for long chunks of time.”

“I know you’ve said you’re not really sure, but did he ever tell you what his job entails?”

“He’s in the military. Some sort of security work, department of defense, or something. He never really talked about it.” Johnny shifts in his seat, antsy, and you shrug. “He kept that part of his life very, very private. There was even a room in the house that was always locked.” Your head is heavy, lead upon your shoulders, and Johnny tucks his arm around you, pulling you into his chest.

“I know this is hard bun, but ye’re so brave for us. Lettin’ us know ye this way. I’m proud of ye.” He murmurs, lips to your forehead, and you fully relax, wrapping around his middle.

“I’m tired.” You whisper, eyes closing, and he rubs your back.

“Let’s get ye to bed then.”

“Your child is too big for me to carry!” You announce, hand on your hip, little backpack straps looped around your arm. Simon closes the door behind you, chuckling, and Penny plops onto the floor. She goes to a nursery day program now a few days a week, something that was a contentious subject in the house for far too long, opinions and arguments ping ponging over your head until the decision was finally made.

“It’s not safe.”

“Ye cannae keep ‘er locked up here forever, love.”

“Why not?” Simon bounced Penny against his chest, unimpressed look on both their faces, so alike you almost busted out laughing.

“Because she’s a child. She needs to be w’other children, not just us.” Johnny brings his free hand to his lips, squeezing Simon’s wrist. “I know ye’re scared.” Simon’s not the only one who’s scared, you thought. Phillip lurked at the edge of your mind, worry that he might find Penny plagued you, even though they both assured that wasn’t their main concern.

“She’s too little.”

“Simon. We agreed on this,” Johnny gives him a sharp look, “do yer research, find the best one. Ye know this needs to happen, for her. She needs to make friends, learn how to interact with kids her own age. Ye know this.”

“Fine.”

“She cannae be, not m’wee lamb.”

“She is.” You rub your shoulder. “Sheesh.” Penny’s stomach gurgles at your feet, and Simon grimaces.

“There’s a bug goin’ around the kids, teacher told me today.”

“Not surprising. Nurseries are little petri dishes.” You straighten your back, rolling your shoulder, and wince.

“Hurts?” Simon’s thumb digs into the soft spot there, and your lashes flutter.

“Maybe ye need a hot bath,” Johnny suggests, and Simon ushers the two of you up the stairs.

“I’ve got Pen. Go relax.”

“This is nice.” Johnny soaps your back, lavender and vanilla steam swirling around in the bathroom as you lean against him, his chest to your back.

“Aye.” The cloth drags across your chest, teasing your nipples, and you revel in his touch, soaking in every second he gives you, the brush of his cheek against yours, his lips on your neck. “Like havin’ ye all to myself sometimes.” You blink.

“Does it bother you? When we’re not all together?”

“No. Ye have a relationship wit’ me, and wit’ Simon, and we have a relationship all together. No one is the same. I like it.”

“Me too.” You settle again, loose and tender in the bath, soaped hands running up and down your back, kneading your shoulders, releasing the tension coiled in your bones. You groan.

“Feel good then?”

“Yeah.” He presses a hand over your heart with a deep breath, before he takes another.

And then one more.

“What’s wro-“

“I love ye bun. Wholly. Think ‘ve loved ye since the day I opened my eyes to ye leaning over the bed in hospital.” You turn, twisting to face him, and he dabs your nose with his thumb. “I dinnae have any expectations of ye, or yer feelings, but I had to be honest. I had to tell ye.” The confession fights its way forward, begging to be let out, to be freed.

Tell him. Tell him the truth. Tell him you love them, that they’re your light, that they’ve chased the darkness away and replaced it with the sun.

You can’t.

Instead, you rest your forehead against his, syncing your breathing, sharing the moment, holding onto him so tight in case he slips away.

“I can’t say it.” You whisper, and he nods. “But that doesn’t mean… it doesn’t mean it’s not there. I’m just… I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“An’ that’s okay. I’ll wait, I’ll wait for ye as long as ye need.” There’s no pressure, no demands, just Johnny and his arms, his understanding and patience, his love.

You blink back tears and crash your lips to his. “Thank you.”

Your stomach is what wakes you.

Something it in is burning, tossing bile around, the sensation strong enough your lips curl, and you try to draw a deep breath through your nose.

You wriggle, trying to pull free from where you’re tangled up in Simon and Johnny, carefully and slow, hoping to avoid waking them though you know even in their dreams, they sleep with one eye open.

Still, you manage to make it to the bathroom before feet are padding across the carpet on your heels.

You sink to your knees in front of the toilet, stomach bubbling, sending the scorching remnants of dinner up your throat.

The door clicks open. “No, get out. I don’t want you to see-“ you gag again, tap turning on at the sink, a cold washcloth folding over your neck.

“Shhh,” Simon murmurs, rubbing your back, “get it all out.”

“Oh god,” another wave swells, and your muscles tense, body expelling bits of bile and not much else.

“That’s the way, good girl.”

“This is gross.” You gasp. “You should go back to bed.”

“I’ve seen way worse than you puking, sweetheart.”

“She alright?” Johnny half yells from the bedroom and you groan. The guilt of him having to maneuver himself out of bed, still not one hundred percent healthy, still not back to full strength, draws a shiver from your spine.

“I’m fine, don’t come in here!” Your stomach pitches, fingers tightening against your thighs, but nothing comes up, again and again, until everything settles and you’re breathing deeply, steady, back straight.

“Let’s get you some water.” There’s no point in arguing with him. He’s going to do what he wants to do when it comes to taking care of you, you know that now. It’s painfully clear as he tries to help you drink from the glass, and then puts toothpaste on your toothbrush.

“I’m fine.” You assure weakly, but he only watches you, concerned.

“Think it’s the nursery bug?”

“Probably.” You sag, energy drained completely, and he steadies you, cupping your cheek. His touch is cool, and you lean into it, savoring the reprieve it brings against your throbbing temples.

“Want to go back to bed?”

“What if I throw up again?” He presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll jus’ clean it up.”

“Can I ask you a question?” You glance up at the timid mouse of a nurse, brand new, fingers clutched around a tablet like she’s drowning and it’s her life vest.

“What’s up?”

“Can you… can you look at these orders for me?” She looks terrified, and it tells you everything you need to know. She’s probably caught a mistake.

Baby nurses begin their careers in a delicate position. They’re overwhelmed, fresh off a whirlwind of orientation, overloaded with policy and procedure, and depending on their preceptor, either somewhat prepared or completely lost. Pitting a baby nurse against a provider, even a first-year resident, is like sending a lamb in to confront a lion. The result is usually tears.

She hands you the tablet and you spot it immediately. Incorrect dosage.

“Good catch.” You reassure, coaxing a small smile, and she nods.

“What do I do?”

“We go find the provider and clarify the dosage.” You’re not going to leave it up to her, alone, hang her out to dry and probably get run over by whatever moron ordered it in the first place, who happens to be-

Marshall.

Your eyes couldn’t roll any harder. “The pharmacy is also very on top of seeing errors like this, but it’s good you’ve noticed too, for the patient and yourself. Liability for things like this can be very tricky.” She nods again, trailing behind you, brand new squeaky sneakers echoing your own steps.

You can’t stop the sigh that escapes you when you find him, leaned up against a wall, arms crossed, smirking, cocking his head at your companion. “What’s up?”

“Can you take a look at this for me?” You purposefully zoom in on the meds tab, practically painting a bullseye around his error. He scoffs, defensive immediately, dismissive, before he takes a closer look, jaw clenched.

“That’s my mistake.” You blink. Marshall rarely ever takes responsibility so gracefully. Your eyebrow lifts.

“Care to fix it?”

“Of course.” His agreement is punctuated with a smile, though it’s off kilter.

“You can go,” you nod to the nurse, “good job.” Her eyes dart between you and Marshall, and without another word, scampers off.

“She’s new?” His usual interest in new nurses is less enthusiastic than ever.

You hate Marshall. He’s a scumbag. But he’s also been your coworker since day one, and you can’t help yourself. “What’s up with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve never owned up to a mistake that quickly, and you didn’t even make some smart-ass remark. Or berate her. Or give me an attitude.” He winces.

“It’s nothing.” But it doesn’t seem like nothing. It seems like something is wrong, like he’s sad, or depressed, and try as you might, your bleeding heart can’t walk away.

“What’s wrong.” You phrase a statement, a demand, instead of a question, and he blows a frustrated breath.

“It’s… I’m seeing someone.” Your eyes go wide.

“Who?” Please don’t say a nurse, please don’t say a nurse, please-

“Anna. From radiology.”

“Oh my god. The cupcake girl?” Anna was a fan favorite. Not only was she kind, but she was also quick with her reads, and baked cupcakes for the entire floor almost once a month. As far as radiologists go, she was better than most.

“Yeah.”

“Okay…”

“I really like her but… she’s always been aware of my reputation and is trying to take it slow. Too slow.” You could lecture him with a million reasons why she’s in the right, but it doesn’t seem like he’s got the resolve to handle it.

“What do you mean?”

“She’s dragging her feet. Doesn’t want to hang out more than once a week, rarely stays the night. I’ve been to her place a handful of times, but that’s it.”

“How long has it been?”

“Two months.” You laugh.

“That’s it?”

“It’s a long time for me!” You hold your hands up in surrender.

“Okay, okay, but seriously. Two months is no time at all. Have you discussed the… reluctance with her?” He seems uneasy, and for the first time, you’re not sure if you enjoy watching him squirm.

“Yeah. She says she’s happy, but isn’t trying to jump into anything,” his air quotes carry a whiff of the condescending asshole you know too well. This conversation couldn’t be timelier, and you think back to what you told Johnny the other night.

“Just because she’s taking it slow doesn’t mean her feelings for you aren’t there. You have to respect that. If she’s still putting up with you after two months, I’d bet she’s just being cautious. Getting hurt sucks.” He nods thoughtfully. “Give her the time she’s asking for, and don’t give up.”

Don’t give up.

The sentiment twists a knife lodged deep in your heart. Is that what will happen to you? Will they give up? Get tired of waiting for you to spill all your secrets, get tired of waiting for you to take the final step? To tell them you love them?

Get tired of waiting for you to let them use your real name?

“I didn’t expect her, didn’t expect to feel this way.” The mask comes down, revealing a hopelessly lovesick heart, the depth of it shining in his eyes.

“I don’t think anyone ever does expect it. That’s the surprising thing about love, I guess.” You sway, a palm pressed to the wall as your hand flattens over your stomach.

“You alright?” Marshall’s voice is far away as you breathe through your nose, trying to fend off the nausea tightening your throat.

“Sorry, I’ve been a bit under the weather. Think I’ve got a bug or something.” Your stomach roils in warning, and you barely grit out an apology before dashing away.

Just in time to toss your breakfast up in the toilet.

“I’m fine.”

“I heard you in the toilet. You didn’t sound fine, and you shouldn’t be working if you’re sick.” Your manager shakes her head like she’s disappointed, and you glare. You both know if you had called this morning talking about a stomach bug, she would have told you to suck it up unless you were actively vomiting.

“Look around. Do you see an excess of nurses on the floor?”

“We’ll manage. Or call someone in.” You shake your head.

“We’re already way past policy ratios.” You bite your tongue when safe nearly slips out, not wanting to piss her off. That’s the union’s job.

“At least go sit down or something. Take a break. Come back in twenty minutes and let me know how you feel.”

Your closet is cozy, and for once during the day, unoccupied. The nausea has subsided, for now, and you shoot a text to the guys, asking about Penny. If you feel like this, you can’t imagine how she feels.

You curl up and imagine you’re home instead, maybe in bed with a sleeve of crackers and some soda, warm chest at your back, a hand stroking over your hip. Maybe you’d have some soup, maybe the three of you would watch a movie after Pen went down for bed. You start to drift in the domestic fantasy, sleeping curling itself like a blanket over your shoulders, until you’re startled by the vibration of your phone, foot kicking forward in a jolt against a shelf.

A box falls to the floor.

HCG strips.

You stare at it for a long time, numbers and dates and weeks mashing together, calculations getting lost in the fray.

You’re not…

No.

Ridiculous. Not even possible. You’re on the pill. Religiously.

You have the nursery bug that Pen brought home. Get a grip.

Still…

You use the fifth-floor bathroom, one of the only single occupant toilets in the whole damn hospital, nausea now coming from a completely different source.

The timer on your phone is incredibly slow, or maybe it’s just time itself, the world turning in slow motion, every second elongated into turbulent silence, too many thoughts, too many feelings, too much of everything to tell where one ends and the other begins.

Fear.

Anxiety.

Panic.

Sadness.

Grief.

It’s grief that is the strongest. Grief for something that Phillip stole, mourning for something that was once so close, so real, and then gone in an instant.

If you close your eyes, you can still feel his boot in your stomach. The press of a steel toe, jammed beneath your ribs, wild, deranged eyes staring down at you in a rage.

But-

Buried so, so far beneath the crushing weight of it all, there is a bright little pocket of sunshine. A small little sliver of light, beams of hope stretching for the sky, warmth spilling over until your hands tremble with the conflict warring inside you.

Nothing has changed, but everything could.

The timer goes off with a shrill chime, and you lean over the sink to where the small strip sits on top of a cup.

A bold pink line.

And then another, more faint, but certainly there. A simple equation, one plus one equals two. Simple math.

Tangible. Present.

Pregnant.

#simple math #peaches writes #ghoap x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x soap x reader #buckle up

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songbirdseung · 5 months

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bye bye / lee heeseung

synopsis: your favorite song of the week has been making your boyfriend think you got something to say to him.

pairing: idol!heeseung x reader

warnings: insecurities??

"I think you're overthinking it" Jake says as he and the rest of the members are walking towards the dance studio. "But she plays it all the time when I get home" voicing out his thoughts one more time to let them understand his point of view. "Maybe she just likes the song? ever thought of that?" Jay opens the door while chuckling at how Heeseung's brain works and making him think you singing Ariana's song over and over again mean that you wanna break up with him.

After practice, he finds himself back at your house. He makes his way in with the spare key that you gave him. Walking towards your room, he can already here the 'Eternal Sunshine' album blasting through your speakers.

Heeseung hesitated outside the bedroom door, the faint strains of music seeping through the cracks. With a soft knock, he pushed the door open, stepping into a room filled with the melody of 'bye'. you were on your bed, eyes closed, lost in the emotion of the music, your voice carrying the weight of the lyrics.

For a week now, he had watched you immerse yourself in this routine, playlist looping the same heart-wrenching tunes. "YN," he called softly, breaking through your reverie. You turned to him, surprise flickering in your eyes before you quickly masked it with a smile.

"Heeseung! I didn't hear you come in," you said. Heeseung approached her slowly, his poor heart heavy with worry. "YN, can we talk?" he asked, his voice tinged with concern.

Your smile faltered, and you nodded, motioning for him to take a seat beside you on the bed. Heeseung took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts before he spoke.

"Is everything okay? You've been listening to these breakup songs for days now, and… I can't help but wonder if… if there's something you want to tell me," he confessed, his gaze searching hers for any sign of the truth.

Your eyes widened in realization, and you reached out to gently cup his face, your touch warm and reassuring. "Oh, Heeseung, I'm so sorry if I made you worry," you said softly, voice filled with sincerity.

"But why these songs? Are you… are you trying to tell me something?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

With a soft laugh, shaking your head. "No, Heeseung, not at all. I just enjoy the melody and everything. Shouldn't you understand? I mean you're the artist here." Heeseung felt a weight lift off his shoulders, a sense of clarity washing over him. He reached out to intertwine his fingers with yours, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

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moremaybank · 1 year

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STAKE YOUR CLAIM — j.m

pairing jj maybank x fem!reader

summary jj isn’t happy when he finds out you’ve been sleeping with other people on the island, so he’s sure to set the record straight. you’re his, and his only.

warnings unprotected sex, possessive!jj, slapping, choking, spitting, degrading, bondage, breeding, marking, dacryphilia, semi-public sex, anal fingering

author’s note special thanks to @blueicequeen19 for this request. you pulled this out of me and i’m eternally grateful, babe ♡︎ i hope you like ittt

jj masterlist

The air is charged with tension as JJ’s hand closes around your wrist, his grip firm as he leads you away from the crowd of the party and into an unoccupied room. His jaw is set, and you can feel the anger simmering off his tan skin.

“Damn it, J, let go of me,” you demand, trying to tug your wrist free from his grasp.

JJ’s grip only tightens. He shoves you into the empty dining room and slams the door behind you, locking it shut. He turns to you, his eyes burning deep into your soul.

“What the hell is your problem?”

“Don’t play dumb. Don’t act like this is all on me,” JJ snarls. “Who the fuck do you think you are, huh? You can’t just let anyone touch you, Y/N.”

“Excuse me?” Your voice rose. “You don’t get to control who I see or what I do. We aren’t exclusive, JJ. I’m not yours.”

JJ’s jaw clenches, and his fists ball at his sides. He steps closer to you, and you back up until your back hits the large wooden table behind you. “Try again, sweetheart. You are. Don't make me knock you up to prove it to you.”

You scoff and try to shove past him so you can leave, but JJ doesn’t make it easy for you.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he states. His hands find their grip on your hips, and his index fingers dart out to tease the hem of your skirt. Goosebumps form on your skin at the contact, and you mentally curse yourself for always reacting to his touch that way. It’s like your body knows it needs him to feel alive. His eyes find yours once again. “You're such a whore, you'll let anyone inside that pussy, won't you? Kook. Pogue. Touron. Doesn't matter does it?”

“Fuck you,” you spit. “Who I sleep with is none of your business.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, baby.” He pulls your skirt and panties down with one harsh yank and lets them pool around your ankles on the floor. Then, he tugs your tube top down, revealing your bare tits. His fingers pinch your nipples fiercely, and you bite back a moan. “You’ll never need anyone else but me. You understand?”

You don’t respond. You can’t even look him in the eye. It’s crazy how far he can push you and still have you coming back for more each time. No one makes your heart race the way he does. No one gets you soaked and makes you scream the way he does. He’s animalistic and unforgiving with how he fucks you, and that’s just how you like him. He knows it, too, and he isn’t afraid to use that against you.

His hand curls around your throat, and your eyes unwillingly find his. “No one gets to touch you. No one but me.”

JJ lets go, and you watch as he undoes his belt and slides it out of the loops of his shorts. One hand draws your wrists in front of you, and the other works quickly as he loops the leather around them. He fastens it as tight as it can go. Then, in a swift motion, he has your back flat against the table, and your restrained wrists above your head. He mutters an order to keep them there, and he quickly moves to spread your legs.

“‘M gonna get an apology from you whether you like it or not. You really shouldn’t be this greedy, baby.” You’re already wet, and JJ can feel it when he slaps your pussy. You mewl as the sensation tingles and stings at your core. He slaps it over and over again, relishing in the cries he’s already pulling from you while barely doing anything. You squirm, trying to move your hands to get him to hold off, but his free hand keeps them pressed to the wood.

The more he continues, the more pitiful you become. You're crying out, and your cunt is all swollen and hot. You're pleading for more friction, more sensation, anything, but JJ's enjoying your sounds far too much to stop.

“That hurt, baby?” He asks, his tone condescending, completed with a sadistic smirk. You nod, and he lets out a taunting whine. “You sure? ‘Cause you're soaking my hand so much that it's dripping. Your pussy's giving you away, sweetheart.”

You feel insane. How could he have this much power over you? Turning you into a crying mess and making you look forward to his punishments like this? You must be brainwashed. Or maybe, JJ’s a sorcerer. Either way, his metaphorical and physical hold on you has you locked in for life.

Once he deems that you’ve had enough, he smacks your ass harshly from the side, before using both hands to spread you open more. He ducks his head down and licks a stripe up your pussy, tasting your sweetness as it coats his tongue.

“God, I wanna ruin this pussy, baby. Ruin it for you, and for anyone that tries to compete with me. I want you to cum so much that it hurts, wanna see those pretty tears run down your cheeks. I'm gonna fuck you ‘til you pass out and then wake you back up with my cock buried inside you.”

One hand frees his cock, and he gives you no warning as he slams inside of you. He’s so deep that you can feel his tight balls against you. He’s also stretching you so wide that you feel like he’s piercing you. His hips pick up a relentless pace, his hips snapping against yours so hard that the table shakes beneath you.

“So fuckin’ tight, feels like you’re tryin’ to push me out, pretty girl,” he grits. His hand finds your throat again, squeezing as he fucks you into the hard surface. Your core is burning at how forcefully he’s rutting into you, but the ache is so addicting. Your legs are squirming, trying to find the strength to wrap around JJ’s midsection, but you can’t. JJ notices, and he laughs at the look on your face. “Learning your lesson, aren’t you?”

JJ’s right hand comes up as he slaps your cheek, not too hard but hard enough to make heat rise. “Tell daddy you’re sorry. Maybe I’ll take it easy on you.”

All you can manage is a whine, a strained mm leaving your lips as you screw your eyes shut. This only makes JJ worse. Your eyes shoot back open when he slaps you again. “Say it,” he commands.

“‘M s-sorry, daddy.”

“No,” he tuts as he squeezes your throat harder and slightly cutting off your air. “Louder.”

“I’m sorry, daddy!”

He spits in your face and grins wickedly when he sees you lick up what you can. “Now beg me to let you cum.”

He pulls you up, his hand curling around the back of your neck while the other holds your leg around his waist, keeping you open. His pelvis smacks against your far-past-swollen clit. Tears well in your eyes, and your wrists begin to burn as the leather rubs them raw. You’re trying to free yourself so you can brace yourself on something. You’re unlucky and unable to do so, just as JJ planned.

“P-please, daddy. Let me cum, it h-hurts,” you hiccup. Your doe eyes stare up at him as he fucks you with reckless abandon, unfazed by your pleas.

“Aw, you wanna cum, sweet girl? Not yet. ‘M gonna make you wait.” The bastard becomes even more cocky if possible, and leers at you. “You wanna know why?”

You whine, the tears starting to slip past your eyes as you try to keep your sanity intact. JJ inches closer to your face, gnawing on your bottom lip and drawing it out before releasing it with a snap.

“‘Cause I love how pathetic and dumb you sound when you beg for me.”

JJ Maybank is evil. You’ve known it for a while, but his actions today only solidify it. You could be as good as you wanted for him, but the patronizing son of a bitch will never admit defeat. He did what he wanted, when he wanted, exactly how he wished to.

By now, your entire body is convulsing, and you’re void of any energy. JJ knows this, of course. He loops your bound wrists around the back of his neck and scoops you up in his arms. He walks over to one of the walls surrounding you both, and he practically slams your back against it. His cock splits you in half with each hard thrust. His hands migrate to the back of your thighs, spreading you as he pounds you into the surface.

“I can’t hold it anymore, daddy. It hurts, n-need to cum so— so bad,” you plead. You can’t keep your eyes open anymore. You’re trying like hell, but it just isn’t happening.

“Too bad, baby. You aren’t cumming until I say so.”

Your head leans to one side as you begin to sob. The burn in your core is about to take you out. You can feel it. It’s fiery, and threatening to give out. It only worsens when JJ’s teeth come into contact with the sensitive skin of your neck. He sucks and nips at it harshly, pulling at it and leaving his mark anywhere he can manage. He feels you clamping down on him, smirking evilly when he pulls out of you abruptly.

“‘M not gonna let you win that easy, baby.”

He sets you down on the rug near the table, your knees digging into the fabric. Your arms stretch above your head once more. JJ kneels behind you, spreading your cheeks so he can spit onto your puckered hole. He pops a finger in, and pushes his cock into your pussy again. His hips move at warp speed, and you’re on the verge of being fucked brainless. He’s smacking your ass and finger-fucking your ass as he pummels into you. You’re screaming at this point, mascara tears running down your cheeks and soaking the carpet beneath you.

“Beg me for my fucking cum. I know you want it,” he grits.

“Oh, god! Please, daddy!”

“Again,” he demands. “Tell me how bad you want it.”

“Give me your cum. Give me your fucking cum. Pleasepleaseplease.” Your throat is sore, so so raw from the sobs and JJ’s grip on it earlier. You’re sure there’ll be some bruising when you’re done. “Need it, daddy, please.”

“Fuck. Those cries are too pretty, makin’ me so hard. Wanna keep hearin’ ‘em. Keep cryin’, princess.”

He doesn’t really have to ask because they’ll pour out of you whether you control it or not. Your vision is going black, your entire body limp as you lie there and let him use you.

“I’m gonna cum. Cum with me,” he says. He slams into you a few more times before his balls tighten, and before you know it, he’s spurting his seed into you with the most delicious groan you’ve ever heard. You finally cum, drunk from his cock and so far gone that you wonder if you’re even alive anymore.

“You,” he pants, “need to piss me off more like that again.” He frees your hands, and lifts you, carrying you over to one of the chairs at the table. Your ass stings when you slump into your seat, and you hiss. JJ crouches down in front of you, wiping your tears and leaving soft kisses all over your body. The juxtaposition of his forceful demeanour to his now gentle one makes you dizzy. “You with me?”

You want to glare at him, slap his smug grin off his face even, but you can barely breathe.

“You’re a fucking caveman.”

His dimple pops out, “And yet, you still let me fuck, didn’t you?”

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rememberwren · 4 months

Text

A Dichotomy of Thought || 3

Johnny has a good day.

Tw: ableism; implied sexual assault

That night you dream about fucking the two neighbors in 5C.

It’s good sex, too. You can tell by the sweat slicking your skin and the ache in your thighs. You are naked on the big one’s lap, his huge hands on your hips while he bounces you on his cock. Behind you, the shorter one loops his one arm around your waist and grinds his cock against your bare arse.

“Did Jesus send ye?” his voice rasps against the sensitive side of your neck. You tilt your head to give him more room to suck and kiss and bite. Then, as his hand slips down to tease where you need a soft touch the most: “Are you gonna finish me off?”

The one beneath you cums, a flood of warmth deep within your aching cunt. His groans have you teetering on the edge of your cut of the pleasure. You lean down to kiss him, but before your mouths can meet, hands grip your hips and lift you free—his cock slides out with a wet rush of fluids, leaving you feeling cracked open and empty.

Your boyfriend passes you on to his friends who are waiting for their turn with you, and then it is no longer a dream, but a memory.

Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays are for physical therapy. Tuesdays and Thursdays are for cognitive rehabilitation. Both of these are paid for by the British government and accomplished in the ‘comfort’ of Johnny’s own home. Like that’s supposed to help; he’s going to have to sweat (literally) and bleed (probably figuratively), but as long as it’s on his own carpet, that’s quite all right. Johnny isn’t sure which he hates more, the physical or cognitive rehab. Both hurt, just in different places; one hurts the stump of his arm, the muscles of his shoulders and neck, his fake knee. The other hurts his pride, leaves him tired and second guessing his broken mind.

The other scares him. It’s one thing to lose his arm—one terrible, traumatizing thing. But the idea that he’s going (or gone) simple is too much to take.

The cognitive rehabilitation therapist’s name is Anna. She wears horn-rimmed glasses and sloppy buns that Johnny fantasizes about gripping in his fist and throttling her with during their less productive sessions.

By sessions, he means they play games together. Simon sits on the sofa in the living room pretending not to watch. He thinks he’s so fucking clever, turning his pages even, but Johnny knows. Simon’s gaze is a tangible thing, as physical as a touch, like a finger running up the back of his neck. There’s no hiding from it. You don’t get a name like Ghost without raising the hairs on some people’s arms with just your eyes.

“It’s your turn, Johnny.”

“I fuckin’ know it. Sorry—sorry.”

Anna puts up a hand to stall his sorries. She is younger than he is; shouldn’t she be older? Wouldn’t that make this less painful? “Take your time.”

It’s a simple matching game. There are less than a dozen tiles left on the board, and Johnny has seen most of them two or three times by now. He keeps forgetting their placements, even though he is burdened with the memory of having chosen them.

His shaking fingers reach for a tile…a red car. Sweat breaks out on his brow. He’s seen this fucking Red Car no less than six times. His fingers hover over the board, moving from one tile to the next. Here? Or here? If he sees the Rose again, he’ll lose his head; he knows it. He can feel his blood pressure rising like the mercury in a thermometer, up up and away, blackness eating at the edge of his vision.

Finally, with absolutely no idea where the other red car is, he picks a tile at random.

Red Car.

Johnny shouts out in triumph, holding up the tile for Simon to see. Even Anna—eternally unimpressed Anna—gives him a smile, infected by his joy.

“Good job—now do it again.”

Groaning, he picks up another tile.

Rose.

“Come lay down with me,” he says to Ghost after taking two of the green, oval pills that are the only things which take the edge off his pain. They make him so fucking tired, though—perhaps that’s their secret; if they can’t take the pain away, they’ll at least help him sleep through it.

“Alright,” says Simon, putting his book down. He doesn’t bother marking his place; they both know he wasn’t reading it.

The two of them slip into the bedroom. It isn’t much: a bed against the southern wall, the doors leading out onto the balcony—blinds pulled shut to keep out any hopeful rays of sunshine, a desk piled high with medical bills that the government will front.

Johnny is pretty good about getting his shirt off with just one arm. He reaches up and back, gripping the collar, and tugs it off over his head in a smooth, fluid motion. He’s thinner after his three-month stint first in the hospital and then in inpatient rehabilitation, but he still looks good.

He hates the stump where his arm used to be, but today he doesn’t even care. It’s a good day, a purely tolerable day. He presses himself against Simon and kisses him, the first true-kiss he can remember giving him since the accident, though his memory is not what it used to be. Simon’s hands—large and warm and strong—settle on his waist pulling him closer. It’s desperate and messy, too much teeth and tongue, neither of them quite settling into the old easy dance they used to be capable of; likely because they aren’t the same people anymore.

“Fuck, I want you,” Johnny pants against Simon’s feral mouth.

“You can’t,” Simon grits out, dragging Johnny’s hardened cock against his own.

“Like hell I can’t!” Though…already his knee throbs, a deep ache punctuated by glass-like shards of sharpness when he bends it. He could take it—but it would hurt. But fuck, what doesn’t hurt these days? “I need you, Ghost.”

Simon grips him by the hair which has grown out too long and badly needs trimmed. He tugs back til Johnny’s neck pops uncomfortably. “You’ll take what I give you,” Simon says, sounding on the verge of madness, at least as desperate as Johnny feels.

“‘n what? I can’t beg for more?”

“Oh, you can beg,” says Simon darkly.

He pins Johnny against the sliding doors of the balcony, rustling the blinds around his body. Knees bent to bring them to just the right height, he fists both their cocks in one large hand, his face buried in Johnny’s neck, muffling groans against his skin.

“Yes,” Johnny gasps, his nails digging into Simon’s back. “Yes, jus’ like that—fuck! Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t—“

Simon keeps jerking off his spent cock well after Johnny cums, even after he begins whining and pulling back, shoulders thudding against the glass doors behind him. Ghost makes Johnny fuck his fist through the sensitivity until he cums too, both their seed slickening his hand and turning the sound of his handjob filthy-wet.

“Thank you,” Johnny sighs, blissed out. He doesn’t feel any pain, not in his stump or his knee or his head or anywhere. Maybe it’s the pills, but maybe it’s Ghost. Maybe it’s the relief of knowing they haven’t fucked up their relationship beyond all repair, that they’re still capable of loving one another like this. “I needed that.

Simon feeds two fingers soaked in cum past Johnny’s full lips, relishing the way his hot mouth sucks the digits clean. He admits: “So did I.”

He cleans them both up and they curl up on the bed together for Johnny’s afternoon nap—the doctors say all the sleep he needs is good for his brain.

Simon doesn’t intend to fall asleep. But he does.

And when he wakes, Johnny is not there beside him.

You’re just thinking how cold it is out on the balcony, wondering if it is worth it to risk going back inside for a sweater, when the balcony doors from 5C open and out steps the man you almost hit with your car. He looks likely to be cold as well, wearing only a t-shirt and loose pants, his feet bare against the concrete.

A cigarette is tucked in the corner of his mouth, unlit. He gapes at you, and it falls to the balcony floor. Glancing behind himself into the darkness of his apartment, he shuts the door with careful tenderness before bending down with a wince to pick up his cigarette.

The sleeve of his missing arm dangles innocuously. “I wasn’t expecting to see anyone out here.”

“Sorry,” you say on instinct. It’s ingrained in you; a lifetime’s worth of apologies. “I can go in and give you some privacy.”

“World’s big enough for two,” Johnny says coolly. There are chairs out here, but he doesn’t sit. Instead he leans against the doors with his good side and pretends to look out. It’s a lovely view of the parking lot. You do the same, except you can see the spot from here where you almost hit him with your car, and it makes your stomach turn. Speaking of: “Sorry about all that in the parking lot. My temper got the best o’ me.”

“I’m the one who should be sorry,” you admit. “I was distracted. I can’t say it enough, I’m so—so sorry.”

“Water under the bridge,” he says. He holds out the only hand he has left. “Johnny MacTavish.”

You hold out your own left hand, shaking via air from the distance between your balconies. When you give him your name, he mutters it under his breath two, three, four times.

“I’m going to forget that,” he warns you at length with a sad little laugh, fiddling with the unlit cigarette still in his hand. “It’s not you, it’s me.”

“It’s alright,” you forgive. “It’s pretty forgettable.”

Johnny frowns, putting the cigarette back in his mouth and working his hand into his pocket. His accent is so sweet to listen to, syrupy and dropping the consonants off of his words as he assures you: “Didn’t say that, did I, lass? Don’t get twisted.”

Mollified and embarrassed in equal measure at his simple admonishment, you duck your head.

“Got a broken brain,” he says in explanation, reaching up to tap the cigarette against the scars at his temple. “Forgot one of my own sisters’ names on the phone last week and she wept like a bairn. In my defense, I have several of them.”

“I forget people’s names and I don’t have a head injury,” you say.

Johnny snorts softly, the sound carried away by the wind.

He withdraws a lighter, one of the cheap disposable ones you can buy beside the registers at gas stations. His hand shakes as he tries to spin the sparkwheel once, twice, thrice, but no dice. Johnny takes a deep, slow breath, like a little boy trying not to lose his temper. He tries again, the familiar noise of steel rasping on steel, but no spark.

You wait, patiently, eyes turned out toward the parking lot as he begins muttering curses beneath his breath. Anxiety itches beneath your skin. His building anger is a tangible thing in the air like heat thrown off by a lit flame or the smell of burnt rubber, tires squealing in the parking lot as you slam on the breaks. A man’s anger is familiar to you. It predicts pain. Your skin flashes hot and then cold, and you are just about to make a polite escape inside when:

“Can you catch?” he asks, sending your gaze swerving to him from the parking lot.

“Can I—? Fuck!” you throw your hands up just in time, scrambling for the lighter even though he only tosses it underhanded like an easy pitch for a tee-baller. It slips from one of your sweaty hands to the other like a slapstick comedy routine, but it doesn’t clatter to the concrete nor does it fall off the balcony altogether. Holding it in your hand, you light it easily to make sure it works, missing the hungry, bitter expression that comes over his face when you do. “How? I can’t reach you from here.”

“We can meet in the middle.”

You can’t. Even with him outstretching from his side of the balcony and you from your own, there is a good half a meter of distance between you both. You can’t help but remember the other man’s words—I just want one fucking cigarette without worrying about him taking a swan dive off the balcony.

“Be careful,” you admonish when Johnny slips a little, his ribs digging into the iron-wrought railing. He doesn’t have good balance, you realize. Does losing an arm fuck something like that up? The answer you don’t know: it fucks up everything. Taking a deep breath, you glance over the rail and take note of how high you are from the ground. High enough for a healthy splat should you fall��

“Forget it,” he says morosely, his brows low. He is the picture of dejection, a kicked dog. “Doctors say ‘m not supposed to smoke anymore anyway.”

“Don’t they say that to everyone? Just—hang on.” Tucking the lighter into your pocket, you throw one leg over the railing.

“What are yeh—you-uuu fucking nutter,” he laughs as you test the stability of the railing. It doesn’t shift or creak at all under your weight. Heart in your throat, you lift your other leg over, feet lodged in the narrow space between the railing and the concrete floor. Gripping the rail with a tight fist, you let your weight lean into the space between your balconies, reaching into your pocket to remove the lighter and flick it to life.

Johnny looks like he could laugh or cry or both, stretching out his shaking arm so you can light the cigarette and then quickly bringing it to his mouth to suck it to life.

“Yer crazy,” he says breathlessly, words tinted with smoke as he watches you scramble back over the railing and to safety.

The sliding doors open. For a moment, you mistake the sound for being closer than it is—for being your boyfriend finally noticing how long you’ve been gone and coming to find you. He’s going to find you out here with Johnny and the same arguments will be born all over again—arguments about your disloyalty.

But it’s Johnny’s doors which slide open. The taller man comes out, the circles under his eyes standing out darkly against his pale skin in the late afternoon light. At the sight of Johnny, an expression of raw, poignant relief comes over his face.

Johnny drops the cigarette over the ledge of the balcony, face sheepish.

“Was just meeting our bonnie neighbor,” says Johnny, slipping his arm around the other man’s waist. If there was any doubt left of what they were to each other, it disappears: seeing them together, you can see the magnetism that draws them together. They act like plants which turn toward the sunlight, except they are the sunlight. The bitterness inside you rises up in the back of your throat. “Grateful to be doing it without a car in between us. This is Simon.”

“Nice to meet you,” says Simon.

“You too,” you offer, like perfect strangers.

You don’t find the lighter still in the pocket of your pants until later, when it is past midnight as you are collecting your clothes from the floor, aching between your legs and raw-eyed from crying. You flick the sparkwheel, watching the flame come alive. Glancing behind you, you make sure your boyfriend is fast asleep before creeping to your dresser drawers, opening the one with your socks, and shoving the lighter towards the back as far as you can.

#ghoap x reader #dichotomy of thought

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weirdsimsinhistory · 1 month

Text

Did you know you can mute Sims 2 TVs?!

Entering the cheat menu ctrl+c , type floatProp tvVolume [decimal value] and get that bish lowered if you need to! The TVs are set to 0.5 automatically, so I put in floatProp tvVolume 0.0 to have it totally off. But you could also lower in increments of .1 of you just want it lower.....or I suppose put it really high if you are sadistic 😅 (sims working out with the tv and a raging "FLAMBAJAMBA" starts playing lmao)

I've been playing ts2 for 20 years and I'm ngl, I think I am at my limit with hearing every gat dang channel/movie on loop for all eternity.

I don't know why/how I didn't know there was a cheat to lower the volume (or mute completely!) the TVs!

Keep in mind, if your Sim is in the middle of watching TV *when you enter the cheat code*, you will need to turn it off and back on in order for the volume to change. I think I had to do this for each household I play, and/or each time I boot up the game.

Life changing! Ya learn something new every day 🌠✨️

#weird sims #sims 2 cheats #sims 2 tv #it's so peaceful now in my sims' homes

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sefinaa · 9 months

Text

❝𝐏𝐀𝐂: 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞, 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮.❞

Your future lover message to you.

YouTube | Masterlist

Tips | Paid Readings

Not a tarot card reading, only based on my intuition.

18+ readings | Divider

Pile 1:

My patience for you

my dearest, please take care of your needs and heal your inner child. I cannot see you go forth without you caring for yourself.. please, if you cannot for yourself, at least for me.. take care of yourself.. because I love you too dearly for you to waste your time doing nothing that shall help you in the near future.. and I cannot let you do that; I want to see you—I want to kiss you and whisper sweet nothing into your ears after we make love.. I want to see you smile every time I say something silly, in reality those stories are real, but I make it stupid just to see you smile.. so please for me and to see each other quicker, please take care of yourself.

I shall be waiting for you,

Your prince charming –

Pile 2:

Proud of you baby

HI I HOPE YOURE DOING ALRIGHT, IMAGINE ME YELLING IN EXCITEMENT, HEHE.

SOOO YOU GOT A PROMOTION, THAT’S AWESOME! CONGRATS BABE, I AM SO PROUD OF YOU AND I HOPE YOU WORK HARDER TO ACHIEVE YOUR DREAMS AND KICK ASS OF THOSE SEXIST MEN IN THE STEM MAJOR. ALSO ILL KICK THEIR ASS TOO.

UMM, I THINK MY MESSAGE TO YOU IS TO MAKE SURE YOU EAT PROPERLY BECAUSE I KNOW YOU STAY UP ALL NIGHT, PULLING AN ALL NIGHTER TO GET YOUR ASSIGNMENTS DONE BUT FOOD IS ESSENTIAL AND HYDRATION. SO YEAH GET THAT FIXED SO MAYBE YOU CAN—DURING YOUR BREAKS EAT SOMETHING PLEASE AND PLEASE SLEEP BETTER FOR ME.

THANKS SO MUCH AND ILYVM XOXOXOOXXOOXXOOXOXOXOXOX

Pile 3:

I won’t give up on you

I can see you changing your life and I see that you met someone you don’t trust.. and that’s okay, I know you struggle with trust issues, but please know—that’s me. Its okay not to trust me now, and please don’t until you feel comfortable enough to open yourself up to me. I know youre an introverted person and that’s okay. Ill be the boat you will sail on and find that treasure on your map. I will be your rock when you play .. rock, paper, scissors.. ill be your armor when youre sobbing and ill be the one saving you when you start drowning in your trust issues once more.. and I’ll fight for you when you try to push me away again.

So go ahead and try but you cannot get rid of me because we are meant to be and that’s final.

Pile 4:

You’re the reason why I became so romantic

When the moon shines onto the river, we see a beautiful reflection shining, letting the people see the beauty and that is what I see within you, my love.. youre one dashing love and I cannot get enough of you especially during love making, but this isn’t a love letter I suppose.. this is my message to you and you shall receive it after I say what I love about you.

Youre one beautiful lover, the way you smile at me as I write and do my homework, waiting for me to be finished so we can cuddle and watch your favorite, us both laughing as it gets to the funny scene and then both saying we wont watch that same Disney movie once more, but we do. An endless loop of laughter.

From those to when we take a shower together but there is never any thoughts of doing the deed, only thinking of making sure the other is okay and properly cleaned, your innocence is the most beautiful as this world is truly a mess, but I shall never ever take advantage of your pureness as it floats my heart anew when I think of you and wishing I could give you flowers for all of eternity.. that is the love we shall cherished as this is what our love shall be.

So my message to you my dearest is, please keep being the most beautiful that you are and keep your pureness as it is the most beautiful of them all. As you are the most tantalizing flower one can pick and cherish, let it grow and feed it with water and sunlight as you watch it grow into the magic you wished you had seen the first time you lay your eyes on.. and that is you. you are my flowers and you are the magic within that I truly didn’t know I deserved or needed, so thank you my dearest and thank you for accepting me for who I am.

- Your dearest.

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wambsgansshoelaces · 7 months

Note

maybe general dating headcanons of the succession characters? like the type of partners/lovers they are? thx 😸

hi anon!! so sorry this is late AKDJSJF hopefully you like it x love u thank u for requesting <3

listened to “i see the light” on loop while I wrote this so now it’s the size of a oneshot

dating them (succession main cast)

Kendall

ᝰ idc what you have to say, words of affirmation is his TOP love language

ᝰ all the others apply to him but like

ᝰ that one is his favorite

ᝰ both to give and to receive

ᝰ he’s always making sure you’re happy

ᝰ in the moment and just in general

ᝰ and it’s like his world comes crashing down when you express you’re feeling insecure

ᝰ he’s your #1 supporter in self love

ᝰ once you’ve moved in together, he starts leaving you notes where he know’s you’ll find them

ᝰ things like “you’re loved” with crappy doodles of hearts and two stick figures that you think are supposed to be the both of you

ᝰ he likes treating you to nice things whenever he can

ᝰ fancy dinners, jewelry, watches, vacations

ᝰ he has the money; it’s not like he’s just going to NOT spend it on you

ᝰ and he’s your biggest advocate in everything

ᝰ sometime’s he’s lowkey rude about it

ᝰ like if your order comes out wrong at a restaurant

ᝰ he’s all “um, actually, no, this isn’t right”

ᝰ and you’re just “ken calm down”

ᝰ “no, you deserve the best, which is what you’re going to get.”

ᝰ maybe he’s not so much into kissing in public, but he’s always touching you one way or another

ᝰ he’s always holding your hand, or you’ve taken his bicep or elbow, or he has his hand on the small of your back, your hip, your shoulder

ᝰ the paparazzi is always around, and he wants you close and safe

ᝰ and he also likes that everyone can see that the two of you are involved

ᝰ committed to each other

ᝰ at the end of the day, he’s just happy you’re his

ᝰ you make him a better man

ᝰ and he’s eternally grateful that he has you

ᝰ he’s your big ol softie

Roman

ᝰ physical touch and quality time

ᝰ you spend all of your evenings together cuddled up and murmuring to each other about your days

ᝰ can’t cook for the life of him, but when he can, he makes you breakfast

ᝰ if your hair is long, he’ll learn to braid just so he can spend mor time with you

ᝰ under all the jokes he’s really just soft and sapp

ᝰ he treats you with so much car

ᝰ everything he does is thought out as to how you’ll receive i

ᝰ he only takes you out to dinner when he knows you’ll be able to have your favorite table

ᝰ he learns how to make different kinds of soup for you when you’re sick

ᝰ subtle pda king

ᝰ if you’re at dinner with his family, his hand’s on your thigh

ᝰ if you’re out walking in the street, he’s holding your hand

ᝰ if you’re lounging around on his dad’s yacht, his head’s on your stomach

ᝰ and he’s snoring but that’s not the point

ᝰ he loves just being with you

ᝰ he sits right up against you when you’re on the couch

ᝰ he lets you sit in his lap whenever you want

ᝰ his arm’s around you in every picture you take

ᝰ your cheeks smushed together in a bunch of selfies

ᝰ you’re his phone wallpaper

ᝰ work and home

ᝰ he loves talking about you

ᝰ at work galas he absolutely adores introducing you as his spouse

ᝰ or if you’re not there he asks “oh, do you happen to know my partner?”

ᝰ and then talks about you nonstop

ᝰ at a dinner you leave him to go get something for you both to drink

ᝰ before you make your way back, you spot him talking to a colleague

ᝰ he has his wallet out, and he’s showing the colleague something

ᝰ you get closer and realize it’s a picture of you

Shiv

ᝰ she treats you like a queen

ᝰ she’s a physical touch girl

ᝰ but really she loves words of affirmation

ᝰ and gift giving

ᝰ giving you gifts, specifically

ᝰ her favorite part of life after meeting you is spending lazy mornings in, cuddled up, kissing, touching

ᝰ she particularly enjoys going on long walks with you

ᝰ down piers, beaches, whatever

ᝰ her hand in yours, her eyes towards the sky

ᝰ she loves bringing things back for you from work trips

ᝰ or any trip she takes

ᝰ chocolates, matching bracelets, trinkets that remind you of her

ᝰ she makes all your days brighter

ᝰ one day on a visit to her office to bring her lunch, you find out there's literally seven framed pictures of you on her desk

ᝰ you are her phone wallpaper

ᝰ but she has it so it changes every time her phone closes

ᝰ so it's really thirty different photos of you are her wallpaper

ᝰ most mornings, she’s tucked up against you

ᝰ face buried in your neck

ᝰ it’s her favorite place to be

ᝰ just with you

ᝰ despite all of her peacocking and chest puffery, she just needs your support

ᝰ she needs you

ᝰ she needs her rock

ᝰ your love

ᝰ she tends to overthink and stress herself out

ᝰ but when things look like they’re going bad, she knows she can come to you

ᝰ and you’ll kiss her, tell her she’s beautiful, coo to her with that perfect voice of yours

ᝰ and suddenly everything is okay again

ᝰ for that, she knows you deserve the world

ᝰ she pampers you

ᝰ spoils you

ᝰ a tradition between the two of you is an annual trip down to the caribbean

ᝰ you both spend all your time out on the beach

ᝰ either splashing each other in the water

ᝰ or her curled up on top of you, skin pressed to yours

ᝰ she loves doing your hair and picking out outfits when you let her

ᝰ she loves doting on you when you’re sick

ᝰ she can’t bear it when you’re hurt

ᝰ but obviously won’t ever show it

ᝰ what she will show is how much she loves you

ᝰ everywhere you go, you feel loved

ᝰ she’ll never stop loving you

Tom

ᝰ mr. quality time

ᝰ literally does not care what you’re doing; he’s with you

ᝰ all he wants is to be with you

ᝰ you bring him peace

ᝰ his favorite pastime is cuddling with you in bed

ᝰ specifically with your jaw cupped in his hand, anchoring your head to his chest

ᝰ along with quality time, he’s huge on gift giving

ᝰ every week, he comes home with flowers

ᝰ and there’s always a fresh vase on your work desk

ᝰ he LOVES writing you notes

ᝰ love letters, even

ᝰ every new bouquet of flowers that show up at your work come with a heartfelt note

ᝰ in every single one, he tells you he loves you

ᝰ then writes about whatever it is he has going on in his day and how he’s thinking of you

ᝰ while he’ll never admit it, he loves pda

ᝰ specifically when you initiate it

ᝰ it makes him all smiley and happy

ᝰ he especially loves it when you’re hanging off of his arm at work things and he gets to show you off

ᝰ he just thinks you’re the most gorgeous person to exist ever

ᝰ he can never go to sleep without his arms around you

ᝰ he started wearing those nasal strips because he knows he snores and doesn’t want to keep you awake

ᝰ this man loves him a good restaurant

ᝰ but only if you’re there with him

ᝰ he can never get behind sitting across from you unless you’re in a booth

ᝰ he says that it’s more intimate when you’re sitting next to each other at a square table

ᝰ ALWAYS lets you eat from his plate

ᝰ if he ever ‘stoops as low’ (his words) as to go to a fast food place, he always asks if you want fries

ᝰ he knows to get you an order regardless otherwise you’ll just steal from him

ᝰ not that he cares anyway

ᝰ he also particularly loves watching the sun set with you

ᝰ something poetic about the sky almost being as beautiful as you

ᝰ you both try to watch it whenever you can

ᝰ because you only have so many days on this earth

ᝰ he wants to spend as many of them as physically possible with you

ᝰ you’ve noticed, though, over the sunsets, he doesn’t really pay attention to them after a certain amount of time

ᝰ he just stares at you

ᝰ and whenever you catch his eyes, they’re so full of love

ᝰ just for you

ᝰ only for you

Greg

ᝰ acts of service warrior

ᝰ LOVES doing things for you

ᝰ whether it be chores or bringing you coffee at work

ᝰ he likes feeling useful

ᝰ especially if he feels useful to you

ᝰ it’s a different sort of ecstasy for him

ᝰ you like buying him bracelets

ᝰ he wears them everywhere

ᝰ you’d gotten him an “i love my partner” (those like i <3 my gf) pin as a joke and he unironically wears it around on his waystar lanyard

ᝰ "yeah, my partner got that for me!"

ᝰ he’s a bit panicky and overthinks too much

ᝰ but he just has to look at you and his anxieties come under control

ᝰ he’s always running around, so he really enjoys just laying with you in bed

ᝰ he sleeps like a dying victorian child

ᝰ slumped over on you like the life was sucked from him

ᝰ he likes going on miniature adventures with you

ᝰ they’re nothing crazy; just dates that push him out of his comfort zone

ᝰ like kayaking

ᝰ you had to force him into the boat to go kayaking with you

ᝰ like physically

ᝰ yeah he’s scared, he doesn’t want to get hurt

ᝰ he doesn’t want you to get hurt

ᝰ but he hears you laughing and sees your gorgeous smile

ᝰ and that’s when he realizes he can just suck it up

ᝰ because he wants you happy

ᝰ he learns how to make those braided bracelets for you

ᝰ it’s a calming hobby, and he likes seeing them on your wrists

ᝰ he made something for you

ᝰ and you like it

ᝰ that’s all he could ever need in life

ᝰ he learns how to cook your favorite meals for you

ᝰ and he’s a surprisingly good cook

ᝰ his hyper vigilance over the food makes it come out almost perfectly every time

ᝰ unless he’s having a breakdown

ᝰ which happens less now that he’s gotten with you

ᝰ you make things calm

ᝰ he loves calm

ᝰ he loves you

Stewy

ᝰ he’s so extra

ᝰ literally every single love language under the sun is his favorite one

ᝰ showers you with little trinkets that just remind him of you

ᝰ if you collect something, he’s constantly gifting you specifically that

ᝰ he spends as much time as he can with you

ᝰ as long as he’s not working, he’s perfectly content just sitting in silence with you

ᝰ he’s a massive fan of the water

ᝰ may it be yachts, jetskiis, floating gazebos

ᝰ he likes making special dates out of things like that

ᝰ he wants you to feel like everything you do together is new

ᝰ he doesn’t want you getting bored

ᝰ he’s worried you will, actually

ᝰ if he buys you jewelry, it’s hella expensive

ᝰ and diamond studded

ᝰ if you’re a watch person, he’s even worse

ᝰ he buys you every watch you ever look at

ᝰ goes the most bananas over pda out of everyone

ᝰ internally, anyway

ᝰ he doesn’t make it kown, but his some of his favorite moments with you are when you’re both bustling through a crowd in italy or something

ᝰ but you’re clinging to each other so neither of you get lost

ᝰ did i mention he likes traveling

ᝰ he likes traveling

ᝰ and you’re the only person he’d ever even consider traveling with

ᝰ at night in greece, he discovers he likes the pinky holding thing

ᝰ he saw it on tiktok

ᝰ so when you’re walking back to your hotel, he hooks his pinky with yours

ᝰ and it becomes a thing between you two

ᝰ also is for some reason obsessed with giving you his jacket when you’re cold

ᝰ it could be below freezing and you already have a jacket on

ᝰ and he’d give you his blazer or coat anyway

ᝰ and he’ll stand there shivering with this dumb grin on his face

ᝰ it always ends with you two sharing a scarf

ᝰ you think he does it on purpose, just do be close

ᝰ just to have an excuse to have an arm around you

ᝰ and really, you’re right

ᝰ he just needs you

#succession x reader headcanons #succession headcanons #succession #succession hbo #succession x reader #anon ask #kendall roy #kendall roy x reader #roman roy #roman roy x reader #siobhan roy #siobhan roy x reader #tom wambsgans #tom wambsgans x reader #gregory hirsch #gregory hirsch x reader #stewy hosseini #stewy hosseini x reader #wambsgansshoelaces

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ghost-husbands · 2 months

Text

In Defense of Charles Rowland

Under the cut because this is gonna be a long one, folks.

I'm going to begin this by saying that I have recently joined this fandom and to be fair, don't have as much experience with writing meta and all that. However, I love reading and given that meta is

discussion of fanworks of all kinds, fan work in relation to the source text, fanfiction characters and their motivation and psychology, fan behavior, or fandom itself.

I have always thoroughly enjoyed reading and attempting to write it. Now I have finished watching all the episodes of the season we currently have, and when I finished watching 1x04, I had some pretty strong emotions about what happened in there.

What happened exactly?

Well before we get into that, I want to say that I was inspired to write this because of the original writing of @pippin-katz on the same subject.

So as we know, in 1x04, the ghost husbands have a confrontation with the Night Nurse--an immortal (I think she's immortal, no?) being in charge of the Afterlife's Lost and Found Department. Why is she after them? Because Charles and Edwin are two unaccounted for spirits who are wandering the world and not where they belong. They're both technically special cases. Edwin was dragged to hell by pure accident, the victim of a demon summoning. It says something that even the demon itself apologizes to him for the technicality before he's taken down to the inferno | Charles died after an attack, of hypothermia and his own injuries. He discovers he's dead when he sees his own body and once it hits him that Edwin's going to leave, he doesn't want to stay behind to wait for Death. Frankly, he isn't ready for Death, so he says. So he decides to flee Death, just as Edwin has been since his escape from Hell.

Aside from staying with Edwin for their foreseeable eternity, Charles' motivation for staying is, according to him, the purpose he still serves...the face that he is a Dead Boy Detective who's dedicated himself to helping spirits who still have unfinished business. He's doing good here with Edwin. They are helping people. Ah, let's not forget, I almost missed the fact that when the Night Nurse arrives, Charles almost immediately puts himself between the Night Nurse and Edwin.

He's protecting Edwin as he always has and always will. He's almost bristling with fury and you can see the strength of his will in the way he's standing there, refusing to go quietly. He will fight for his purpose here, he will fight for Edwin, and he will fight for his newly found friends (Niko and Crystal watching from the sidelines now).

The Night Nurse has her job, and she's convinced that it shouldn't be a problem to simply apprehend the boys and pop off. Perhaps if she had only just, then truly, there wouldn't have been a problem. The show would have ended there and that would have been a pretty fucking pathetic end, I'd say. But she resorted to force, and I here want to begin to make my point. The exact kind of force she used and how she used it was cruel, a low blow and makes her, to a certain degree at fault for what befalls her.

What did the Night Nurse do?

Put simply, as pippin-katz points out, she made Charles relive some of his worst memories.

That's being beaten by his father.

That's being stoned by his friends and pushed into the lake where he caught hypothermia.

That's dying freezing and miserable in the attic until Edwin shows up.

If you want a thorough analysis of her actions, go look at what pippin-katz wrote, I'm going to focus on Charles here.

She twisted the knife (and we know that it is a very, very deep wound in Charles, the anger and abuse of his father--he's emotional enough over it to get caught in the murder loop at the Devlin House and it's one of the points of his breakdown in 1x04) when she showed him these moments and basically asks him, "What's the point of staying here, this is what happened to you. That's what people here do to you. You wanted to stay for this? You can't make things better (this was during his father's beating)..It didn't get better, you died. That's the point."

Please, let's not forget how much this affects Charles, the fact that his father beat him and so we might suppose, was always disappointed in him. With Crystal, Charles admits that he looks in on his parents every now and then because yes, he misses them (this coming from a 16 year old boy who despite suffering at his own father's hand obviously had, at least before he died, still the desire to please that man, and perhaps some degree of love for him) but also to be sure that his father will not hurt his mother the way the old man hurt him. He wants to protect his mother. So all of that, reliving that, is going to be very painful.

What did Charles do in this moment?

He's angry. We know that he's very physical, and we can see the way that he puts himself between Edwin and the NN as he refuses to 'come quietly' to the Afterlife. He's visibly shaken by the ordeal and rattled after he recovers from whatever the NN did to him when she made him relive his memories. She flicks her hand and basically does something that makes him collapse, and he's trying to pull himself to his feet after that.

He's so very angry, hurt.

"If you wanted me crushed, devastated, I am. I'm also bloody angry."

Looking around a bit, I asked around to get an idea of how exactly what he did could be taken in a shocking, jarring way. I'm not here to disprove anything or knock other's opinions, I just wanted to compare both sides of it. That being said, two points.

He hit a woman with that big metal device.

It's not like him to be so violent.

Those, in a nutshell, are a very brief, concise idea of why people might look at what Charles did and think, "Hm that was a bit too much. Maybe he shouldn't have done that, not in that way."

I answer with the fact that, as pippin-katz also pointed out, the Night Nurse looks like a small, older woman, otherwise defenseless (Granted, she didn't have anything to defend herself when Charles attacked). Apparently in Doom Patrol (I've never seen it and don't plan to) she looks a little less like a woman and a little more monstrous. So she's not entirely innocent here. I personally disapprove of what she chose to use against Charles (and Edwin, given that she threatened to bring up the same painful memories in Edwin's mind). I don't condone the idea of violence against a woman, that's not okay, and it was a little jarring to see. I guess I'm trying to say....I believe that Charles was right to defend against the attack initiated by the Night Nurse.

Was it laudable that he reacted so violently to her? Perhaps not, I don't think so.

Was he to blame for choosing to fight? I certainly think not.

To the second point, I can't say very much because I haven't read the comics nor do I know extensively his personality and what he would or wouldn't do. But I've gathered that, from seeing the series, he's never quite been the one to attack first, or to strike just for the hell of it. I've only ever seen him react, not initiate. I think it's understandable that he would react strongly to what has happened, and I hold that he isn't to blame for wanting to protect Edwin and their loved ones.

How did his friends react to all of this?

Edwin

Charles reels from what happened, and you can hear that he's shaken by it. You can hear it in his voice when he asks Edwin and the girls, "Why are you all looking at me like that?" Edwin steps forward and tells him it was extreme. That kind of tipped it for Charles, then, I think.

"Was it too extreme, Edwin? So was me dying at 16, mate! I don't wanna be dead. I hate it. Yet every day I'm fucking smiling 'cause who else is going to be the one holding it together, keeping spirits up? You? Are you gonna do that, huh? And for what? What good am I even doing? I couldn't stop Devlin from murdering his family over and over. I can't stop Crystal from hurting. I can't stop whatever it is that's going on with you. I can't stop anything. I sure as hell couldn't stop my dad from beating the shit out of me. No matter how good I was."

Honestly, this part broke my heart. Because Charles, earlier, said that he did this for them, to protect them. He's admitting here that he IS the one trying to hold everyone together but that (wake up call everyone) he's actually hurting too underneath all of it. But as someone pointed out to me, Charles never brought that up to Edwin because he might have considered that Edwin has spent 70 years in hell and would not have wanted to burden his friend with his own problems.

We see that Charles is falling apart here. He's questioning the good that he does, because in his eyes he sees only how he's failed "to stop" all those things, and you can note how his voice rises and breaks towards the end.

Niko and Crystal say nothing in this moment, but either later that episode or in the next one, Crystal snaps at Charles.

"You’re a sweet guy with a rage problem. You walk around acting like the sun always shines, and then you lost your shit while beating the Night Nurse. Edwin and I are walking on eggshells around you instead of just saying 'what the actual fuck?'”

That was definitely something that caught my attention because didn't she hear what Charles said up above? It just popped out at me because Charles explained why he's the one acting like the sun always shines (he needs to try and keep everyone's spirits up because if he breaks down, and Edwin were to break down because of all the shit he's been through, that coupled with Crystal's own problems with David and her personal struggles...there would be no one to pull everyone out of their darkness)

Anyway, I'm not here to bash anyone either. Back to Charles.

So in the end, he breaks down and we can see that the catalyst here (probably) is not only reliving those memories and dragging up the pain he's been carrying from all of that but also the reaction of his friends. In his mind, he did it for them. He immediately steps between the NN and Edwin, to defend Edwin. He's left questioning the good that he's doing here, the point of all of that.

To the final question of was it wrong for Charles to do what he did?

I believe he wasn't wrong. He was defending against an attack. He might have responded with too much violence but he's reacting to something that wounded him just as deeply.

So this ended up being more of an exposition of Charles and his emotional state, but I tried to make a defense of his actions. It's not perfect, and I'm not out to prove any sort of point, just expressing thoughts because I too had a strong reaction to that episode.

Nonetheless Charles remains my favorite.

#dead boy detectives #edwin payne #charles rowland #wow that was a lot #I finally did it folks #It's done #it's not perfect or polished or eloquent or any of that shit but it's here #dbda meta

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feyascorner · 8 months

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Okay now hear me out HEAR ME OUT… this might get a bit angsty

But if astarion had romanced an elf tav, since elves reincarnate in dnd lore and retain some memories of their past life surely astarion would wait, right? Wait for them to come back to him, right??

Well most of us know that already 😋 but one thing I found interesting was; if astarion did find tav again (maybe he confirms it’s them through small mannerisms, maybe they meet at a tavern and this new tav laughs in the same melodic way, or he overhears tav talking about an interest they had in their past life) after confirming it is indeed tav again, how would astarion even feel ☹️

Because yes yipee you found them!!! But now are faced with the task of having to not only explain everything to them again (maybe fill in some of the gaps that are missing in their elf trances) but also have to deal with the impending doom that they’re going to have to die all over again 😭 like a cruel never ending cycle of having each other but never forever. (“I love you forever”, “oh darling our forevers don’t match up”)

OR OR OR if we’re feeling extra cruel, astarion finds tav over and over but each time tav dies gruesomely and it’s never preventable. A classic #timeloop lmao.

Ok enough rambling do with that as you wish

I LOVE TIME LOOP TROPES SO BADLY IT'S NOT EVEN FUNNY...i dont really like how this came out but i love sad astarion so!!! not proofread so pls excuse that!!

Astarion, of all people, should love blood.

But when it's yours, all sticky and warm on his hands, he's repulsed by the crimson red staining his pale skin. Your lifeless body lies in his arms, head tucked into his chest, but your own no longer rising and falling in rhythm with your breaths. Your lashes are specked with flicks of red, and your eyes shut almost as if you're sleeping. It's only in moments like these, where you're truly like him, yet not like him at all. Dead, but not undead. Even in death, he thinks you're beautiful.

Just a few years, he reassures himself, despite the wet tears on his face. Just a few years, and you'll be back, as you always are.

And he does find you. After so many years of wandering aimlessly into bars you liked, places you enjoyed spending free time in, and spending most of his time in your previously shared home, he finally comes across you in the city square.

Only then does he realize you haven't gathered all of your past memories yet. On the one hand, he's ecstatic he found you when you have more time left in your elf lifespan, but on the other, it pains him to see you look at him in a gaze that's void of your usual adoration. But no matter. If something as trivial as this were to break his spirit, he would've rotted away years ago.

It takes time, but you manage to remember him again fully. When you do, neither of you wastes any time in restoring the remains of your previous lifetime together. You redecorate your old shared home together, toasting to a new lifetime together afterward. You give him that soft smile of yours, and he thinks he could not be happier than this. With you having so many years left, and him being infinite, he has no need to worry about being separated from you anytime soon.

For a moment, he's almost glad he was turned into a vampire spawn, because of what it means for the two of you.

"I love you forever," you say one day, pressed up against his chest with your legs entangled. "Even through all my lifetimes."

"Quite the grand gesture, my love," he grins, and you return the sentiment. "While I have only this lifetime to give you, you can have all of it. You can have what's my eternity."

You press a kiss against his lips. "...And half your closet?"

He snorts. "Everything except that."

It's okay, he tells himself. He has time. He won't have to watch your lifeless body lowered into another grave again until he's readied himself---though it seems he's never truly ready. As long as he's careful, you'd be okay.

He's always joked that your heroic tendencies would be the death of you.

There had been a storm. A large one, in fact, causing large waves to crash against the harbor and sending its occupants fleeing inward toward the city.

He should've begged you to stay.

"It's dangerous."

"It's far enough from the harbor, I'll be fine," you insist. "People need help fleeing and our neighbors are going to help out. I should too."

"Then I shall go with you-"

"It's still daytime. We can't risk it," you shake your head, squeezing both of his hands. He smells the whisk of your shampoo as you do. "I'll be okay, Astarion. I'll be back in an hour or two, I promise."

You never do.

By the third hour, the storm has already calmed, and he impatiently throws on a clock and bursts out the door like a madman. He flies past the dozens of people perched on the streets as they try to recover from the hellish storm, and despite how many there are, he doesn't see you. None of them even know where you are.

"They saved my son. Jumped into the water into those nasty waves and got him out, but they...they didn't make it."

Astarion can see the fisherman's mouth continuing to move, but he can't hear him anymore. He feels like he's suffocating, eyes wide as they slowly turn to the calm ocean that now acts as your grave. But there is no tombstone, and there is no place for him to lay down your favorite flower.

He was supposed to have time. You were supposed to have time.

And this time, he doesn't even have the opportunity to kiss your pretty face goodbye, left with nothing but the murky waters of the city that extend past what his eyes can see.

It's times like these that he hates his own eternity.

He's numb by the time he reaches the house again, just as you'd left it. When he enters the bedroom, he realizes that neither of you bothered to make the bed this morning, and sees your pillow crumpled messily against his own. And beside it, your messily tossed pajamas lying with no owner anymore.

He grabs the shirt, staring down at it with dull eyes.

He can't even cry anymore.

Astarion spends the next few decades as a ghost of the city, holding himself hostage in the confinements of his own home. He doesn't touch anything, he doesn't move anything, and he doesn't even dare to open your closet door out of fear that your clothes will lose your scent. He's sure they've already lost it, but it comforts him to know that he's left everything exactly as you had.

Time passes, and as usual, it only leaves him behind.

The criminals lurking in the shadows are the ones who face his wrath. He hunts them down viscously, barely drinking half their blood before they're already dead from the wounds he inflicts on them. He gives no more mercy, because the world has not shown him any in return. Today is no different, as he corners his victim for today in the darkest alley he can find that has a dead end.

The man begs for his life, but it doesn't even register in Astarion's head before he's dead.

The blood tastes like nothing as it slides down his throat. When he releases the man and his body collapses to the ground, Astarion wipes at his mouth, glowering blankly at what remains. A corpse. Even filth like this could leave something behind while you were lost in the sea, forever forgotten by everyone but him. It's not fair. It's not fair at all.

"Astarion?"

His head whips around, able to recognize your voice anywhere, regardless of how much time has passed. It relieves him because he'd begun to fear that his mind had grown foggy in regards to your voice, but the worries seem to have been misplaced because you sound exactly as he remembers. Your hair is a different length now, your face void of the previous scars you've had and replaced with new ones. But no amount of change can stop him from recognizing you. Not even death itself.

"Darling."

"I knew I'd find you here."

As you run into his embrace, he sees color again. He can breathe again. He can live again. And for the first time in decades, he lets himself cry again.

No matter how many times he does this and how many times you die, he'll wait. Even if it crushes him to watch your demise every time.

#astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate astarion #astarion x tav #bg3 astarion #astarion #bg3 x reader #astarion x reader #bg3 #fluff #astarion x oc

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atlafan · 2 years

Text

You’re about ready to kill him. There you are, sweating, chest heaving, mascara running down your cheeks, and he’s laughing. He’s got a drink in his hand and he’s snickering like a 12 year old boy that said the word fart and thought it was the funniest thing ever.

The evening started out with the two of you going to some big staff awards ceremony for your boyfriend’s company. Harry wasn’t sure if he’d win anything, but he knew he was nominated for a few, so he wanted to make sure you came with. Fine. You had no problem with that. It would be an excuse to get dressed up and have a fancy dinner.

Harry’s sort of a big deal at his company, but he’s very humble about it. He loves what he does. He doesn’t do it for the recognition. So when he won four awards, that were all voted to him by his colleagues, he was eternally grateful. He was a little tipsy by the last one, but so was everyone else. There was an open bar, and bottles of alcohol on the table itself.

There was word of an after party at another location. Fine. You and Harry both like to dance and have fun, and he was on such a high there was no way he would have been to just go home and go to bed. So, with a drink still in his hand, you climb into the back of the town car that his company was paying for. As soon as the door was closed, and the partition was up, Harry set his drink down and looked at you.

You’d been torturing him since the second he picked you up. You were wearing this incredible dress that was form fitting and left little the imagination. And because the material was so flimsy, you didn’t want to wear any underwear in fear of showing panty lines. It’s just one of those dresses that if you even wore a thong it would throw the whole look off. You explained this casually to Harry on the way to the event. He didn’t say anything so you didn’t think he cared all that much.

But you were wrong. So very wrong.

The look in his eyes told you that you were in for it. But you also knew that the club you were headed to is literally a ten minute drive away. What could he possibly do to you in ten minutes in the back of a car with a cheap partition?

“Do you want me to suck you off?” You ask coyly. “Because I’d be happy to give you some road head , Mr. Salesman of the Year.” You lean in and kiss him. You can feel him smiling against your lips.

“No, we’ll save that for later. Think I’ve got whiskey dick right now anyways.”

“Fair enough.” Just as you’re about to lean back into the seat, he loops his fingers around your forearm. “What?”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to fool around at all, sweetheart.”

“We don’t have a lot of time.”

“We’ve got…” He looks down at his watch. “Seven minutes. I think we both know there’s a lot I can do in that amount of time.”

You both launch on to one another. In all honesty, you wanted to pounce on him before you even got in the car, but you didn’t want to make him look unprofessional in front of some of the higher ups. A quick make out session is a perfect thing to hold you over until you get home later. Only, Harry has something else in mind.

He’s quick to get you on your back. You giggle as he struggles to tuck up the skirt of your dress. It’s tight around your thighs, but he eventually gets it up around your hips. Before you can tell him there’s not enough time for this, he parts your legs and spits onto your pussy.

“Don’t ever do this to me again.” He warns you. “Knowing you were sitting there all night, so easily accessible to me and I couldn’t do anything about it?” He gives your pussy a slap, jolting you. “Rude.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose.” You pout as he puts your legs over his shoulders. “I just wanted to look nice for your eve-ohhhhh my god.”

Harry is usually slow with you, usually gives you time to get worked up. But tonight, right now, he’s going full force. You tighten around his tongue and clutch at the headrest of your seat. Normally you’d grab at his hair, but you don’t want to mess it up. His curls are just too perfect tonight.

He wells up his spit, puts it right inside of you. You can feel it dripping down to your asshole. He sucks on your pussy and it feels so fucking good. His nose rubs and bumps against clit. You’re eternally grateful you found a man with a good pussy eating nose. His fingertips press bruises into your hips as he slurps and devours you.

He gives you one last good tonguing before coming up and kissing you. It’s filthy, but you can’t find it in you to care. He grips at your hair, yanking your head back so he has access to your throat. Two fingers plunge deep inside of you while his other hand squeezes at the sides of your throat. Your mouth falls open and your eyes start to water. His tongue swirls around yours, and you moan into him when he starts to really give it to you hard with his fingers. You’re so slick, you can hear the wet sounds between you. You raise your hips so he has a better angle, and he starts rapidly beating into your g-spot.

“H-Harry.” You say through gritted teeth.

“We’re gonna be there before you know it, come on.” He grunts, not letting up for a second. You wonder how his arm hasn’t gotten tired or how his fingers haven’t cramped. “Know you can do it. You’re always so good for me.”

“It’s too much.” You gasp when he lets go over your throat to rub your clit.

“You want to come sooo badly, can feel you squeezing around my fingers.” He looks down between them. “You’re so fucking wet.”

“Harry.”

“I know, baby, I know. Feels so good, doesn’t it.”

“So good, so fucking good.”

Just as the car comes to a full stop, you come hard around his fingers. He doesn’t let up on your clit though, so after he pulls his fingers from you, you find yourself still having the sensation of orgasming, and you accidentally squirt onto his chest. Thank god his shirt is half undone.

“There we go.” He coos as you start to come down. There’s a tap on the window, and Harry rolls it down about halfway. You’re not even decent yet, so you kick him in the thigh. “Yes?” He chuckles at the driver.

“We’ve arrived, sir.”

“Thank you, we’ll be just a minute.” Harry looks back at you. You’re squirming as you get your dress back down. You look completely fucked. Your makeup is smeared, and your head is cloudy. He starts laughing.

“It’s not funny.” You grunt. “Stop looking at me like that. This is your fault! I’m going to look like an idiot.”

“Take your time to compose yourself, it’s not like we’re double parked or anything.” You were. You were double parked. You kick him again, which just makes him laugh more, only this time he turns to look out the window and bites his tongue to stifle his laughter.

“I’m going to get you for this. Just wait until we get back to my place later.” You use your phone to help you fix your face. “Making me squirt in the back of a cab. You’re insane.”

“It’ll be a fun story to tell when we get inside and we’re the last of the group to arrive.”

“What?” Your face falls when he opens the door to get out. He extends his hand to you and take it. “You’re not serious, are you? They don’t need to know me like that.” He doesn’t answer you as he helps you out of the car, double checking you don’t have any wet spots on your dress. “Harry.” He still doesn’t answer you. “Harry.”

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #blurb

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coloursflyaway · 2 months

Note

Your works always make me feel so cherish ed and spoiled while reading them. If you’re open to requests, I’d love to see something where Charles is struggling with feelings of inadequacy, and Edwin decides to spoil him a bit. Hope you have a wonderful day!

Thank you so much, I am so glad you enjoyed them ♥♥♥ And thank you for the prompt!!

____

„I should have done more“, Charles tells him, pacing across the agency’s floor, back and forth and back and forth and back and forth, in a way that makes Edwin imagine he can see his footsteps carving themselves into the floorboards. „I should have done just something. Been faster, or should have just noticed that they were coming earlier, just something.“

It’s been going on like this for more than thirty minutes now, Edwin checking the time on the clock on their desk periodically. And he understands it, feels some of the guilt that is clearly wrecking Charles himself – Niko has gotten hurt on a case earlier, because none of them had paid attention on the third witch of the coven hiding in the shadows, waiting for a chance to strike – but while Crystal had taken Niko to the hospital and Edwin has resolved himself to pay more attention next time, Charles seems unable to let it go.

Edwin has tried to console him, has tried to alleviate his pain with soft words and reassurances and everything in between, but it doesn’t seem to make a lick of difference. It’s like Charles is stuck in a loop of this, unable to see a simple, but important truth: that none of them expect him to be perfect all the time.

Niko will be fine, the cut from the witch’s knife deep but not dangerous in any way, but not even a phone call from Crystal informing them of the fact enough to soothe any of Charles’ anguish.

“I’m so stupid, who would forget that there was a third one? Me, that’s who. I should have just -”

And it’s just too much; Edwin cannot listen to a word more of this.

Charles is still pacing, so caught up in whatever is going on in his head that he doesn’t even notice Edwin getting up and crossing the few metres between them, which is so unlike him it hurts something deep within Edwin’s chest. And it’s that hurt that makes it even easier to reach out and put a hand on Charles’ shoulder, not feeling the fabric of his jacket but feeling Charles beneath it anyway, the thrum of his energy and the solidity of his astral form and the importance he has to Edwin, unmatched in this universe and all others.

This, at least, Charles registers, and just as he starts to turn, Edwin pulls him close, tucks Charles’ head beneath his chin and leaves his hand on the back of his neck so even if he tried, he wouldn’t be able to escape. Edwin’s other arm snakes around Charles’ waist, wrapping around him tight, and for a moment, there is tension within him, Edwin feels it as much as his soul can sense it, eternally tied to Charles’ as it is, but then it leaves him with what feels like a sigh, a tidal wave.

“You’re doing enough”, Edwin tells him, whispers it into his mess of curls and feels Charles shudder at the touch. “You’re keeping all of us safe, every day, and Niko will be fine. The next time, we will know to keep a better watch. It’s not your fault, it wasn’t even your responsibility. We are a team, and we will get better as one, too. But you have to stop blaming yourself for it. You’re doing enough. You are enough. And I love you the most of absolutely anything in this world or the next. Alright?”

For a moment, there is nothing, no answer, but then, slowly, ever so slowly, Charles wraps his arms around Edwin in return, sinking into the hug like all the strength in his body has left him at once.

“You promise?”, he asks, half against Edwin’s collarbone, and his voice is still strained and soft and hurt, but the mania of before is gone, the tension, the almost-desperation.

“I promise. Of course, I do.”

And there is another pause, Charles’ fingers gripping at Edwin’s jacket, his cheek nuzzling Edwin’s shoulder; later tonight, they will curl up on the sofa and Edwin will kiss Charles as many times as he needs it, will put Charles’ head into his lap and kiss his eyelids closed, and will read him a story they have both read a thousand times before.

A sigh, then, “Alright. If you say so.”

And as he presses a kiss to Charles’ head, Edwin thinks, yes. They’ll be alright.

#dead boy detectives #dead boy detective agency #edwin payne #edwin paine #charles rowland #painland #payneland #paynland #chedwin #charles x edwin #edwin x charles #also for everyone else who sent me prompts: thank you so much i am trying to get through them but some of them will take a bit of time #but i love all of them ♥♥♥

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lokischocolatefountain · 1 year

Text

Second Thoughts

Series Masterlist

Fandom: Narcos

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

Rating: 18+

Word count: 4.2k words

Summary: Weeks before their wedding, one of them might have second thoughts.

A/N: For days, I have been haunted by this picture of Pedro wearing gold chains and I needed to write this to keep myself from exploding. It’s Pedro’s fault. And I chose Javi for the fic because that slut always has like the first 3 buttons of his shirts undone (like a whore, jezebel, harlot) and it drives me mad to see his neck. Anyway, enjoy 😉

“What’s this?” He took the cigarette back between his fingers to ask. It was his customary post-sex smoke. Something he couldn’t give up on, much like his customary workplace smoke, road rage smoke, morning smoke, post-lunch smoke— you got the idea.

“A dildo.”

Javi looked up at her, eyebrows raised and lips pressed into a thin line. He wasn’t as impressed by her attempt at a joke as she was. But then again, the man was known for his eternal grumpy face. He could be offered a lifetime supply of free whiskey and he would still look like someone ran his dog over.

She rolled her eyes at him. For a man employed by the US government to go after Pablo Escobar, he sure was dumb.

“What does it look like, Pendejo? It’s a gold chain. For you. Happy birthday,” she snapped, pushing the present into his hands.

His brown eyes softened as he took her hand and rubbed circles on her wrist with his thumb. “Querida…you shouldn’t be spending all this money on me. I don’t even wear jewelry.”

“It’s a gift, Javier. And I know you don’t wear jewelry. I just think you should be.”

“Oh?” He asked, head tilted and eyebrows knitting together in curiosity.

“Mhmm. Let me explain to you in terms that your male brain would understand,” she said, getting on her knees on their bed and setting them on either side of his thighs. He looked incredibly beautiful in the dim lighting of their bedroom, golden skin made more gold by the warm streetlights. His hand that was not holding his present came up to her back, his touch gentle despite the rough calluses he’d earned with his years on the force.

She brought her index finger to his chest and traced his collarbones. He had beautiful skin, no matter the scars and the sunspots from all his days running around in the Medellin streets under the sun.

“Seeing you wearing a gold chain would do to me what seeing me in lingerie does to you. It’s like a little sneak peek of what’s inside, you know? Especially because you are a slut who forgets that the top three buttons of your shirts exist and I can see your chest all the goddamn time. It’s a little tease of what lies underneath.”

“Ahh…”

“Finally. He gets it.”

“‘s like seeing your lace bra and a bit of cleavage. I like the cleavage more, but the lace adds to it,” he said, hand lazily grazing the curve of her ass. There was nothing sexual about it or their nudity. They’d already gone at it like rabbits and were done for the night. But it was good to stay bare with him, her lack of urge to cover up adding to the easy intimacy they slipped into post sex.

“Exactly,” she said, taking the gold chain from him. She straddled his lap and looped the gift around his neck before clasping the ends together. He watched quietly, his stoic expression cracking through to reveal a smile when she pulled him towards herself by the chain.

Through lazy pecks of her lips, he said, “So it’s a leash, I see?”

“Maybe,” she smiled as she pulled away. She licked her lips as she took in the sight of him, congratulating herself mentally. It looked better on him than she thought it would. His body was already fucking perfect, well-toned, but the chain made it sexier somehow. The way it sat around his neck and bent when it touched his clavicle, the light hitting it beautifully to highlight it against the pink flush of his skin.

“Looks good,” she added, fingering the cold metal.

“If you say so, Jefa,” he said before taking a drag of the cigarette.

“Well I do say so,” she said, reaching to the back and pulling the pendant to the front to rest on his chest. He looked down at the pendant, eyebrows raised as though surprised to find it there. He took it between his fingers and squinted at the letters engraved on it. Her initials.

“Marking me, I see?”

“Sure… You gave me a diamond ring and I felt bad I didn’t give you anything, so…”

“It’s not traditional for women to give their fiancé something. You didn’t have to feel bad.”

“I know,” she said, tracing her initials.

“Hmm, can’t wait until the wedding to let everyone know I’m taken?”

“Suuure,” she said, rolling her eyes before getting off his lap and sitting next to him. “If that makes you feel better about being tied down to one woman forever, Javier.”

“It’s a woman who lets me tie her down to my bed, so…” he trailed, brushing his mustache with him thumb and giving her a once over.

“You sound worried…” he said, turning to get a better view of her. She kept her eyes on her lap, afraid that looking at him would be confirmation in his eyes if this worry he’d caught so easily.

She wasn’t worried. Or so she liked to think. When he got on one knee, she was a little surprised. One, they’d only been dating for a year. Two, she didn’t think he was the marrying kind. The first words out of her mouth weren’t Oh my God or a resounding Yes. It was a hesitant Are you sure?

When she visited his hometown Laredo with him to meet his Papa and his extended family and friends, she had more reason for unease. A neighbor just not so casually dropped the secret that he’d once been engaged to someone else, someone he left at the altar before moving to Colombia.

“You’re so brave, giving our Javi a chance after what he did to poor Lorraine.”

“What did he do to…? Who is Lorraine?”

“Oh, he didn’t tell you? Figures. She was his fiancée. Left her at the altar. The poor girl.”

Lorraine had reassured her that everything was alright, even implying that she was glad she didn’t have the bad luck of ending up with Javier. It was an immature Javier from many years ago, she’d said as much. He wouldn’t do that again. He made mistakes, but never made the same mistake twice. Or that is what she told herself. It didn’t stop her from thinking of the worst case scenarios— Javi leaving her at the altar, a future divorce, Javi getting bored with her and cheating. He wasn’t the cheating kind despite his reputation as a manwhore. But rational thought never stopped anxieties.

“You sure you want to get married?” She asked, letting her insecurity shine through. It was better than the alternative.

“Hmm, let me think about it,” he said, a playful smile dancing on his lips. “It’s good you asked me because I didn’t even think about that when I took a good chunk of my savings and spent it on a diamond ring that lost half its value once I left the store. I just bought it on a whim and had no choice but to get on one knee, profess my undying love for you in the restaurant we met and ask you to marry me.”

You asked Lorraine too!

She swallowed her words, crossing her arms over her chest defensively.

“Are you sure? Because this isn’t the first time you’re asking me that,” he said, the sarcastic tone finally leaving for a more serious one. She nodded and when he looked unconvinced, she said, “Yeah. I’m sure.”

“I know I haven’t given much time into planning a proper wedding. It’s not that I don’t want one,” he said, taking her left hand and playing with her engagement ring. “It’d be nice, with both our families there. But it’ll take time and I just can’t wait. It’s a dangerous job, you know that. And you decided to be with me anyway.”

His other hand cupped her cheek, his brown eyes revealing the depth of his heart for once. There was always a softness to them with their deep color and the downward turn of their outer corners.

“If I’m going to keep you in danger by virtue of being attached to me, I figured I should take the plunge, commit fully. If… I know it’s not great to hear it, but…” he sighed before rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand. “If something were to happen to me, I want you to be my next of kin. For any medical decisions, visitation rights, survivor benefits if…You wouldn’t have those rights over me if I was just your boyfriend.”

“If that’s the only reason you’re marrying me…”

“Of course not. I’m marrying you because I know I want to spend my life with you. But if this isn’t the life you want…the danger, the anxiety, the missed anniversaries and birthdays,” he said pausing before he continued, “potential of widowhood.”

Her hand closed around his and he held her back, his hold tight and reassuring in its firmness. She pulled her trembling bottom lip between her teeth and leaned into his chest. “If you have any doubts, there is still time.” She heard him swallow before he spoke again. “I’m willing to make more time if you need it. We could push the wedding, you can take as long as you need. It’s a big ask— marriage. So if you want to say…if you want to change your mind, you have every right. I won’t… no hard feelings.”

“Pobrecito…” she cooed before placing a kiss on his forehead. “I don’t have doubts. And I’m not going to change my mind.”

She felt him exhale. His eyes closed and he nodded. “Okay.”

“It would be too late anyway. Had I thought of it before we started dating, when it was just sex…maybe I would’ve left you,” she chuckled, fidgeting with the loose threats coming off their thin blanket. “But I’m in too deep now. The damage to my soul in leaving you would be far greater than anything that could happen if we stayed together. We hit a point of no return long back and now I just can’t be without you.”

Something like gratitude crossed his deep brown eyes. His eyebrows raised and his tight expressions softened. His large hand came up to cradle her face. “I can’t be without you,” he echoed, voice rich with emotion. His thumb traced her bottom lip before he leaned in. She kissed him eagerly, gentle yet passionate as they poured their anxieties and fears into the kiss. Slow and languid pecks decorated her lips and then her face.

“I was lying…”

“Hmm?”

“When I said there would be no hard feelings if you changed your mind. I was lying.”

She chuckled against his lips, placing one last kiss before pulling away. “Oh yeah?” She asked and he nodded. He held her close, not allowing her to leave his embrace.

“I would be so upset.”

“Good to know,” she said, curling a finger around his gold chain and pulling him close. His lips stretched into a grin and he gladly went where she took him. He leaned in, hoping for a kiss, but she dropped his chain and pushed him off by his chest. He raised an eyebrow at her and she simply smiled.

“You look so handsome when you smile,” she said, bringing her thumb up to his mustache, caressing the prickly hairs.

“Mhmm?” He asked, his smile morphing into a smirk. She slapped his cheek lightly and he laughed before he flipped it to a frown. “Not like that. Don’t look smug.”

“My naked wife is on my bed telling me I’m handsome and I’m not supposed to look smug?”

“Wife?” She squinted at him. “I’m not your wife yet. Keep that smug smile up and I might change my mind.”

“Oh? Didn’t you just say you weren’t changing your mind? That you were in too deep for that.”

“Yeah, that was before I realized I was marrying a liar. You kiss your fiancée with that lying mouth, Javier?”

“Oh I do more than kiss her with my lying mouth,” he quipped before getting off the bed and pulling her down the bed by her ankles. She squealed at the sudden movement, lifting her head up to find him on his knees on the floor by her legs.

The smug smile she asked him to get rid of was present and glowing more than ever. He spread her legs wider than necessary. His eyes narrowed at where her thighs met and he licked his lips, sending a shiver through her. It was maddening, the effect he had on her. She’d had him multiple times in several different positions that night. She’d put on lingerie and taken him over and over until he couldn’t anymore, until her body was covered in evidence of his presence and satisfaction settled in her heart. But here she was, a mere half hour later, desiring him again.

Spread out obscenely for him, his wide chest in between her legs, she wondered how she looked to him. If it really was such a sight that it made his eyes glaze over with lust.

“Mi esposa… Estás tan guapa así,” he praised, peppering kisses up her thigh. Her heart beat for him, faster and faster with each kiss that brought his lips closer to where she needed him most. She brought a hand to his messy curls, caressing the strands she’d pulled at just a little while back.

She groaned as he moved to her other thigh, skipping her pussy that was dripping anew with her arousal, blending with both their cum from when they last made love. He dipped a finger in, coating the tip white before bringing it between his lips.

“We taste so fucking good together, baby,” he said, pushing his finger in, deeper this time. Her pussy squelched from its wetness as he pushed in and out, the white liquid flowing out of her. He bent his head down between her legs, licking up her excess, not wasting a drop of it. He gave her a few pumps before he withdrew, making her whine.

Hovering over her, he smeared the liquid on her swollen lips. His birthday present hung from his neck, gravity bringing the cold metal into contact with her own neck. God, this was what she was hoping for when she bought it for him.

Before she could lick her lips, he brought his pretty pink ones to hers. She moaned, both from the sensation of his lips on hers and the realization of how dirty it was to be kissing with their cum from between her legs coating her lips. The man was certainly creative in the plans he cooked up to defile her. There were men who refused to even kiss her after she sucked their cock and there was Javi, tasting his own release on her lips.

She parted her lips for him, allowing his tongue to glide in. She moaned into his mouth as she tasted their combined release on his lips and his tongue. She played with his hair, untangling the knots she’d left there from tugging at it. The smell of sex filled her senses as he pulled back and breathed out of his mouth. One hand played with her breast, covered in bite marks and hickeys from his greed, while the other reached back between her legs and fucked her with two fingers instead of one, his large digits stretching her out in preparation for him.

“So fucking gorgeous, fuuuck!” He cursed, taking in her expressions as he circled her clit. “Thought I’d just taste you again. But you got me hard again. What’s this, round four for the night? Look what you do to me,” he said, taking her hand and wrapping it around his cock. He guided her hand up and down his hardening cock, making her stroke his length in his hand.

“Have me fuckin’ addicted to this cunt, baby. You can’t have second thoughts now. You’re not allowed, not even if I say you can rethink this. You think I’ll let go of pussy this good? Hmm?” He asked, withdrawing from her pussy and bringing his fingers up to his lips. He plunged them between his lips and licked it up with a moan. “Don’t be fooled by how good I take care of you. I’m a selfish man. You can’t give me aaaall this,” he said, hands roaming her body and stopping to knead her breasts. “and think I’ll be all selfless and give it up.”

She shivered from his words and arched into his touch, pushing her tits into his hands. “I was being kind and fucking stupid ‘cause I thought you might want to reconsider marriage. But I’ve got you, don’t I?” He taunted, collecting what was left of them from between her legs before bringing his fingers up to her line of sight.

“I’ve got you, all for myself. No woman who comes like this for her man will think of settling for anything else,” he said before smearing it on her face. She stroked his cock faster, relishing in how he screwed his eyes shut from her touches. She brought her thumb up to the tip of his cock, swiping up the bead of precum. She brought it to her lips and tasted him, maintaining eye-contact with the man hovering over him.

“All mine… Look at you, so fucking filthy with cum on your face. You do that for your boyfriends?” He mocked, putting down all the other men she’d let touch her before him. She shook her head, speechless as she devoured what was in front of her. She lined him up with her cunt, allowing him to push in. The fervor of his words sunk into her with his cock and she wrapped around him, warm, wet and greedy.

He was fucking beautiful— messy ink black hair falling over his forehead, soft brown eyes, neatly trimmed mustache, pretty pink lips and her initials in a gold rectangle swinging from his neck. She reached up and pushed his hair back and placed a kiss on his forehead. He didn’t always understand words, was stunned by her confessions of love, of the need to spend eternity in his arms. She knew he struggled with words, saw how much courage it took him to say I love you the first few times he did. Te quiero came easy to him, having grown up saying the words to his parents, but te amo was like moving a boulder uphill.

He spoke words of love with much more ease now, he told her he couldn’t wait the duration it took to plan a wedding to finally be her husband, told her he wanted her to be his next of kin, that she could change her mind even though he didn’t want her to. He made himself better with words. For her. Because he knew when she smiled at her book it was because of a ‘You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope...I have loved none but you’. When she read to him ‘If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more’, his breath hitched as he asked her to read the sentence once again before he confessed it was how he felt about her.

While he’d gotten so much better with his words, she liked to meet him in the middle, speak his language- touch. He understood touch— her gentle hand pushing his hair back and her lips on his forehead. He understood her hips rising up to meet his slow thrusts.

“‘Y’know, fiancée pussy is good. Better than girlfriend pussy. Bet married pussy will be miles better,” he said, making her tighten around him. “You like thinking about that? When you’re all mine to do with as I wish…”

“You need a piece of—” she stopped to hiss from how his body made contact with her clit. “Y-you need papers from the fucking government to make me all yours? Thought you didn’t go by the books, Agent Peña. You are already mine, husband or not. You’ve been mine since I— hnnng!” Her words devolved into muddled sounds as he forced himself in her harder.

“Can’t talk? I shut that mouth up, huh? Try to say you might not marry me and I’ll shut you up just like this,” he scolded, pinching her nipple between his fingers and letting go to knead her breast in his large hand. “Pissed me off so bad, I wanna drag you to the fucking embassy right now and make you my fucking wife.”

His thrusts grew harder and his dangling necklace swung back and forth, grazing her chin before swinging away only to hit right back. Exactly what she pictured. It was a pretty sight, forehead covered in sweat, errant locks of hair sticking to it and eyes glazed with lust, all for her. She wrapped her legs around him, heels digging into his back and pulling him closer to herself as she struggled to meet the vigor of his thrusts. As much as she wanted him, she wasn’t as fit as a man who hunted other men for a living.

His physical prowess thrilled her, made her writhe underneath him. She ran her nails down his back, preparing him for how she would sink them into his back once again when he brought her to her peak. His muscles felt glorious under her fingers. She visualized each bulge and dip, pictured them with the scars she’d already left on his back and the scars she would give him. She moved her hand to his shoulder and then down his arm, licking her lips as it registered how fucking muscular he was, how he could crush her with them but chose instead to hold her, to love her.

As his thrusts grew more erratic and his breathing uneven, she knew he was getting close. His chain went from swinging against her to resting on her as he lied atop her and his thrusts got short. She moaned at the weight of him, aroused by how bulky he was. So beautiful and so goddamn muscular and all hers. He buried his face in her neck and filled her up with his cum, moaning her name before crumbling on top of her.

She felt him softening inside her. He slowly came to, kissing her neck before sliding down her body.

“What’re you doing?” She mumbled, fatigue settling into her worn out body. He looked up from where he slithered down, eyes still ferocious with hunger. How the fuck was this man still horny?

“Still haven’t shown you what else I do with my lying mouth,” he said, kissing down her belly and stopping at her cunt to give it a lick. She shuddered.

“Baby, ‘m sleepy…”

“‘s okay, you sleep. I’ll just get a taste here. Need to make you come.”

“You’ve made me cum many times already. I’m perfectly content.”

“I’m not. I need this pussy again,” he begged, flattening his tongue against her cunt. She hissed, sensitive from their night of passion, but grabbed him by his hair and pushed herself up into his face. “Thank you, ma’am,” he groaned into her, making her giggle.

“You’re such a whore, Javier,” she teased, still laughing. He gave her one more lick before he looked up at her with a shit-eating grin.

“You know what they say- you can take a man out of a whore but you can never take whore out of a man.”

“What does that even mean?” She asked, chest rising and falling from laughter.

“It means…” he trailed before licking his cum dripping out of her. He moved to her clit and sucked it between his lips, the pressure having her whining. Her hips jutted up instinctively, but he pushed her back down to the bed with a firm yet gentle hand on her belly. A minute of licking and sucking from his expert mouth and she came undone for him, thighs shaking and back arching before she fell back on the bed. He placed one final kiss on her mound before he lied back neck to her.

Javier and their blanket wrapped around her, she sighed in contentment.

“I’ll be gone before you wake up.”

“Oh…” she said, trying to not let her frown show. She’d planned a fun day out for him because he was supposed to have this Sunday off. Sightseeing, birthday cake and more birthday sex. But their plans were always written in water.

“I’m expecting intel from Helena tomorrow,” he said, caressing her arm. “If I’m right, if what she says matches my suspicions, the guys and I will join Carillo in Medellin. If things go well, I won’t be home until right before the wedding.”

“Well, then I better not see your ass in Bogota before our wedding day,” she said, earning herself a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll miss you.”

“Thank you…umm, for the gift. I… it’s nice,” he membled awkwardly. His arms pulled her in tighter and his lips pressed on her temple before she gave in to sleep. When she woke up, there was no evidence of the passions of her night other than the rumpled sheets and the soreness between her legs.

Series Masterlist

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dfortrafalgar · 6 months

Text

I'm Losing You

Having a family isn't always as easy as fairy tales make it seem.

Warnings: Read chapter 1 for warnings.

Taglist: @phsycochan | @mirillua | @augustanna | @chaixsherlock

Chapter 10

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Law might have run a red light on his drive back to your apartment. Could you blame him? There was no one on the road anyway, not at 2:00 in the morning. He hoped you hadn’t stayed up for him, but at the same time he wanted nothing more than to enter his home, see you in the living room, and scoop you into his arms. He had been so busy at the hospital that he couldn’t remember seeing you stand up since you left the emergency room, so the fact that you, not Shachi or Penguin, but you, called him earlier made his weary heart swell with hope and adoration.

He yanked the parking brake of his car upward and swiftly switched off the ignition, pulling his keys out, grabbing his bag, and practically sprinting across the dark parking lot to your building’s entrance. He input his apartment code so fast his hands were shaking, bursting through the door and climbing the stairs skipping every other step as he ascended. His heart was racing. If he was in any worse shape, he might need a triple bypass. His hands continued trembling as he stuck his house key into the lock, twisting it and pushing the heavy door open to finally enter your apartment.

His golden eyes lit up.

You were still awake, sitting on the couch with Bepo who was rolled over with his belly exposed. You were munching on a chocolate chip cookie while you watched a rerun of an old science show on the television. The force of Law entering the apartment with an anxious gusto made you jump in surprise, but you quickly smiled upon seeing your husband.

“Did you run up the stairs?” you asked, taking in his heaving chest and parted lips as he tried desperately to intake as much oxygen as he could.

Law simply dropped his bag, shed his coat, and rapidly paced towards you, pulling you off the couch by your hands and wrapping his arms around you. He buried his head in your neck, squeezing his eyes closed, afraid that if he opened them he’d see you back in bed, refusing to look at him. You kept your mouth shut at his actions, choosing instead to loop your own arms around his shoulders, squeezing him as tight as you could as you breathed in the sterile hospital odor from his clothes.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so distant,” you mumbled, your words muffled in the cotton of his clothing.

He immediately shook his head, his wispy black strands tickling the skin of your neck. “Never apologize. Never.”

You yelped as Law’s body lurched, his arms swooping down to scoop you into his arms, just like he did when you were his bride, to carry you back to the couch and flop down, placing you in his lap. The force startled Bepo, who grunted before falling back into a content pseudo-slumber. You kept your hands looped around Law’s neck as you leaned into his chest.

“I’m really happy you’re up…” he whispered.

You simply hummed. “Me too.”

The two of you sat in silence for what easily could have been an eternity, the sounds from the television turning into monotonous background garble as your breaths synced up to his. Law adored moments like this. No responsibilities, no expectations, no distractions. Just him and his wife. You and your husband.

However, he still felt like he had to speak. “So, about Friday…”

You visibly tensed in his lap. “About Friday…”

“I have the day off, so I can go with you.”

You picked your head up, your eyes shining. “Really?!”

Law nodded. “Yup.” He heavily debated bringing to light the conversation he had had with Robin in the emergency room but decided against informing you, assuming that this aforementioned ‘diagnostic consultation’ would address exactly that. “I’ll be there with you through the entire… thing.” He almost said the word ‘ordeal,’ but realized that single word probably let on more than he intended.

You didn’t seem to notice, or simply didn’t care, content with the mere fact that Law would be able to join you. “Thank goodness… I’m so happy…” You dropped your head back onto his shoulder. “I’ve been so nervous since she called me this morning.”

“Did she tell you anything over the phone?” he asked, rubbing your back, leaving warm trails of pleasant shocks in the wake of his hand.

“No, she simply said she was hoping to see me as soon as possible. She wanted to discuss everything face-to-face, which I understand,” you muttered back. “Still makes me really nervous though. I’m afraid she’s going to tell me that I’m completely infertile, or something.”

Law sucked in a shaky breath. “Hopefully not.” He wished more than anything that he had the emotional capacity to say anything else, anything more reassuring or comforting, but despite the years he dated you, and even after marrying you, he still had his frequent bouts of complete emotional constipation. How you continued to put up with him, he feared he would never completely comprehend.

“Anyway,” you lifted your head. “Shachi and Penguin were here when she called. Penguin got so nervous that he started baking.” You gestured with your thumb to the kitchen counter.

Law’s eyes darted in the direction you pointed. Five large plastic food storage containers sat stacked one on top of the other, each filled to the brim with chocolate chip cookies. The entire stack was easily almost three feet tall. The Leaning Tower of Tupperware. Law groaned. “What in the world…”

You laughed, the sound seeming so foreign recently. “We’re completely out of flour and baking soda now, but we should also have enough cookies to last us a lifetime.”

Law’s lips quirked into a small smirk. “I swear, you can’t take Penguin anywhere.” He held you closer as you giggled into his chest.

“Well, I personally figured you could bring one or two of them with you to the hospital. Leave them in the break room with a little note for the rest of the staff to pick at when they’re on break. Don’t you think that would be sweet?” You grinned.

Leave it to you to think of the most generous solution to the mountain of cookies left in your kitchen. Law smiled, his hand trailing over the back of your head. “That sounds like a great idea.”

—

The Friday of your appointment had sprung up on the two of you. You sat in the passenger seat of Law’s car, your heart hammering in your ribcage and your fingers anxiously picking at your cuticles as your mind raced with worry over what would be discussed at your appointment. The repetitive alternative rock music playing through the radio’s speakers was interrupted with an hourly traffic report, and Law took that moment to slide his free hand over to your thigh, giving you a reassuring squeeze. Neither of you spoke a single word, the only noise being the rumbling of his engine and the monotonous tone of the traffic report.

When you exited the car in the parking lot of the clinic, you immediately paced to Law’s side, grabbing his pinky finger with your own.

“Something to ground me,” you stated plainly.

At your words, Law grabbed your whole hand in his, lacing your fingers together. “Don’t float away from me, now.”

Time went by in a blur as you checked in with the receptionist, sat impatiently in the waiting room, and blindly followed the nurse into the patient hallway with Law close on your heels. You followed her into the examination room where she assessed your blood pressure like a typical appointment, before writing a few notes on her clipboard and leaving you and Law to wait for Robin.

You were sitting on the small, elevated bed with your legs dangling off the end, your perspiring hands quickly causing small wet blotches to form on the sterile paper that covered the cold vinyl. The silence was suffocating. You felt like you were back in your bathroom sitting on the closed toilet lid anxiously waiting for that negative pregnancy result. Law was sitting in a plastic chair across the small room for you, and he slouched lower in the seat to extend his leg out and bat the bottom of your shoe with the toe of his own. The action caused you to yank your eyes upward to face him, and he graced you with that warm smile you had fallen in love with all those years ago.

“You see anxious patients like this all the time,” you mumbled. “Have you ever learned any ways to make them feel better?”

Law rested one of his elbows on the narrow arm rest of his chair, dropping his cheek to rest on his tattooed fingers. “Sure I have, but I can’t say I’m too good at it. But… you’re not my patient, you’re my wife.”

A very nervous chuckle blubbered from your lungs. “I guess that would make a difference, huh?”

Law’s lips formed a very faint grin. “It makes a hell of a difference. I can’t play footsies with my patients.” He punctuated his sentence with another knock into your foot.

You couldn’t resist laughing. Law was often so serious and stoic, intimidating strangers with his deadpan gaze and unwavering, permanent scowl, but he became a completely different person with you. In the years you had been together, he had morphed into a chronically exhausted undergraduate student who could barely force a dry grin in your direction into a compassionate, tender, loving husband. You couldn’t argue that he was still a bit lacking in the empathy department, but his mere presence in any room brought you a sense of ease and comfort that you had never experienced in your life. And goodness, you loved him for that.

The sound of the door to the exam room opening snapped you out of your dreamy thoughts. Your heart regained its anxious palpitations as Robin entered with her usual calm demeanor. Something in her eyes seemed… off, however.

“‘Morning, you two, how has the week been treating you?” she asked as she sat down on her stool, placing her laptop and small stack of stapled paperwork on the room’s counter.

Law tossed a look at you. You tossed a look back at him.

“Could be better,” you uttered for the both of you.

Robin simply hummed. It wasn’t rocket science to figure it out. She was there when it happened, after all.

“I’m not going to beat around the bush here, I would like to jump right into things.” She pulled up a few images on her laptop before grabbing the device and rolling in her stool to be seated in front of you, turning the computer and placing it in her lap. The screen displayed your ultrasound images from almost a month ago. “I would like to bring your attention to these labeled areas.”

Robin’s finger indicated each area she wanted you to address. Law had already seen the images, and simply kept his focus trained on every slight change of your facial expression. The doctor explained to you what she had already explained to him, and watching the worry grow in your eyes made his chest sink.

“We would need to perform a minimally invasive procedure to make sure, but I believe you might have endometriosis just based on your ultrasound scans. Can I ask you a few questions about your menstruation history?” She listened patiently and jotted down notes on her lap as you spoke about when you got your first period, how long on average they would last, how much bleeding, the average level of pain, or any other potential hormonal symptoms.

Law was in awe at Robin’s laser-focused demeanor with the patient. Just as he was always in tune with matters of the cardiothoracic variety, Robin absorbed all of your history like a dry sponge. She successfully empathized with your issues, her eyes giving away the even mix of intrigue, concern, and understanding as you described your ailments to her.

After you finished your explanation, Robin returned her laptop to the counter and swiveled to face both you and Law. She crossed one leg over the other and clasped her hands above her knee. “Mrs. Trafalgar, I’d like to discuss the benefits of performing a laparoscopy to rule out or confirm endometriosis, based on both your ultrasounds and your description just now.”

Your eyes darted between her stern blue ones and your husband’s pointed gold ones. “I’m listening,” was all you could blurt out.

“The procedure would be incredibly quick. You’d be under general anesthesia, so you won’t feel a thing. We would make a very small incision in your abdomen, a little below your belly button. A thin camera would then be inserted to examine the inside of your abdomen, and would allow us to see any potential endometrial tissue that has grown outside of your uterus.” She paused to let you absorb the information.

“What would happen if you found tissue?” you nervously questioned.

“Depending on the severity, we would most likely advise a similar surgery to actually remove the visible tissue with a couple extra incisions, but again, nothing major. The healing time would be incredibly quick in comparison to more invasive procedures,” she explained. “I personally think this would be the best option for you, considering you and your husband are still interested in having children. I want to try my best to give you the best chance of success in doing so, but that also involves ruling out potential reasons that you suffered a miscarriage.”

You bit your lip, but you absolutely appreciated her openness and honesty. “If I do have this… would I still be able to get pregnant?”

Robin nodded swiftly. “Absolutely. Many women with endometriosis are able to have successful pregnancies, especially after treatment. However, I would be remiss to inform you that, since you have had one miscarriage, your chances of having another have slightly increased. I know this is very hard to hear, but I want you to understand that.”

Your eyes glanced back toward Law who was already gazing at your face, almost as if he was trying to read your mind. You nodded your own head and turned your attention back to Robin. “If that’s what you think is best, then I would like to go for it.”

Your doctor grinned, a friendly smile that warmed your spirit as your anxiety-ridden mind whirled with every possible circumstance. Her comforting, understanding instinct was exactly what you needed to help you through this process.

“I’d be more than happy to set up your initial appointment now, if that is something that interests you,” she added. “I can directly send a referral to the surgical outpatient clinic which is right down the road from here.”

You gave another affirmative nod. “Yes, that would be wonderful.”

Robin quickly got to work opening your patient portal on her laptop. While she typed, she began speaking once more. “Full transparency, but I also have endometriosis. My husband and I decided against having kids, but that was for completely different reasons.”

You smiled. “Who is your husband?”

“I doubt you’d have met him, he works at the fertility clinic nearby!” She laughed at the mere image of her own husband. “He’s a pretty strange man, I will admit.”

Law blanked. “Wait… is your husband–”

“Doctor Franky?” she finished his question for him. “Yup, that’s him!” She immediately turned her attention back to you, informing you of the date and time of your laparoscopic referral, leaving Law to sit back in his seat and ponder over the fact that your gynecologist's husband was the man who got a glimpse of Law’s sperm.

#fem reader #reader insert #x reader #law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar d water law x reader #one piece x reader #op x reader #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law #i'm losing you

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