#It is always that I must have ulterior motives

[wildmelon]

i love the sim characteristics and conversation topics likes/dislikes function in growing together but it's absolutely criminal that it wasn't part of the base game update. traits in the sims 4 are completely lacking in depth and this really adds so much to gameplay but it should 100% be available for free.

[writers-potion]

Writing Morally Gray Characters

Morally gray antagonists and heroes can bring up many interesting questions about your story's theme and plot. Yes, your hero does want to save the world, but resorts to cruel ways of bringing peace?

Being morally gray can also mean that the character is highly goal- oriented and values efficiency and success over anything.

Deceiving Appearances

As is true in real life, a person's intentions aren't always obvious. A character, their title, background or really just how they look might at first indicate they're the hero type but surprise - they're not.

By hiding ulterior motives behind more apparent ones, you can add depth to your morally gray characters. Appearances can be deceiving, and that makes for a juicy read.

Morally Gray vs. Villains

Morally gray characters and villains are not strictly one and the same. Yes, there is overlap-they can be villains-but the distinctions are there nonetheless.

I don't think having a dark past to provide motivations for morally gray characters is too effective. They do intend to harm others, and sometimes, that's just the way they are.

Recognition

Your morally gray character should recognize that their choices can cause harm, intentionally or otherwise.

Although he's willing to risk the chance in his pursuit of knowledge, he does actively recognize that his actions can result in negative consequences. He sometimes acknowledges this before he does something, and sometimes only in hindsight.

Remorse

They must understand and experience remorse. When the consequences of their actions wreck and story world and kills people around her, she would certainly have regrets and even struggle to undo what she did.

The point here is, she won't regret until she has already caused the wreckage.

Redemption

Finally, when even they feel things have gone too far, your morally gray character must seek redemption however that manifests itself in your story.

For all their logic and reasoning, they are not without feeling. They can grow to care for other characters and go out of their way to help them at times, even save their life.

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

[chadleys]

moon sick. | astarion

›› pairing: astarion x f!reader

›› wordcount: 2.5k

›› genre: smut, established relationship

›› rating: 18+, mdni

›› synopsis: whilst on the road, you get your period. astarion, being the loving, caring, supportive boyfriend he is, offers to help. he has no ulterior motives. obviously.

›› warnings: period sex, bloodplay, unprotected sex, oral sex, dirty talk

you wake with a start, astarion’s cold arm a comforting weight across your waist. you can’t think what could have possibly woken you up so suddenly, as you listen for any untoward noises around camp. but there’s only astarion’s steady, gentle breathing behind you and gale’s obnoxious snoring echoing from the other end of the clearing.

as you settle back down on your bedroll, however, you become aware of something sticky and wet between your legs. could be that a wet dream concerning your beloved has you in such a state, but you don’t remember dreaming of him last night. no, now that your senses are returning to you, you remember that last night was reserved for another visit from your so-called guardian. so what … ?

you toss your end of the blanket aside and groan, throwing your head back against the pack you’ve set out for a makeshift pillow. doing so earns you another yelp; must have made contact with one of the stems of the many apples wedged into your supply bag.

astarion is on his feet in an instant, startling you; you weren’t even aware he was awake. not that elves ever truly sleep. it always slightly unnerves you to feel him levitating beside you in his meditative state. ❝ you’re hurt. ❞ his voice is rough, thick with inertia. ❝ i swear i’ll find whoever did this and bleed them dry. we should never have trusted that damned cleric; shar this and shar that. i’ll shove her blessed shar right up her — ❞

he’s already kicking his own pack aside to stomp his way out of the tent when you hiss, ❝ astarion! ❞

luckily he’s not too aggravated to stop and give you a glance back so you can explain in a low murmur, ❝ it’s my cycle … ❞

astarion stops short, one pale hand clutched to his chest. ❝ oh … i — ❞ he waves that same hand now toward the opening of his tent. ❝ i thought … ❞

❝ i know what you thought, ❞ you sigh, more weary knowing what’s to come over the next 7 days than you are of him, than you could ever be of him. ❝ but it’s not. so just come back to bed. please? ❞

❝ i thought you’d never ask … ❞ he purrs, back to his normal self.

unfortunately, you’re doubled over in pain before he’s even halfway back.

❝ i knew you were in pain. ❞ astarion’s back at your side in a flash. ❝ just tell me who and i’ll — ❞

❝ i am, ❞ you gasp, ❝ in pain. but … not because anyone hurt me. well, more like mother nature cursed me. ❞

a particularly bad cramp seizes you and your hand flies out, clutching the front of astarion’s silky tunic. you press your fingers in to feel his cold, broad chest. the sensation calms you a bit … until yet another bout of pain rolls through your midsection.

icy fingers find yours, ghosting over your knuckles. ❝ shall i … see if the druid can make you something? ❞

you shake your head, tugging at his shirt. ❝ just lay with me. please. ❞

astarion’s skin is blessedly cool against yours, as it always is. you lean into him, pressing your face against his frigid neck, soothing your burning cheeks.

his glacial hands find the edge of your tunic, and then the small of your back, which helps more than he could possibly know. you shudder against him, pushing, trying to get more of him.

❝ you know … ❞ astarion sniffs, delicate voice very close to your ear. ❝ i have heard of one thing that is guaranteed to relieve moon sickness. ❞

pulling back, you glance curiously up at him.

he has that rakish grin on his face that you’ve come to know all too well in the past weeks. his reddened eyes roll away from you. ❝ come now, pup. you must know what i mean … sex. ❞ your heart jumps into your throat at the thought; you’re sure astarion can feel it beating harder against his own chest.

suddenly, his mouth is just under your ear, teeth rasping against the exact place he’s fed from you dozens of times before. ❝ i can smell it, my love. ❞

you don’t answer immediately; while you can’t deny the thought appeals to you, if for no other reason than to rid yourself of these damnable cramps, you’re also apprehensive. astarion feeding from your neck is one thing — still intimate, but relatively normal by vampire standards. to have astarion feed down there, on that blood, feeding from your womb …

❝ you’re right, it’s a bad idea, absolutely disgusting. i don’t know why i — ❞

❝ do it. ❞

❝ eh … hm? ❞

❝ do it, ❞ you repeat, grasping onto him for dear life as another squeezing, crushing shock of pain settles in your stomach. ❝ please, astarion. i can’t take it anymore. ❞

it’s been many moons since your cycle has been this bad. traveling on the road without proper food or rest may finally be catching up to you, exacerbating things. not much you can do about that until you reach the city, though.

other than letting your vampire lover drink your blood, of course.

laying you gently back without another complaint, astarion slips the blanket off of you and reaches to undo your breeches.

anxiety overtakes you; there’s already blood on your trousers and the blanket, you’re going to have to wash them in the river as soon as you’re able. you can’t even imagine the scene underneath your pants … but you’re about to find out.

gently, astarion prizes the trousers from your legs, then gasps softly. ❝ oh, my love … ❞

prying your eyes from the ceiling of the tent, you finally look down. astarion is there, of course, looking lovely as always. except, however, the lines on his face look deeper, almost carved, and the dark circles under his eyes are darker, his eyes redder.

another spell of panic grips you; bright red blood is smeared across your inner thighs.

astarion looks dizzy as he takes you in, cold hands cradling the outsides of your legs. you’re about to apologize and shove him away, tell him this is a mistake, in fact you will ask halsin to make you something — and that’s when astarion mutters, ❝ you are exquisite, ❞ and dives in to have his first taste.

the feeling of his tongue on your thighs makes you shiver, and the cool night air wafting in from the tent flap isn’t helping. you grab the clean end of the blanket and drape your upper half, canting your hips up to tell astarion what it is you truly want.

because even through all the anxiety, there’s also a bubble of arousal blooming between your legs. astarion can’t tell, of course, not through all the blood down there, but you sure as hell can. you have the most perfect creature you’ve ever set eyes on between your legs; how could you not be aroused?

❝ all in due time, ❞ astarion chuckles, voice muffled against your thighs as he continues to clean you up. thoroughly. too thoroughly.

❝ you always tease, ❞ you whine, knocking one of your knees against his ribcage.

this time when his gaze flashes sharply to you, his eyes are the reddest you’ve ever seen them. it makes you shake.

astarion’s nails dig into your hips, deliciously, wickedly. you tremble, reaching for him. he chuckles and kisses the inside of one of your wrists, which leaves a smear of blood. ❝ always such a needy little pup for me, aren’t you? ❞

you don’t even have time to nod before he dives back in, his mouth exactly where you want it this time. his lips suction around your clit, tongue lapping out lower down to scoop a sizeable pearl of blood into his mouth.

this time, astarion is the one who shakes. he lays his cheek against your still-bloody thigh and shudders. ❝ you’re going to be the death of me, ❞ he sighs, and you can see him skirting his tongue around his mouth, flitting over his lips, savoring you.

you huff. ❝ you’ll be of me, too, if you don’t keep going. ❞

❝ so pushy, ❞ your lover mutters, but there’s absolutely no heat in his words as he obeys your command and buries his face back into your blood-soaked cunt.

for a while you just lie back and enjoy yourself, and let astarion enjoy himself as well. his arms are strong around your legs, holding you in place so you can’t squirm away. it feels way too damn good, you may have been tempted to try. but as it is, you can’t do anything but revel in the silky feeling of astarion’s tongue lapping up everything you have to give him, his fangs catching every so often on your clit, making you see stars.

at some point, you glance down at him and gasp. ❝ your shirt! ❞

you know how much he prides himself on his physical appearance, and now there’s blood staining the front ruffles of his normally immaculate tunic.

he glances down and tuts, frowning. ❝ oh well. it’ll have to go with the rest. ❞ just like that, he rips it off and tosses it with your soiled trousers.

he must be in heaven, you suspect, if he’s willing to discard his cherished clothing for you.

now shirtless, astarion gives one last gentle kiss to your clit and then slowly starts to climb your body. there’s blood dripping from his chin, staining the rest of the blanket wrapped around you. but more importantly, his broad chest is skating up the expanse of your bloody cunt as he comes, and your clit throbs seeing all that red coating his torso.

❝ astarion! ❞ you gasp, and he grins, mouth full of your blood.

❝ i’m loathe to ask you for a kiss, ❞ he whispers, so low you can barely hear him. ❝ just one. i promise. ❞

you swallow thickly, and he waits for you to lean up, pressing your lips to his in the softest kiss you can manage. blood squishes between you, and you can feel it coating your lips as you lie back down.

one lap of your tongue against your bottom lip and you grimace, spitting and rubbing at your mouth with the back of one hand.

astarion laughs heartily as you mutter, ❝ ugh, not for me. ❞

❝ more for me, ❞ astarion says, almost gleefully.

he’s obviously preparing to get back to it, but you keep him close with your hands on his shoulders. ❝ i want you. ❞

brows furrowed, astarion squeezes your waist. ❝ darling, you have me. ❞

❝ inside, ❞ you beg quietly, which you know enjoys immensely.

your next step might be a mistake, but you decide to chance it. bracing yourself with your legs wrapped around him, you thrust up, dragging your wetness along the front of his trousers. you can feel that he’s hard, and now there’s blood all over his pants. you’re hoping he won’t mind, considering his tunic is already ruined for the night as well.

luckily he doesn’t seem to, dark gaze sweeping down over the two of you covered in your blood, and then back up. ❝ i thought you’d never ask. ❞

his trousers quickly follow his tunic, erection jutting up between your legs.

❝ he looks happy, ❞ you giggle, as his swollen head prods at your blood-soaked entrance.

❝ to see you? always. ❞

having astarion inside of you is normally a relief, a release of all the rampant, pent up emotions this journey has bestowed upon you.

tonight is different.

with all that blood flowing south, your womb is aching, you're sore and swollen as astarion’s cock spears through your lips. every thrust sends a fresh flow of blood down his shaft, which earns you a tight growl from the vampire as he takes the backs of your knees in hand and shoves your thighs back toward your chest, eager to get even deeper inside of you.

and you’re eager to have him, nails digging into his chiseled back, the hard marble of his jaw knocking against your shoulder as his lips, slick with blood, find your ear again. ❝ are you feeling better, pet? does my cock soothe that ache inside of you? the ache that raged inside of you, until you met me? until i filled you up in every lovely way possible? ❞

his words make your brain go haywire, knees shaking around his ribcage, toes curling, your mouth rubbing comfortingly at his cool shoulder.

more than that, you do feel better. the more aroused you become, the more blood flows out of you, the less painful your cramps become. until you’re pushing down against him, trying to ride him at the same time as he’s shoving himself inside of you with reckless abandon. until you can’t remember why you started this in the first place, other than to wind up begging for him to finish inside of you.

❝ inside. please, astarion, inside … ❞ it’s hard to even think clearly enough to form words, your mind consumed with the sight of his beautiful body moving atop yours.

you assume he’ll make you beg, as he so often does; he loves hearing the desperate, pleading tone in your voice that tells him all he needs to know — you belong to him.

but he doesn’t. he fucks into you as hard as he ever has, his thick cock gliding against your engorged walls, making your eyes roll back.

and then the talking starts. the words that make you wish you knew whether or not vampires can actually have children. ❝ you want me to get you pregnant, love? want your belly to swell with my child inside of it? i will wait on you hand and foot, i promise. i would love seeing you walk around knowing you hold my heir, that you protected my seed so well that it grew into a child inside of you. ❞ astarion pauses momentarily to laugh, tugging your earlobe between his teeth. ❝ with all this blood, i know you must be fertile. ❞

both of you share a laugh, briefly.

and when you cum, together, he sinks his teeth into your neck with nothing but a quiet grunt, cockhead twitching and spurting inside of you.

you mewl softly, feeling the vampire trembling and shaking as he empties himself into you. your hands pet through his hair, soothe the back of his neck, across the scars circling his back.

the pain from before is nowhere to be found, replaced instead by a warm, fizzy feeling sitting low in your gut. astarion is bracing himself on his elbows above you, with obvious effort.

you pull him down to lay atop you; he’s not exceptionally heavy anyway.

❝ i love you, ❞ he sighs, nestling his face, chin still slick with blood, against your collarbone. ❝ and … promise me we can do that again. ❞

❝ i love you. and i promise. ❞

[rinhaler]

Thinking about plug! Sukuna saying "tell me you want this princess" and "say you fucking need me bitch" desperately when you don't respond :/

I can't write him anymore in this AU bc every time they fuck I want to tell him we love him but we CAN'TTTTTTT

warnings: 18+ MDNI, fem!reader, dubcon, smoking weed (implied), cheating, manhandling, size difference, slight pining, spanking, degradation, dry humping, vaginal sex, pet names (princess), hair pulling, he slaps u 🫶🏽 ++ squirting !

words: 1.5k

“What are you doing here?” you ask, attempting to close the door before he can come in. He smirks, managing to stick his foot between the door and the frame before you can shut it. “You can’t be here, Sukuna.”

He rolls his eyes, pushing his way inside and making himself at home. You lock the door quickly after him, standing with your arms folded as you watch him investigate your apartment. You can’t tell if he’s amused or disgusted, and it makes you wonder why he’s here at all.

“You really are a trust fund baby. Aren’t ya?” he smirks. “Here.”

Your eyes never leave him as he approaches your kitchen table, tossing a bag of weed down onto it. You stare, long enough for him to scoff as if insulted. And then you look at him, looking right back at you. There’s an expression of his face that you can’t quite read, and the silence between you builds and builds.

“What is this?” you ask.

“Weed. I thought you’d know that by now, you smoke enough of mine.” he says, it’s casual but not quite playful enough to be sincere. So you huff, folding your arms across your chest as you consider what to say next. “Don’t worry,” he starts.

“Well I am worried because you always want something from me when you give me weed.” you sigh. “Like a kiss or—”

“Heard you and Yuuji were arguing.” he interrupts you. “Thought you might need something to relax. I don’t have a motive… just trying to—”

“Trying to get your dick wet again, I’m not stupid.” you interrupt him right back. He looks at you, and this time you can read his expression clearly. There’s annoyance across his features plain as day, but you see traces of hurt, too.

Is it possible? Is it really possible for him to extend a kindness to you with no ulterior motive? It’s hard to believe. It’s hard to take seriously when you know the type of person he is. You don’t even really like each other. You’ve gone from hating each other to tolerating each other for Yuuji’s sake.

And still, you feel sorry for him.

He came all of this way, and you’ve hardly been a good host thus far. You sigh, sitting at the kitchen table. The weed must be his idea of a peace offering, so you shrug. He moves from leaning against the table to sitting on the seat opposite to you, watching you carefully as you decide what your next move is.

“I— I don’t even know how to roll.” you confess.

“… I can do it for you.”

Your laughter is infectious enough to make Sukuna laugh too. You’ve been watching old episodes of SpongeBob for an hour, and you can’t believe how long it’s been since you watched it. You always thought it was funny as a kid. But you hadn’t expected it to be even funnier as an adult.

But maybe you’re just high.

“Sukuna?” you say, it’s quiet in comparison to your laugh. But he hears it clear enough, looking down to where your head is rested in his lap. He nods to tell you to continue, but looking up at his harsh red eyes and chiselled jaw makes you nervous. “Why did you really come over?”

He clears his throat, taking a final drag of his blunt before stubbing it out in the nearby ashtray. His eyes can barely meet yours as he searches for the confidence to tell you the truth.

“I just wanted to see you.” he confesses.

You turn off the TV and sit upright. You’re sitting beside him, and now, he can’t take his eyes off you. A squeak leaves you as he dares to pull you closer to him, so close that you’re straddling him.

You hate yourself.

You want to kiss him.

He smirks at the little internal conflict that’s plastering itself across your face. His hands smooth up your sides, one travelling further to take a firm grasp of the back of your neck. His hold is strong, but not forceful. Just enough to keep you in place and maybe bring you closer to him and he leans in to kiss you.

And you let him.

Your lips lock and you moan as he helps you grind down onto his growing bulge. He smiles against your lips as your mouth opens just enough for him to slip you some tongue. A primal growl rips through him as he feels your warm, clothed cunt rub against him just right.

“Tell me you want this, princess.” he says quietly before kissing you again.

You don’t respond, focusing on kissing him back and getting yourself off like a horny teenager. Your hands cup his face, and you continue to roll your hips against him pathetically. Heavy breaths and wanton moans leave you as you proceed to chase the feeling and carry on giving Sukuna what he wants just as desperately.

You do want this.

Your pitiful display can attest to that.

His hands wander again to squeeze your ass, Sukuna’s own moaning at the mere feeling of your pussy soaking his sweats should be enough to make him feel ashamed. He doesn’t care, though. Not when your lips are on his and your entrance is just two layers of fabric away.

He rests his head on the back of the couch, allowing you the time to tell him. Really tell him how much you crave him.

But you don’t.

Not a single word.

His eyes grow darker, more impatient. Could he be wrong? The way you’re using him tells him otherwise, but he wants you to tell him. He needs you to. A hand spanks hard against your ass cheek before he moves it to slap you across the face.

And it shocks you.

His other hand wraps around your hair and forces you closer to him again. Noses almost touch as he looks at you like a meal to be devoured by an animal in the wild.

“Say you fucking need me, bitch.” he demands.

You can’t tell if you’re nodding on your own or if he’s doing it himself with your hair. But you crumble, for him. Spilling your desire and crumbling under his stare, admitting your deepest shame.

“I n-need you, Sukuna,” you bite your lip. “Please.”

He reaches under your skirt to move your panties aside. His patience is thin, he just wants to feel you. He quickly pulls his cock out from beneath his sweats, lining his thick tip up with your dripping hole.

“Fuck.” you gasp, eyes watering as he repeatedly dips in and out of you.

You screech as he forces you down on his length, and he grunts at the sensation of your cunt forcing itself to accommodate his girth. He’s loud, and he doesn’t care in the slightest. This is what he wanted all along.

This is always what he wants.

He helps you ride him, even fucking up into you shallowly to help hit the spongy spot deep inside that always makes you delirious. The spot only he can hit. Not some random guy. Not his little brother. Just him.

“That’s it, princess,” he praises you, noting by your pretty face and spasming cunt that you’re nearing your demise. He’s not much better, either, ready to coat your insides at any given second. He’s holding off, though. He needs you to cum first. “Let go, make a mess for daddy. Go on.”

“C-Can’t—” you tell him. The stretch is glorious and the feeling of his pretty tip battering your g-spot is perfection personified. But it’s too much. It’s too much to focus on and ground yourself to really enjoy and let yourself go. You’re struggling to take him. You can’t give him what he wants and—

He forces your little crop top up to rest beneath your collarbones, quickly sucking and kissing your nipples between his soft lips. His tongue laps at them. And God he’s wasted being a fucking drug dealer.

He should be a porn star.

He pulls away as you clamp around him, throwing your head back from the blissful feeling as your cunt soaks him. Your squirt all over him, turning light grey sweats dark as you almost scream through the feeling of your release.

The sight is more than enough to make him finish. His balls tighten and cum coats your insides as he finishes with you fully seated on his cock. Sukuna’s arms hug tightly around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he empties himself in your womb.

He slowly continues to make out with your tits when it’s over. His energy spent but still desperate to feel you, please you, hear you in any capacity. The overstimulation drives you wild, you do all you can do wriggle away but it’s hopeless.

Sukuna is stronger than you’ll ever be, and you’ve given him full control of your body.

© 2024 rinhaler

[drenched-in-sunlight]

i don’t think it’s talked about enough that the reason there’s a Godwyn ending where he becomes a Lord (not a God) is because symbolically, he was mirroring Godfrey in more than just name.

Godwyn’s alive body sprouting fish tail and scales isn’t just a random design choice, it’s a reference to Confucius' The Book of Rites, where it’s stated that the subjugation of the Four Divine Beasts will grant the person who tamed them different kind of control:

- Dragon -> control over animals with scales (specifically, FISH. See?)

- Qilin (Lion) -> control over beasts (think of how the Hornsent coveting the power of the Crucibles via the lion dance ritual. The “lion” in lion dance is Qilin in the native language of Asian countries that celebrate that tradition. And it’s why Godfrey’s symbol is a lion, why lion imagery plays such important role in Elden Ring world)

- Phoenix -> control over birds

- Turtle -> control over the heart of men (this might be a reach but Miquella’s connection to the Carian family and thus, the Turtle Pope could be a nice parallel to this)

in Godfrey’s cut dialogues, he said “Dearest Marika is precisely what I must take back” and “Dear Marika, do not fear. I am returned.”, and even without all that, The Talisman of Lord’s Bestowal stated that Godfrey accepted his duty without any sign of wavering, even taking Serosh upon his back so he could conduct himself as a Lord worthy of her. Bro, he loves that girl, he passed Messmer’s vibe check with flying colors.

For Godwyn to be a fruit of such a loving union, i do think Godfrey instilled in him a sense of duty to protect his Mother, and there’s his own love and devotion to her as well. Leyndell Knights all use Dragon Cult incantations and buffs - the kind of power that is only available to them because Godwyn befriended Fortissax (which is why i said that move has an ulterior motive to it).

All of that brings me to this main point I’m trying to make: does Godwyn really that devoid of agency?

I see it’s a popular interpretation in the fandom that oh Godwyn was just a symbol, he had no voice, we never knew what he wanted, etc etc… Do we really not know though?

Sorry for slapping another fandom on this, but this is really relevant to my understanding of Elden Ring as a story, even with the base written by a Western author, was developed by a Japanese team of storytellers and designers:

The concept of soul - body and body snatching etc etc exists a lot in Asian media, and there’s always a general consensus that the body remembers even as the soul perishes. What is Godwyn’s body is doing? The game specifically states that his body is alive. He only perishes in soul.

He was infesting the Erdtree’s roots, spreading Death around like free real estate. If he wanted to let go of life, of his Mother, his body should have just let go on its own. But no, he was tenaciously clinging to the Erdtree, to Marika.

Even Fortissax remembrance stated that despite its best effort, it could not fight back the Death within its friend. If Godwyn really, truly wanted to embrace a true death, would his body just let Fortissax fight alone in an uphill battle like that?

Then there is the DLC revealed that Godwyn’s personal knights were in LoS to find and guard his cadaver surrogate, specifically for the Age of the Duskborn. Their helm stated that their loyalty to him is unbroken. So will they just go and do something that their Master would not want?

These Knights are literally an elite circle that was bestowed the most precious of jewels in Godfrey’s time (the +3 medallions), they aren’t merely good, they are the very best. They are Godwyn’s inner circle the same way the Fire Knights are said to be the ones who know Messmer best.

Even if you think Fia and Those Who Lived in Death were just taking advantage of Godwyn’s death… her endgame goal technically did not even succeed. She wanted to be Mother to TWLiD, but the ending very much shows that the Mending Rune was returned to Marika’s womb. It’s her who would birth Godwyn a second life, so the True Mother™ to TWLiD… would actually be Marika 💀

Like, am i the only one who saw this as some real crazy 4D chess Uno reverse move from Godwyn? Oh these ppl wanted to get rid of him then took advantage of his body? Fine, he would take that challenge and run a mile with it. If Age of Duskborn came, it meant Ranni didn’t succeed, Fia didn’t actually get to be Mother of TWLiD, Death - the very thing that Marika tried to seal, would now be something within her control, because Godwyn is its Lord now. Exactly like how the Dragons’ power became something wielded in Marika’s favor in the end. Thanks to him.

In the Duskborn ending, bro, the God would still be Marika. It’s the only possible new Age involving a demigod that doesn’t get rid of her. Even if it utilize heretical powers to get there.

And the crazier thing? This is not the first time Fromsoft did this, btw.

[seat-safety-switch]

You ever seen a dog get real upset at another dog? I have, and it always perplexes me. After decades of study into dogs, here's what I think is going on. While regular humans are unknowable and vaguely enjoyable on average, a dog knows exactly what that other mutt is up to. Probably wants to steal his Snausages®.

It is for this reason that I am suspicious of my fellow junkyard denizens. There is a strange sense of competition, even when it is obvious that the other guy is not even there for the same brand you are. After all, if you give him a tip that a certain generation of Honda ECU is valuable, maybe he'll pull them all and put them on eBay when you're not looking. You can't be sure.

My rational mind (small as it is) knows that this is capitalist nonsense, a false scarcity. There are more of these ECUs left in existence than can ever possibly be demanded, even if every car pervert in the world suddenly switched to desiring this generation of Prelude. Some dude in Iowa probably has a cornfield full of them, and yet we are divided, out of fear that we might not be able to fill an entire trunk with these precious parts. And that's just the ECU: who knows what's expensive and hard-to-find in, say, this Suzuki? The Suzuki guys won't tell me, they're too suspicious of my ulterior motives. Their Snausages® are under threat at all times.

How do we break out of this loop, so that the freaks hanging out at the junkyard can at last be friends? Our bitter rivalry must come to an end if we are to confront our true enemy, the guy who decides how much road salt to use in the winter. And once he's gone, there will be low-mileage, rust-free shitboxes aplenty, ideally only with a little bit of damage on the tail lights. I got a lot of those in my basement, because some idiot once told me that they fetch a pretty penny on eBay around January.

[revelboo]

The speed in which you crank out fics is concerning. Like, I appreciate it WHOLLY, but are you good? R u ok?

Rest is overrated, I run on stress and coffee. Yes, I’m good. I can write short form like this pretty quickly if I’m not at work or busy.

Humans Are Weird/Cute Headcanons

Humans elicit one of two reactions in Cybertronians. It’s not like they haven’t seen organic life before, but the fact that we look vaguely like most Cybertronians in form? Our faces, our body shapes, two legs and two arms just like them? It either creates an unconscious association that we look like tiny, organic Cybertronians or that the similarities are just unsettling. Compounding it is the way we move, the gestures we use that are so eerily like their own. To make it worse, we’re just so helpless compared to them. Fragile. There’s a tendency to react to us like we would a newborn kitten. And for that protectiveness to eventually slide into possessiveness.

TFP Knockout

• Primus. The first time he saw you in full racing leathers, boots, gloves, and that helmet, he just stopped short in surprise. Thinks of the rare times he’d seen minicons and how you look like one instead of just another squishy, little human. And while he’d initially just been invested in figuring out how an inferior, little human beat him in a race, it doesn’t take long for him to start looking forward to those almost nightly meetings. It becomes less about winning and more about the bull session between you two after. Enjoying when you stand up to him, argue with him, even though you must realize he could hurt you so easily if he wanted to.

IDW Bumblebee

• It’s honestly such a pleasant surprise how tactile humans are. You seem to have no sense of personal space and he loves it, because it’s less lonely when you’re near. You don’t mind being picked up and carried, your little frame so warm in his hands or cradled against him. Always so curious, your little hands exploring his servos, while you smile to yourself. Then holding out your own hands so he can carefully manipulate them with a single servo. It’s like a game between you, showing off your little, blunt teeth so he will bare his denta for you as you sit on his thigh.

IDW Bluestreak

• Knows he can be a bit annoying to some bots, but you never seem bothered by his chatter. Actually asking him questions, interacting and it means so much to him when you stretch out against him, laying a cheek on him to listen to the sound of his voice rumbling through you. Liking it when he talks, wanting to be near him. The big surprise, though? How protective you are of him, not even thinking twice about throwing a shoe at Sunny for making a rude comment aimed at him, your little face red as you snarl at the much bigger bot, who’s too shocked at the outburst to respond.

IDW Starscream

• Having so little to call his own, he’s extremely possessive of you. It doesn’t hurt that you’re always happy to see him, greeting him when he returns from patrol, fussing over his injuries like you’re trying to take care of him. No conniving or plotting in you and no ulterior motives for seeking out his company. Aside from leeching body heat, and he hardly minds that, enjoys the feel of you sprawled against him, the peaceful silence.

TFP Soundwave

• Even though he initially took you because of the effect your strange organic thoughts have on him to try and understand why he can’t shut you out, it’s impossible to stay impartial. Every day he tries to inoculate himself against your thoughts, strengthening that connection through touch. And when you start reaching for him in return it’s a surprise. Eventually you sing for him not because he asked you to in an effort to distract you and focus your thoughts on something so they’re less painful to him, but because you want to. Because you think it makes him happy and it does.

ES Megatron

• He’d never paid much attention to humans until he’d met Dorothy, he’d fought alongside her and suddenly humanity wasn’t just something vaguely annoying getting in his way, under ped. It’s harder to not care after getting to know humans. Harder to not be overprotective about you after making it his mission to look after you. And maybe he’s a bit overzealous about it, because you’re not Dorothy. She can stand on her own and take care of herself, but you? You need him.

IDW Optimus

• He’s so used to being bigger than most Autobots. Of being looked up to, but you’re even tinier than they are. Small enough to carry in one hand even though he’s awkward about asking you to let him carry you at first. But after the spark twisting anxiety of watching you walking where bigger Cybertronians are walking? Seeing it not even occur to you that you might get stepped on? He insists on carrying you for your own safety, though, truth be told, he enjoys the feel of you in his servos, that little bemused smile you aim at him.

IDW Thundercracker

• He feels guilty sometimes about taking you, but it’s for the best even if you’re upset now. He’s seen enough movies to know how to coax you, win you over. He became obsessed with human love stories, the drama and romance. And he wants that for himself. Needs it. So he tries different tactics, little gifts and acts meant to convince you to love him. It’s so easy in the movies.

TFP Megatron

• The game you two play has become something of a guilty pleasure of his. Watching you pretend. Pushing you to see how far you’ll allow before you snap at him. Pretending you aren’t scared of him, though he’s seen the fear in your eyes once or twice and while it had amused him at first, he prefers you snarling back at him, all attitude. Your fear twists unpleasantly through him, but that angry defiance? So lovely.

IDW Soundwave

• He never meant to get so attached to you after he’d found you in Starscream’s quarters that day. You’re just so small and you’d looked at him in fear, your wild emotions almost crippling him since he couldn’t shut it out. Even after you calmed, days later, he finds himself reaching out a thought. Finding you and monitoring you from a distance. Again and again until he’d finally had to check on you in person again. After all, what did Starscream really know about caring for anyone, let alone a human. And that hesitant, little smile had warmed him when you’d looked up at him.

IDW Jazz

• The fact that you can see through his lies and will call him out on it? It’s a surprise and a relief. Letting down his defenses, letting you in takes time. He’s worn that smiling, carefree mask for so long. But he slowly lets it fall away when it’s just the two of you, feeling the absence of that weight he’d carried for so long. Getting to know who he is under the facade.

IDW Prowl

• Has to protect you since you don’t seem to understand just how small and delicate you are. Standing up to him and any other bot with zero fear. Something about that reckless anger calls to him. Around the other Autobots, he has to be the one in control, the one with a plan no matter what. Never allowed to falter or hesitate. You spark his own temper, making it easier to drop the act. Be frustrated or angry when it’s just you two. Be real.

[feirceangel]

Imagine | Dance (Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen)

Imagine Feyd attending a ball and being bored to tears until you appear in the crowd.

A/n- thanks to everyone who read and supported my other Feyd fic!! I hope you all enjoy this one too :)

Word Count: 1,353

Warnings: none

The ballroom is overrun with diplomats and politicians. All dressed up in their very best attire, each one is hoping to impress those richer and more influential than themselves.

Feyd observes with a bored demeanour, swirling the blood red wine in his goblet. He’s leaning against a white pillar, staring out at the people with keen dark eyes.

A celebration of this degree isn’t something to be missed, his Uncle had said, insisting on his attendance.

So he attends, although he is bored from the lack of any meaningful conversations or actions. The feast was the best part, his favourite piece a bloody rare steak that practically melted in his mouth.

No one has come to speak with him out of a desire to just chat. No, each person who spoke had an ulterior motive and fear in their eyes. They want to be on the Harkonnen’s good side, lest they become victims instead. So, they chat about inconsequential things, all the while their hands shake and betray their frayed nerves.

Feyd found it amusing at first, but has since grown tired of it. These fickle politics and the endless pursuit of money. Money and power make this universe worth living in.

Music begins to play, a sensual drum beat joined by the strumming of string instruments and an angelic vocalizer. The sea of mingling people part as they allow the dancers the necessary space to move.

Feyd’s lips curl as he watches people join in the dance, the ballroom finally used for its original purpose.

People in skin tight dresses, fashionable suits, those showing too much skin, some showing none- the room is flooded with a menagerie of humans.

Each one is dancing with a partner, bending and swaying to the rhythm. All accept one.

He watches her move in perfect synchronization with the lilting music, lifting her arms high in the air. She avoids the stuffy aristocratic dancers who hardly allow the music to carry them.

She looks like a woman possessed. As if the melody has taken root deep within her and bids her to perform a marvellous spell.

It must be a spell, for he finds himself bewitched.

No one else has captured his attention so profoundly this whole event. He hasn’t even spoken with her yet and oh how he wishes too.

He must.

Feyd has never before desired to dance. Not unless it was the dance of battle, of blades clashing and blood dripping.

You have changed that.

As he watches you deftly twirling and clapping gently to the song, he cannot stop his body from acting on its own accord.

And Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, fearsome warrior, finds himself pushing through the crowd to join you in your hypnotic dance.

You notice when the handsome stranger leaves his spot by the pillar, his eyes fixated only on you. You’re not sure how to feel.

During the dinner, you had walked by him on the way to your designated place. You’re from a minor house, not fit to sit with the guests from the major ones. Not that you minded, it’s always been this way.

He had caught your attention immediately. Brooding and gorgeous, with full, sensual lips and the palest skin you’ve ever seen, how could you resist admiring him?

He hadn’t noticed you then.

He notices you now.

A soft smile graces your lips as he reaches you, dark eyes boring into yours. You stop as he reaches out a sculpted hand.

You take it.

His hand is warm, and you can sense the strength hiding just beneath his skin. This man is dangerous, you realized that when you first spotted him.

To your surprise, he is an excellent dancer, leading you in perfect harmony to the music. You can barely hear the music over the pounding of your heart.

This wasn’t what you expected.

“You are a wonderful dancer,” you whisper once you’re close enough to hear each other.

His smirk is prideful, “A fighter must be lithe and nimble, my lady.”

His voice is raspy, deep. Again, you are taken by surprise.

“You must be an excellent warrior too.”

You spin around, his hand guiding you. He has dropped his smile, replaced it with a predatory look reminiscent of a hungry panther.

“The best,” he replies, supporting your back as he dips you downwards.

The other dancers seem to fade away as you dance with him, this frightening stranger. His touches are like a fire unto you, his gaze a steady burning.

He dances as if it’s a battle of dominance. He leads without hesitation, and you answer with the fluidity and grace befitting a lady.

It’s exhilarating.

And it’s gone too soon as the music dies down and the other clap for the musicians.

Breathing heavily, you simply stare at this man who joined you in rapturous movement, not wanting it to end.

He hasn’t let go of your hand.

You don’t want him to.

“What’s your name?” You ask before he can slip away and disappear forever. If he did, you’d at least want to remember his name.

He smirks, “You don’t know me?”

“No, or I would not have asked,” you point out.

He chuckles, revealing blacked teeth, “I am na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, my lady.”

You blink at this revelation. You’ve never met a Harkonnen before, let alone a such a high ranking one.

Feyd expects you to recoil in fright, surely knowing the brutality his house is known for. He is taken aback when you smile.

“I am pleased to meet you,” you in line your head slightly as you supply your own name.

He realizes his hand is still clasping yours and that you don’t seem to mind it one bit. Feyd gently tugs you towards him, “Come, it is too crowded here.”

Perhaps foolishly, you allow yourself to be led away from the ballroom and into a quiet hall.

It’s late, and you can see the stars through the sheer curtains of the hallway.

“Are you enjoying the festivities? You seemed unhappy,” you ask. “I saw you by the pillar.”

“I was bored,” he admits without care. “Before the dance.”

“And now?”

“And now I have welcome company and my boredom has fled in the wake of your beauty.”

He traces a hand, still so warm, down your cheek. You bask in the attention, wondering if this is all a dream you’ll wake from in a moment.

Feyd’s hand goes lower, until it grasps around your neck and tightens. Not enough to cause damage, but enough to still your breathing. With his grip tight, he pulls you forward and kisses you deeply.

It’s intoxicating.

He kisses like he dances, dominating and alluring. You bring your hands up to grip his shoulders as he continues his assault on your senses.

“Everything was dull until you danced into my sight,” he rasps as you catch your breath. “I’ve never seen such a vision.”

“I have never seen a man like you,” you confess, resting a hand on his chest. “You have such intensity…”

“Does it frighten you?”

“No, no it thrills me, my lord.”

The way those words roll off your tongue has Feyd hooked, his mouth latching onto your neck as he cups your face with one hand.

“Do you know what I’ve done?” He asks, unsure why he’s asking.

“I know you’ve danced beautifully,” you smile. “And I know your touch feels electrifying. And I know you’re going to take me into an empty room.”

You withdraw from him slightly, awestruck at the hunger in his eyes.

“And what happens then?”

He retakes your hand, not too gently this time, and practically drags you to the nearest room, slamming the pen the door.

Luckily, no one is in there.

“You know what happens next,” you say, already stripping him of his fine shirt before doing the same to yourself.

Feyd is glad he decided to come to this festival, thanking his lucky stars as he stares in awe at your beauty.

He wonders if you make love as spellbindingly as you dance.

He’ll soon find out.

[simp4konig]

I'm so normal about Nikto rn

Mildly nsfw?? Idk just a heads up

But just

Nikto, gripping her hips, thinking to himself: She's just being friendly- she's just being friendly- think pure thoughts

Y/N, sitting on his lap and holding his face hostage between her titties, thinking to herself: I wonder when he's gonna make the first move... do I have to make it if he doesn't? Oh my god what if I've been reading him wrong all along and he doesn't even like me??

Nikto: Well, maybe I am obsessed with you

Y/N: Well, maybe I like that :lipbite:

Flirtatious Reader x ...Dense? Nikto

Fem! Reader coded, BUT it can be viewed as gender-neutral if you squint. 🩷💟💜

Word Count: 2237

🪼

Reader is addressed as "You". No Y/N used.

May be self-indulgent. May be a projection of my own feelings. Oops. 🙊

Please read the * at the end of the post for my clarification 💙🩵🤍.

Edit: Minor typos. I fucking hate EVERYTHING!!!

❗SUGGESTIVE CONTENT AND SOME DISTURBING IMAGERY BELOW THE CUT ❗ (No sex nor anything overly grotesque, but includes some descriptions of both). Readers are warned for suggestive content.

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Well.

The title is perhaps a teeny, weeny little tiny bit misleading 🤏…

…

…Who am I kidding 💀,, it's as misleading as it gets LMAO

Because let's not kid ourselves here: Nikto is NOT "dense", NOT an "oblivious" man, NOR is he the type to be misinformed about someone's objective[s].

Nikto is a perceptive man — he's interrogated enough people to know what makes them tick, to distinguish lie from truth.

If somebody's intentions aren't innocent and they have ulterior motives, Nikto is always the first to know; it's his job to be informed, after all.

Hence, he notices the intonations of someone's voice growing or lowering, the imperceptible change in pitch, their nervous stutter as they unconvincingly concoct a lie, how their testimony does not align with the facts, and how they've suddenly become fidgety and shift from his scrutiny...

Hence, he recognises the subtle shifts in someone's facial expressions, can read between the lines of their non-verbal gestures, their change in behaviour, their overall unease expressed without them realising it, how they're giving themselves away no matter what they say…

Hence, he takes notices the way that someone fiddles agitatedly with something in their hands, how they pick at their nails in an almost panicked way or dig their fingernails into the skin of their palms, how they're biting their bottom lip or chewing on their cheek, how their smile is lopsided and doesn't quite reach their eyes, how they avert their gaze…

Nikto is anything but perceptive. He isn't oblivious — not "ignorant", not "unaware", and certainly not "stupid", or any other words synonymous with the previous — especially when it regards what people think of him.

How people think that he's disgusting.

How everyone avoids him like the Black Death, as if he's diseased and close proximity could kill you. As if his disfigurements were contagious, and the best bet would be to stay far, far away from the diseased.

Therefore, he's not oblivious that the words which you would whisper into the brocoli ears obscured by his mask are innuendo for something for more; he's not oblivious of the sexual nature of your hands absentmindedly caressing his lower abdomen, simply inches from his clothed crotch; he's not oblivious that your touches are quite risqué, that you would provoke him on purpose, that you would sit directly on his lap and feign innocence as you would flutter your eyelashes and smile ever so sweetly.

Nikto is perceptive. Very perceptive. And he's certainly not stupid...

...they just don't perceive your flirtatious actions as anything other than some joke.

So, he has rationalised your flirtatious behaviour as friendliness. As how you express your personal affection. Or, affectations.

Whatever it is that you're expressing, it must be a joke. Surely.

Since you're the Beauty, he's the Beast. But, unlike the Beast, he is a monster which cannot be redeemed. He's been cursed to suffer mortal purgatory, while immortal, demonic voices haunt him every hour, every minute, every second of every day. It's torture.

And you want to torture him some more by tormenting him with your unashamedly forward displays, your devilish seduction, tempting him into finally taking what he's been desiring ever since you arrived in his life.

How could you want him? Do you even want him?

No. You don't. There is no way that you do.

Because he's not talkative like some of the other operators, not hilarious like the colleagues who make you laugh, not affectionate like a lover could, not good company, not a good person as a whole.

He's introverted to a concerning amount, so silent that sometimes he appears deceased as he lies next to you on the nights you come over.

Maybe it all used to come naturally to him, but it's a struggle to feign his role as a functioning human being, so to actually be one? Sometimes he questions if he's more monster than man, as that role seems to be effortless.

Perhaps this is all some heartless idea of a practical joke, some sort of sick sense of satisfaction arising in you to toy with Nikto's emotions. And, like a child bored of that toy, discard it in favour of a newer, better, prettier one.

Why would you want to be around him? What is there to like? Is there even anything to like?

Nothing. Nothing at all.

Because what's there to like? Frankly, if he doesn't like himself — or selves — then how could he expect you to like him? All of him? Them?

This isn't affection, he would tell himself; either it's disingenuous and forced, or you're faking it for your own amusement.

Or... maybe it is genuine, and it isn't fake... but it's all an act of pity, since you feel sympathy for the lonely outcast and have some sort of strange moral obligation to a lunatic as fucked-up, ugly, and disfigured as him, whose been unable to have a meaningful relationship — platonic or otherwise — in years.

Especially right now, with you straddling his lap and cradling his masked face in between your breasts, he still can't wrap his head around it, and it's all incomprehensible.

At times, Nikto has considered that he's overthinking it, and that you have no ill intentions, and you're just innocent and clueless with how much you affect him.

And it would have been endearing if it wasn't so fucking frustrating.

With that in mind, for him to make the first move and jeopardise what he thought you thought was a strictly platonic friendship? He couldn't be more sorry, and would leave you alone forever and never speak to you again, even if it was physically painful and equivalent to ripping his own heart out and squeezing it until its contents popped — just for the pain and the heartache to go away forever.

...

Seriously. It's so fucking frustrating, and it's as if he's being wilfully ignorant or something, and doing it on fucking purpose.

He's delusional, yes, and you've always acknowledged the fact that more than a few screws were loose, but the entire mechanism, but it pisses you off that he continues to delude himself, rather than accept that your affection is genuine, and not some cruel joke.

You don't get bored of him, and won't. Ever.

Yes, he's not talkative, but you find solace in presence and relish the peace and quiet; yes, his sense of humour is nonexistent, but you don't need to be laughing when he still brings a loving smile to your lips; yes, he's introverted, but does that really matter? To you, you being the exception to his isolation is worth everything.

Do you care that he's not a good person? No. To some extent, neither are you — you're no saint yourself. Nikto's morals may not be grey, but smudged entirely, and his methods questionable…

…and? You don't have it in you to care. Because it has reached a point where Nikto genuinely cares for you, and you likewise for him, and his actions demonstrated what he could never convey through words; that he would never, ever hurt you. And that's enough.

As for him not being naturally affectionate?

Well. You've tried everything: guiding his hands onto your hips; sitting in his lap and straddling his lower half, arms around his neck; hell, even flashed your tits under the guise of the clasp of your unintentionally becoming undone, and, oh, could you please do it for me, Nikto? You aren't bothered by the nudity? Sorry. That was just a wardrobe mishap. You don't mind, right? You can touch all you like, because I don't mind.

But he doesn't respond. Doesn't fucking do anything. Just has his shoulders tense and arms loose by his sides, not reciprocating any touch, not touching you unless you give him permission, as if he's been lobotomised and can only take explicit orders.

You're exasperated. It's exhausting.

But how much more goddamn obvious can you be? What will it take for him to open his eyes and see that this isn't a game to you? That you're willingly giving yourself to him, because you want to? Because you want him?

And, yes, his hands twitch with the gnawing itch to touch you; his body shakes with anticipation, antsy; his shoulders are tense, back straight as a plank, muscles flexing with restraint; and, of course, he's so fucking hard that he's almost nauseous.

But will he dare misinterpret your suggestive behaviour as anything more than flirtation, teasing, and risk jeopardising his whole friendship with his one and only friend? No. Not a fucking chance.

One of these days, you swore, you were going to tear off his mask clean off his face and grab his jaw to roughly kiss him on his scarred, mishapen, and malnourished lips, only pulling away when neither of you can breathe, then look him dead in those steel blue eyes and confess that you don't give a shit what, who, or why he is, only that you want him, uncaring of the whats, the whos, and the whys — especially the "whos".

No amount of initiating physical contact could entice him to touch you. You were at wits' end.

One of those days came; and that day was today, as you two were lounging on the bed, with your arms wrapped around his neck and legs straddling his lap.

Sheepishly, you untangle your limbs from around his, and crawl to sit beside him, legs tucked up to your chest and arms wrapping themselves around your knees pitifully if it wasn't for the fire in your eyes.

"...Nikto."

Nikto's back straightens at the speed of light at your tone of voice.

...Oh. Oh God.

This is it, he thinks. This is the day where everything ends. Eventhough you're his everything and that without you he'll be nothing, you're going to tell him to go, to get off you, because you've realised that he isn't worthy of your time or your company. Or maybe you've discovered his obsession — you — and the shrine he keeps of your stolen "lost" possessions and prays to it as if by an altar, how he would worship the ground you work on if it wasn't so conspicuous, how you're the only reason he hasn't given up and put a bullet straight through his own skull so the voices shut up once and for all and—

"Do... you even like me?"

...What.

What.

What?!

Like you? Are you serious?!

He doesn't like you! He couldn't ever like you!

He adores you! Loves you! Worships you! But even then, no synonyms of these words would sufficiently convey his adoration, his unconditional love, his devotion. Would kneeling by your knees and ripping his beating heart out be enough? It still wouldn't. So he won't... mostly for your sake.

Struck dumb, dumbfounded, and utterly confused, he stares at you, his bloodshot steel blue eyes unblinking. Since he can see how your eyes are glistening, he's willing tears on your behalf, just so tears don't stain that pretty face.

Eventually, he says with complete certainty: "...Like would be putting it lightly."

"Then..."

You sniff, and Nikto flinches, but he otherwise remains stiff, not wanting to touch you and make your state worse.

"...then why won't you touch me? Don't you... find me attractive?"

Instantly, he states: "Because the touch of our hands would insult your body."

"You've... you've got to be fucking joking."

"No."

"Is... i-is this some— some kind of fucking joke?"

"...No."

Sadness dissipating, it transforms into incredulity, until you almost laugh. This is unbelievable. It would be endearing if it wasn't so fucking frustrating. You don't know if you want to punch him or kiss him.

"Nikto. Nikto Nikto Nikto. For crying out loud — I WANT you to touch me."

"We're… I'm fucked up. You should have... better."

"Haven't you ever considered that I like my man fucked up?"

Oh God.

Man. Not men. Man.

“You... still should have better.”

You snort in amusement. "What, someone more fucked up than you?"

You roll your eyes, almost out of boredom, but you don't miss how his fists clench, blood boiling as he's silently seething at the mere idea of someone else stealing you. Having you.

“Better is not an option. From my eyes, you're the best man for me out there.”

A wheeze leaves his broken vocal cords — a poor imitation of a human laugh.

But it wasn't a laugh. He isn't laughing. Miraculously, tears collect at the corners of his dehydrated eyes, and he thinks that he might cry.

His voice cracks as he asks uncertainly: “...Best?”

“The very best," you affirm with a smile.

He must be dreaming. This is all a dream. It's everything that he's been dreaming about. Maybe he's dreaming right now, and he'll wake up in a cold bed. Alone.

“Well… maybe I am obsessed with you."

"Maybe?"

"...I am obsessed with you."

"Okay."

"Maybe... we're so possessive that we'll never let you go. Never."

"Never?"

"Never."

“Well,” you begin, clucking your tongue, as if chastising him with the "tsk". “Maybe I like that. Maybe I like being wanted like that.”

"...You won't."

"I do. Otherwise, I wouldn't have even entertained the idea of being around you. If I was a rational person, I'd have ran for the hills. But? I'm not."

"..."

"Now touch me already," you say, unceremoniously snatching his idle hands and guiding them onto your body. "I'm yours. Don't wait for permission like some fucking dog."

You don't have to tell him twice.

"Yes."

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*imma b real w u guys, i had no fucking idea what to name this: ...Oblivious Nikto? ...Ignorant Nikto? ...Delusional Nikto? ...Unaware Nikto?... eventually I settled with "dense", tho i STILL don't know if that's suitable?????

Anyways... sorry for the sort of misleading title??? It was not intentional 🥲. The only reason that it's addressed at the beginning is because I didn't want any misconceptions about what I think of Nikto. No, he is not oblivious, as I gone above and beyond to clarify at the start. 😭

A/N:

To 🪼 anon sending me the asks: I love you. And I love you. Did I mention that I love you? Because I love you. 💫💖✨💖✨🧡🧡💫💖✨💖✨🧡🧡🧡💖✨💖✨💖🧡🧡✨✨✨ (im the monster under your bed, but instead of scaring you, i hold your hand at night 😈... I LOVE UUU/!!!!!!!! 🧡🧡🧡💖✨✨✨💫💖🧡🧡💫✨💫 DONT THINK THAT I DONT SEE YOU 👿👿👿!!!! ggRRGRHGKG FROM NOW ON ALL OF MY NIKTO WORKS ARE A PERSONAL TRIBUTE TO U IDONT EVEN CARE ANYMORE)

Random notes:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO NIKTO, THE UGLY UGLY UGLY MOTHERFUCKER!!!! 🎉🎉🎉🎊🎉🎊🎊🎊🎊🎁🎁🎁🎂🎁🎁🎉🎊🎊🎉🎊🎊🎊🎊🎉 (yes his bd is tomorrow but i dont CARE!!!!!!)

Nikto and I are both Libras... 😳 OMgogmgomg we are DESTINED to be together!!! 🫣🫣😫💦💦💦💦💧🌊1!1!1!1!!!!! GUys IT WAS FATE! 1!1!1!!!!1!!!!!!!! /j

Ok but /srs, got the Ghostrunner 2 Endless Moto DLC for my birthday and ive never been happier omg 🥹 (going to replay the whole game all over again lmao 💀)

Lastly? Um. I love you all!!! Thanks for 750+ followers???+@?! When did THAT happen? @?!@??????!?? 😭😭😭💫💫💫💫 THANK YOUUU 🫶🫶🫶🫶💖💖💖💖

[trianglesimpfordpines]

you see the thing about ford is that he doesn't necessarily believe he is better than everyone. he believes he has to be better than everyone. and the fact that he holds himself to such a ridiculously high standard is arrogant in the sense that obviously he wouldn't be holding himself to a higher standard if he didn't see himself as more capable, but it gets realized more often as self-loathing than self-aggrandizing.

notice how when ford pushes people away, his reasoning is almost always doubt that they genuinely want him around. he starts with "there's no way this person is actually just being nice and enjoying my company, they must want something, they must have ulterior motives," and then moves on to "they'll just drag me down anyway, i don't need them, i don't need anyone."

and how he makes excuses to spend time with his family. the cycloptopus. fixing the light. the apprenticeship. bill's funeral. clearing up the aftermath of weirdmageddon. if ford isolates himself because he thinks other people aren't worth his time, why does his behavior suggest it's the other way around? shouldn't he be prancing around like the other pineses should be grateful for his presence? why would someone who isolates himself out of a (real) belief in his own superiority feel the need to overcompensate like that?

it's like that post where it's like....he would fucking say that but he would say it as part of a façade that he obviously doesn't actually believe and you guys are interpreting it way too unironic and genuine. ford thinks the only options are that he's isolated either because he's above society Or he's isolated because he's unworthy to be included in society so of course he'd rather tell himself it's the first one.

[psuedosugu]

Ohhhh my golly I saw your Vox x daughter reader an it got me thinking now HEAR ME OUT….what if reader got bored on day an just went for a walk and somehow came across Alastor, now let’s say Alastor’s a lil confused like he never knew Vox had a daughter and readers like *sad sigh* “I’d be surprised if anyone knew” an Alastors all fatherly to her at first it was to get dirt on Vox without reader realizing but in the end he just liked hanging out with her. Eventually Vox noticed how his daughter is gone half the time but reader just convinces her dad that she’s always home and how HES the one always away. Change the ending how you see fit or do whatever you like but UGH I love your writing stay hydrated and eat wellll🩵

assjjjkkj thank youuu the amount of feedback ive gotten on this acc that ive only been posting on for like 3 days is insane, anyways this is such an interesting idea omgee

cw: reader having some emotionally absent daddy issues

fem reader

pt 1 here

ִֶָ 𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆★⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

͙͘͡★ || so you had just gone out on an innocent walk, right?

͙͘͡★ || well, technically snuck out since your dad doesn’t like you going out by yourself.

͙͘͡★ || theres bad people out there! what if you got kidnapped or something?

͙͘͡★ || no one recognizes you, of course, since he doesn’t really talk about you let alone shows you to the public.

͙͘͡★ || you appreciate him for that, you guess, it must be annoying to not be able to go anywhere without a bunch of microphones in your face.

͙͘͡★ || you just wish he was around more! he barely makes any time for you and yeah, his work is super important and time consuming but you’re his daughter!

͙͘͡★ || lost in thought, you bump into a dude in the sidewalk.

͙͘͡★ || “whoops! excuse me, ma’am!”, he says in a weird, static-ish voice.

͙͘͡★ || your skeleton almost jumps out of your skin when you look up.

͙͘͡★ || the radio demon, the guy that your dad has had beef with since you were little

͙͘͡★ || you just stare at him with a “ :o “ look on your face, not knowing if you should run or not.

“little girl, are you, um, alright?” he stares down at you, slightly confused.

“im…uhhh…im okay!”

“you’ve heard of me, i suppose.”

“i guess…. my dad doesn’t really like you.”

“and who might your father be, hm?”

“yk the tv dude? the one thats, like, everywhere? yeah, that him.”

“hmm…interesting…i wasn’t aware he had a daughter…”

“well, he doesn’t really talk about…..”

͙͘͡★ || at this point you stop blabbing mid sentence, realizing you probably shouldn’t have said all of that to his sworn enemy.

͙͘͡★ || what if he does kidnap you and holds you for ransom?

͙͘͡★ || but he doesn’t do that, surprisingly.

͙͘͡★ || he asks you why you’re out alone so late and you shrug, saying that your dad wasn’t really there to stop you.

͙͘͡★ || you were naive and alastor was planning to use that to his advantage, not to hurt you, but to hurt vox.

͙͘͡★ || what would he think when he found out that his own daughter was buddy-buddy with his sworn enemy?

͙͘͡★ || he’d feel like a failure of a father, and thats what alastor wanted, to get under his skin.

͙͘͡★ || you guys walked while you told him everything, about him being away all the time, about you feeling lonely, while he nodded along

͙͘͡★ || you guys even stopped at one of those old timey bar places and bought you a milkshake!

͙͘͡★ || eventually you headed home, your dad hadn’t noticed you had been gone which figures.

͙͘͡★ || this became routine, you hung out with alastor and he gave you advice and stuff. you thought that if he had an ulterior motive it would’ve shown itself by now but no, it hadn’t.

͙͘͡★ || alastor himself had started to forget why he had even started all of this. he found himself enjoying your company and actually caring about you.

͙͘͡★ || after a while vox started to notice that he’s been seeing you less than he usually does.

͙͘͡★ || i mean, the tower is big but cmon! there were days where he would barely see you at all! where were you going?

͙͘͡★ || he confronted you about it at dinner one day.

“[name], dearest, i cant help but notice that i haven’t been seeing you around much lately. what’ve you been up to?”

͙͘͡★ || you pause, looking up from your food.

“i, um, dont know what you’re talking about.”

͙͘͡★ || he furrows his (virtual) eyebrows.

“is that so?”

“mhm!”

͙͘͡★ || vox is reasonably skeptical and resorts to spying on you through your smartwatch because of course you have a voxtech branded smartwatch!

͙͘͡★ || hes absolutely livid when he finds out who you’ve been sneaking out to be with and he’s waiting for you when you get home.

͙͘͡★ || you’re indefinitely grounded until he says so and he starts tracking where you go in the tower.

͙͘͡★ || he knows that its a violation of privacy and stuff but dont you see that he’s trying to protect you? alastor is dangerous! he doesn’t get how you didn’t see it earlier.

͙͘͡★ || alastor does succeed on what he set out to do, though. vox is distraught, feeling like a horrible father. he even vents to valentino about it out of all the people!

“-i mean, what kind of father doesn’t even notice their own child sneaking out in broad daylight every day? i should’ve paid more attention to her, im a failure!”

“mhm….yeah….”

͙͘͡★ || val obviously doesn’t give a shit.

͙͘͡★ || after not bumping into you for a while and seeing the up in vox slandering him online, alastor figures what happened.

͙͘͡★ || he’s glad that he succeeded in his mission to bother vox further but does miss talking to you.

͙͘͡★ || vox does vow to make more time for you and be a more attentive dad, so i guess some good comes out of this.

ִֶָ 𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆★⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

i do requests!

check out my masterlist!

[captain-joongz]

i shared one for BTS, so now here comes ATZ! the second night of hard hours is here <3 enjoy yourselves! inbox is open, come talk <3

HARD HOURS THOUGHTS

warnings: voyeurism, slight dub-con vibes, obssessed and possessive joong, masturbation (m)

something drives me absolutely crazy about dressmaker!Hongjoong who's obssessed with using his roommate as his personal mannequin

you guys wouldn't be too close, just friendly enough to live together comfortably, and that would make you totally oblivious to how his stare always turned hungry and calculating when looking at your figure. in his eyes, you were just perfect - the best medium for his art

you'd be a real muse to him in every sense of the word - driving him mad with visions of dresses and silks and jewels, sending him into creative fits where he would design for hours upon hours clothes that would fit you perfectly and make every curve stand out in a truly maddening way, turning him into a needy horny mess desperate for the opportunity to dress you at least once. he'd already long lost count of how many evenings he spent desperately jerking off with half finished gowns spread all around him, just imagining them gracing your body

he'd be shy at first, coming to you to ask for a "favour" - he needed help with his latest project, the dress just wasn't coming out how he wanted it to and he just had to see it on a body to know for sure - and of course you'd agree to help, completely unknowing to the fact that the dress was made for you and Hongjoong had an ulterior motive for seeing you in it

his nimble fingers would dance over you - over your ribs and thighs, over your tummy, talking about righting the dress but just taking the opportunity to feel you up - and oh boy, the moment you put it on, he'd be losing his mind, fighting off the need to just bend you over and fuck you and cum all over you draped in his silks

he'd feel like a right pervert, guiltily hiding his erection while pretending to smooth it out and take measurements, none-the-wiser to the fact that you were barely holding on yourself - your breath hitching everytime his fingers brushed over you so gently, everytime his warmth pressed into you when he got closer to "inspect the details". that would be the closest you've ever gotten to someone worshipping your form and you were quickly getting addicted

it would feel like hours before he let you take it off again - hours during which nothing much seemed to have happened with the dress, but Hongjoong flitted around you and looked over every single inch of it, so surely he must have been working on it

and when you left his room, Hongjoong would barely hold it in for three seconds before his hands were desperately squeezing his cock through his pants, so wound up from having seen the perfection of you in his creation he'd pathetically cum all over himself while his hips jerked abortedly

after that he'd grow bolder - asking you for help as often as he could get away with and dolling you up in full outfits, hands possessively grabbing onto you and pretending to look it over just to feel your body under him, barely containing himself from jerking off and cumming all over you still donned in his designs, unknowingly pushing you closer and closer to the edge of snapping too

divider by @cafekitsune <3

[websterss]

CHICKEN AND PASTA — CONRAD HAWKINS

REQUEST: Im a new follower and I must say the Imagines are just so....👌🏼🥹Anyway saw you were writing for Conrad Hawkins. Could you do one where Yn takes care of a patient who has a crush on Conrad. She gets defensive and tells Yn to back off Conrad and Yn shrugs it off. Later the patient was watching Yn and Conrad hug and kiss and she snaps. She waits til yn is alone and she stabs or attacks yn and leaves her to die. As Conrad gets ready to go home he starts to look for Yn but finds her wounded. I'll let you pick the ending. Im such a sucker for angst. 😭 Hope this makes sense 💙☺️ @megafandomsxassemble

WARNING(S): angst, mentions of blood, stab wounds, and knife, mentions of baby loss, crazy grace

WORD COUNT: 5,485

PAIRING: Conrad Hawkins x fem!Reader

A/N: I hope you enjoy it love! Feedback is always welcomed! <33

MASTERLIST

You had looked up when a foam cup was plopped right in front of you. You set your clipboard down as you follow the arm of the culprit. Conrad has his head tilted, a sweet smile gracing your very long morning. “Beautiful.” He compliments your very clearly disheveled state.

You roll your eyes but take the coffee he brought for you. You mouth a thank you before giving him your full attention. “What’s the catch?” You smirk.

Conrad chuckles at your remark. His brown orbs scan your tired features. “There you go again, assuming I have some ulterior motive.” He says, feigning offense. He leans a hip against your desk as he watches you take a drink of the coffee he so graciously retrieved for you. “Can’t I bring my fiance a cup of coffee out of the pure goodness of my heart?”

“You can…but something lies behind those devious eyes.” You squint up at him, swirling the end of your pen in front of his face.

Conrad laughs, his grin wide. He tilts his head, his light curls bouncing lightly. He brings his index finger up, gently pressing your forehead so you’re no longer squinting. “There. Much better.” He teases. He shakes his head, the playful smirk never leaving his features. He crosses his arms, leaning in to get a closer look at your tired state. “Rough night?”

“More like rough morning. Your number one fan is here…again.” A teasing smile begins to form on your face.

Conrad raises an eyebrow at that. He knew exactly who you were talking about. “What is she being admitted for this time?” He says, unable to contain the amused smirk.

You sigh and gesture to the paperwork sitting in front of him. He meets your eye and then turns the clipboard around and begins to read.

Conrad can’t fight the scoff that escapes his lips as he reads through it. The same symptoms as last time: elevated heart rate, high blood pressure, and dizziness, among many other minor symptoms. Every time it was the same. Other than the fractured radius and ulnar, today. Nothing was ever, truly, wrong.

“Broke her arm chasing after her dog…” Conrad shakes his head as he gently sets the clipboard back on your desk. “Nic around?”

“Just missed her. She just finished her double shift.” You shook your head.

Conrad’s eyes widened in surprise, though he didn’t know why. Nic’s determination to overwork herself was no secret. He huffed a heavy sigh, taking a seat on the edge of the desk. “Of course she did…” He mutters under his breath. “You’re with me today.”

“Can already feel my day turning around, but I figured so I checked her vitals and heart already. So you just need to repeat everything I just did, doc.” You chipped with a smile on your face. You gather your things and make your way to Grace’s room. Conrad's number one fan, or rather his stalker as you like to secretly call her.

Conrad rolls his eyes at your comment and follows behind you, his long strides easily keeping pace with yours. “Careful,” He warns, unable to contain his smile, “flattery will get you everywhere.”

The pair of you enter Grace’s room where she is, unsurprisingly, perched on the edge of her bed. Her broken arm is clutched to her chest, a pout on her face. Upon seeing the two of you, her face lights up.

“Dr. Hawkins!” She squeals, waving and making grabby hands in his direction. Conrad sighs, a forced, painfully fake smile on his face as he approaches her to examine her. He casts a sideways look in your direction as if to say ‘Save me’.

“Hi nurse, Y/n.” She makes sure to greet you with a warm welcome.

“Hi Grace, how’s the morphine doing, kicking in a bit I see.” You contain your laughter as you see her more giggly than how she was when she first arrived.

Conrad looks over at you. He has to hide his chuckle as you tease her for her morphine-induced goofy behavior. “So,” He starts. “The dog was too much for you I see?”

“Yes. I don’t think I’m much of a dog person. Any other pets you could recommend for me, Dr. Hawkins?”

Conrad looks over at you.

“You could always try a Guinea Pig. My niece has one. Easy little things to take care of.” You shrug. Grace locks eyes with you, considering your suggestion. She nods then looks back to him.

“Is a Guinea Pig easy to take care of, Dr. Hawkins?”

Conrad hums, pretending to think. He scratches at his chin, pretending as if there is some deep thought going through his head. “A Guinea Pig is very easy to take care of Grace.” He says, a playful smirk growing on his face. “Very easy.”

He turns an expectant look in your direction, his lips twitching to suppress a grin.

“Yes, very easy. A Guinea pig is less likely to cause fractures. No running, no need to train them. Easy as pie.” You breathe out a laugh.

Conrad has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing. He can’t fight the way his eyes gleam at how thoroughly you are enjoying yourself teasing his…fan. “No risk of broken bones chasing them around. Sounds like a good fit for you.”

"I'll have to stop by a pet store later then." She nods. Unlike Conrad, you had a feeling she would stay true to her promise to get the damn rodent. The idea unsettled you just as it did the last time when she bought a dog after he recommended getting one, to keep her company as he lightly put it.

Conrad’s stomach drops at the thought of Grace following through on her promise. He knew she was gullible, but if what you were saying was true and she took his recommendation to heart and bought a dog…he would have to be more careful with what came out of his mouth.

“Maybe…stay away from animals for now?” He suggests, casting a concerned glance your way. "Alright, Grace I'm gonna go ahead and order you an x-ray and an MRI just to be on the safe side. You said you've been experiencing a bit of a headache, you said you hit your head when you fell?"

"Yeah...on concrete, is that bad?" She moves her eyes back and forth from you two. Conrad cast you a glance.

Conrad winces at her casual response. “Well, you’d probably be experiencing something a bit stronger than a minor headache if there was anything truly wrong.” He says as a means to comfort her as she sits at the edge of her bed.

He reaches out, gently prodding at the back of her head. He pulled out a light and had her follow his finger. “How hard did you hit your head?”

"My vision was blurred for a few minutes. I think someone asked if I was okay before I got up, took Ceecee home, and then came straight here." She blinks up at him. "You'll fix me right up though, right, Dr, Hawkins?"

He gives her a nod and a reassuring smile. “You’re in the best of hands.” He reassures her, ignoring the skeptical scoff you let out beside him. “I’ll make sure we get to the bottom of that headache.”

"In the meantime, just wait here, I will be back to reset your bones." You pat her shoulder.

She looks at your hand and then nods. Conrad casts her a wink before exiting with you, not thinking anything more by it.

Conrad takes your elbow, a light tug letting you know that he wants to leave the room. He gives Grace one last comforting smile, "We'll be right back." He said, opening the door and ushering you out.

Once out of the room, Conrad's smile falls from his face and is replaced with a concerned frown. He lowers his voice slightly, so only you can hear him. "She actually bought a dog?"

"Well Dr. Hawkins…when you flash her that dazzling smile and hold her gently, how can she resist doing everything that comes out your damn mouth!" Your smile vanishes as you smack him. "She's getting worse. Okay, this is turning into outright obsessive behavior, and if you don't put a stop to her Conrad, she'll display stalker-like traits."

Conrad flinches at the smack to his chest, a glare tossed right back in your direction. "Not funny." He points at you and the way you emphasized his name like she had.

“What do you suggest I do, hm?” Conrad asks, a hint of irritation in his tone. “Walk up to a patient and tell them to stop getting hurt, to call for another doctor?"

"Well that idea sounds a whole lot better than the Guinea Pig-" You jump away with a laugh when he scoffs and tries to tickle you.

Conrad lunges at you, grabbing a flailing arm and tugging you back in his direction. He takes advantage of your distraction, going straight for your sides, his fingers digging into your ribs. His own smirk grows wider as he hears your laughter fill the hallway.

"Stop, stop, stop!" Your head falls. "I can't breathe."

Conrad stops and grins, but he doesn’t release you. He keeps his arms loosely wrapped around your waist and watches as you struggle to catch your breath. He laughs softly as he watches you lean forward, your head resting against his chest.

“You’re impossible.” He says, his fingers idly rubbing against your side.

"That's improbable to you." You lift your head with a teasing smile.

Conrad groans, rolling his eyes at your quip. He can’t keep the smile off his face, though. His fingers still rubbing against your sides. "Pain in my ass…" He said, but the words lacked any real bite behind them. He leans in as you hum in amusement.

"That so, Dr Hawkins."

Conrad huffs, his chest rising and falling with his laughter. His eyes darken as he looks down at you, his smirk turning more wicked. He leans in further, his face only inches from your own. "Say it again." He says, his voice now a few octaves deeper than normal.

"Dr Hawkins." Your laugh is stifled when he presses his lips to yours in a sweet long kiss.

Conrad hums against your lips, an arm snaking around your waist to drag you closer. He leans back against the wall that the two of you were standing in front of, a hand coming up to cup the back of your neck. He deepens the kiss, a sharp pang of desire striking at his core as he pushes you gently back against the wall.

But before it could escalate any further, your pager goes off. You groan and push him away slightly. "Duty calls." You whine.

Conrad groans at the noise and he steps back, reluctantly tearing his gaze and his arms away from you. He pushes his messy hair back off his forehead, still slightly breathless. He lets his eyes wander over your disheveled form, knowing full well that the two of you would've gotten caught up in that hallway had the pager not interrupted.

He brings a hand up to his own pager in his pocket that went off, shutting it off. "Duty indeed calls." He sighed, his heart still racing. "What would you like for dinner?"

You gasp. "Are you offering to cook?" You hum at the idea.

Conrad laughs and shakes his head at your excitement and enthusiasm for the idea of his cooking. "Don't look so surprised." He remarks, his expression changing to a playful smirk. "Yes, I'll cook tonight. What do you want?"

"Surprise me." You shrug, walking backwards.

Conrad rolls his eyes, though he's smiling as he watches you walk away. He can't help but admire the view, his gaze lingering on your form for just a little too long. "You got mad last time when I did." He calls after you.

"Chicken, with Pasta!" You call out as you reach the corner you need to turn.

Conrad huffs a laugh at the request. "Done!" He calls out to you as he heads in the opposite direction. "Chicken and pasta it is..." He sighs, then laughs to himself.

What you both hadn't realized was the shadow lurking and watching from afar. A scowl replaced her sweet smile moments before when she heard his voice outside her room. Her breathing picks up as she heads back into her room. Grace sits at the edge of her bed and looks down at the fractured bones, broken at a dipped angle. Before she could even think twice about it, she settled them back into place.

The pain was nothing like how betrayed her heart had felt. Conrad had his interest in someone else. You.

-

A few minutes had passed before you had gone to check up on Grace again. To ensure that she was situated with the cast that she would need to wear for a few weeks. "Grace?" You announced yourself, as you peered down at your clipboard again. When you looked up, your heart dropped upon seeing her bed empty. It was only when the door slammed behind you that you grew scared. "Grace?" You looked at her and then at the knife she held in her left hand, how she came into possession of it you hadn't known.

"You kissed him…" She muttered softly. "I didn't realize he had his eyes set on someone else. I thought what we had was just between us. I'm so stupid!" You flinch at her exclaim.

Your eyes widened when you saw the tears in her eyes. The grip she held on the hospital knife was tight, her knuckles almost turning white. "Grace, no, listen to me!" You quickly moved to try and reach out to her but stopped short when she snapped.

"Stay back!" You held your hands up in surrender, holding in the sharp inhale you desperately wanted to take. "You took him from me!"

"I didn't know..." She looks up at you. "If I had known how much you liked him. I wouldn't have kissed him." You play along with her in hopes she won't hurt herself, or you. It was only then that you realized her bones were settled back into place. "Grace what happened to your arm did you- did you put them back into place?" You were shocked.

Grace's eyes flit down to her arm, a frown on her face. "I needed to feel something…" She said softly. "I needed to feel something other than the pain in my heart."

She looks up at you again, her grip on the knife never faltering. "Why was it you, huh? Why not me? What do you have that I don't? I go out of my way to have him examine me, and spend time with me. I was this close to getting him alone today, but then I saw him kiss you..."

"I ask myself that every day, Grace. I don't know why he chose me. Things just happen, people come into your life and you go from there with them."

She scowls at that response, her eyes narrowing into a glare. "You're around him too much…" The knife trembles in her grip. "That's why he's been distracted lately."

She took a step closer, and you instinctively found yourself stepping back in response. Her glare darkened, now laced with jealousy and possessiveness. "I wonder…" She says slowly, almost as if she's contemplating her next words. "Maybe if you weren't around so much anymore, I could finally have my chance…"

"Grace, please don't!" Your plea is ignored. She continues to step closer to you, her eyes glued on you and the way you flinch away from her.

"Why not?" She presses. "You get to be around him, you get to kiss him. It's not fair. He's supposed to be mine! I should be the one that gets to kiss him!"

"If you hurt me, Grace. Conrad will never forgive you. He won't want to kiss you."

Grace's bottom lip trembled at your words. It's clear that your words are getting to her, her eyes filling with tears and her gaze averting down to the floor. She knows that you're right. But her jealousy and obsession over Conrad was too strong. Her head lifts and she looks at you again, her grip on the knife tightening. "I don't care…" She whispers, her voice now trembling, and before you know it the end of the knife had met your abdomen, and then your chest. "If I can't have him, neither will you." She lowers you to the ground gently, caressing your hair as you wheeze for air.

"Grac-" You muster before, she gets up and leaves the room.

Grace was gone as quickly as she came, leaving you in a quickly darkening room as the edges of your vision slowly started to blacken. You hear a faint 'excuse me' in the distance, then another voice saying to go up the elevator, but they all turn muffled as you feel your consciousness slowly slip away.

-

"I'd probably run a CT Scan. Make sure we're not dealing with any internal bleeding-"

"Dr. Hawkins..." Conrad and Devon looked up in time to see Grace stop a few feet away from them. Both Conrad and Devon's eyes widened when they saw the blood on her shirt. Conrad's breath caught in his throat in his own wave of panic, but he forced himself to remain focused, to remain calm.

Conrad put down the clipboard Devon had given him and put his hands out cautiously. The two main things that caught his attention were the blood on her shirt and left hand and the fact her bones didn't appear to look broken on her right arm especially since there was no cast on it either. "Hi, Grace...You okay? Wanna tell me what happened?"

"I'm better now seeing you." She smiled earnestly, though hesitation still arose behind her eyes as she realized she had an audience.

Conrad forced a smile onto his face, glancing briefly in Devon's direction, signaling to the crash cart discreetly. He took a few steps forward, keeping a safe distance from her, but still close enough that he could reach her if he needed to. "That…That's good to hear, Grace." He said slowly. "But I was referring more to the blood on your clothes. Grace, who's blood is that? I won't be mad if you tell me."

Grace shook her head. "You will. She said you wouldn't kiss me if I hurt her. I don't want you to be mad at me."

Conrad's heart dropped at her response, though his expression didn't give it away. "…You didn't." He muttered, and it was more of a statement than a question. He took another few steps forward, his eyes boring into hers. “Who told you that, Grace?” Conrad asked, his voice now taking on a slightly lower tone. "Did you accidentally hurt someone? Someone you didn't mean to hurt. You can tell me I won't get mad." His tone was soft again, his eyes still focused on her. The gears were already turning in his head on who her victim was but he didn't want it to be true. "But I need you to tell me who's blood that is, Grace."

"I'll tell you, b-but you have to kiss me first. She said you wouldn't and I want to prove her wrong."

Conrad was tempted to grab her and shake her, to demand answers. But he knew that wasn't the answer. He kept his cool and took another step forward, so he was now directly in front of her and within reaching distance. "Okay," He said slowly, his eyes searching her face. "You want a kiss first, I'll kiss you."

"You will." Her eyes lightened with hope.

Conrad swallows the lump in his throat and slowly steps closer, bringing a hand up to cup the side of her face. He leans in, pausing for a moment. His hand brushed back a strand of her hair as she gazed at him like he hung the stars in her sky. He stalls and presses his head against her as he watches Devon come in from behind her. A sedative in his hands. Conrad tries once more hoping she'll open up about your whereabouts. "Where is she, Grace?" He whispered.

"I don't like pasta very much, but maybe we can get takeout sometime." Is as much as she lets out before the syringe is plunged into the vein on her neck.

Conrad watches as Grace's eyes widen and slowly glaze over. A moment later her body goes slack, and he catches her before she can fall. He sighs, running a hand through his hair as he watches her body drop into a deep slumber. The realization settles, how Grace had been listening to the conversation you both had been having. You both hadn't been far from her room either. Devon appears at his side, a nervous look on his face. "Conrad, what the hell just happened?" Devon questions, checking Grace's pulse. "Conrad!" He yells after him as he sees him begin to take off into a run.

"Start prepping an O.R. now! Page Mina and possibly AJ! Page anyone to floor 3 now!" Conrad doesn't wait for a response. Devon ordered a few nurses to watch over her, giving orders on where to take her. Before taking off after Conrad.

"Conrad!"

"It's Y/n's blood!" Devon's face pales as he tries to keep up with him.

-

Conrad pushes through the doors, cursing under his breath as he sprints down the halls of floor 3. Fear and adrenaline pump through his veins, his heart thundering in his chest.

Please be okay, please be okay, please be okay…please. His thoughts chanted as he reached Grace's room.

Conrad doesn't think twice before bursting into the room. He chokes back a sob as he sees you in a puddle of your own blood. He acts fast checking for your pulse. "Baby hey, can you hear me?"

"We need a gurney and crash cart, now! Some gauze!" Devon orders to anyone listening in the halls. "Conrad, what the hell is happening, who was the girl?"

"Her name's Grace she comes in twice a month to see me."

"To see you?"

"Y/n thinks she's obsessed with me. Turns out she was right. Last month Grace had mentioned how lonely she felt living in her apartment. Now I'm starting to realize she probably meant other forms of company. I suggested she get a dog…"

"She bought a dog didn't she...oh god!"

"Y/n, baby, can you hear me!" Conrad continued patting your face. "Grace came in this morning, she broke her hand chasing after the suggested dog. I didn't think- I should've realized! Where's that damn crash cart!" Conrad yells out angrily.

A scowl takes over his face as he checks for any other wounds, but all he can see is the deep stab wound in the side of your stomach and on your chest. The nurses arrive wheeling along a gurney and a crash cart. Conrad snaps out of his thoughts and focuses on the situation at hand, grabbing the gauze from one of the nurses and pressing it firmly to your bleeding wounds.

"Damnit, baby, just hold on okay? Keep fighting." He muttered, eyes trained on your face.

He doesn't wait for the nurses to transfer you to the gurney, instead, he picks you up himself, holding you to his chest as he carefully lays you down on the gurney. Devon and the rest of the staff stand off to the side, watching as Conrad moves around you, keeping a firm grip on the gauze on the wounds as the nurses wheel you out into the hallway and towards the E.R.

-

"She was stabbed. Wound to her chest, and to her abdomen."

"Her pulse is barely there."

"She's in v-tech," Irving announced as he looked up at the monitor.

"Lost a pulse!"

"Someone get the defibrillator."

"They're gone we don't have one." Ellen reminded them.

"It's her heart..." Conrad was sure Grace had stabbed you right where she knew it would hurt you.

"We need to set up an OR now, we're losing her!" Conrad insisted urgently.

"Do we even have a functioning OR?"

"We'll put one together!" Bell and Kit said.

"Call staff back in, now!"

They began wheeling you to the OR when a wheeze and a cough broke out from your unconscious state. Blood spilled past your lips onto your oxygen mask.

"She's haematemesis!" Conrad exclaims. "Hold on for me baby, stay with us! She's choking on her own blood, she's bleeding internally!"

"Conrad we got her from here." Mina reassured as they crossed passed the red line he couldn't walk past.

Conrad reluctantly backs away from you, letting them take over and wheel you away. He stands just before the red line, a hand coming up to rub his face as a mixture of emotions fills him - guilt, worry, anger, and fear. He feels a hand on his shoulder, and he looks over to see Kitt's face etched with concern.

"What can I do?" She questions, her grip on his shoulder tightening.

"Call my dad and her sister. They need to get here now!"

Kitt silently nods at his request, and Conrad hears her calling someone as he turns to stare at the double doors you were just wheeled behind, disappearing from his sight. The only thing he could do now was wait. He looks at his hands behind sliding down to the floor. Various flashes and reminders of your voice and the conversations you had, ran through his mind, along with the ones that ran a chill through his spine.

Beautiful What’s the catch? Can’t I bring my fiance a cup of coffee out of the pure goodness of my heart? You can…but something lies behind those devious eyes. In the meantime, just wait here, I'll be back to reset your bones.Well Dr. Hawkins…when you flash her that dazzling smile and hold her gently, how can she resist doing everything that comes out of your damn mouth! Well, that idea sounds a whole lot better than the Guinea Pig- Stop, stop, stop! I can't breathe. You’re impossible. That's improbable to you. Pain in my ass… That so, Dr Hawkins. What would you like for dinner? Are you offering to cook? Yes, I'll cook tonight. What do you want? Surprise me. You got mad last time when I did. Chicken, with pasta!

You will. She said you wouldn't kiss me if I hurt her. I don't want you to be mad at me. I don't like pasta very much, but maybe we can get takeout sometime.

A sob rattled through him as he brought his palms up to his head. Hoping and praying you'd make it through. It wasn't long before he moved up to watch in on your surgery. The entire operation felt like never-ending hours.

-

He hadn't known how long he had sat in his chair. He was just waiting for the aftermath to finally hit him. And it had, as soon as Kitt walked in after some time, letting the door shut behind her. She stood there for a moment contemplating how to gather her words.

"Just give it to me straight..." Conrad looked up at her.

"She lost a lot of blood and she was down for a long time. We won't know her neurological status until we wake her up. They're moving her to the ICU."

Conrad nodded at this newfound information. He broke down again when her gentle hand touched his shoulder.

"There's one more thing..."

Conrad's entire body went stiff. He knew whatever else Kitt had to tell him was either really good or extremely bad. He silently nodded for her to continue, mentally bracing himself for the next words that came out of her mouth. Conrad lifted his head slowly. His brows furrowed as Kitt sat down beside him. She grabbed his hands.

"Come on, give it to me straight here." He urged her, the suspense killing him.

"Y/n was pregnant."

Conrad's heart dropped to his stomach and he was positive someone just dumped a bucket of ice water on him. He stares at Kitt in disbelief, unsure of whether he heard her right. His chest ached and all of the air was knocked out of his lungs as he sat there stunned, staring at her.

"Was?" He whispered, his voice cracking.

Kitt shook her head, disheartened. "She lost it."

Conrad felt as if he was going to be sick. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the chair as he took in a shaky breath.

"How far along was she?" He managed to get out.

"She hadn't told you yet did she?" Kitt inhales. "S-She was about 18 weeks along from what we could tell…I'm so sorry Conrad."

Conrad's breath hitched at the response, and he struggled to hold his emotions together. He gripped the arms of the chairs, his knuckles beginning to turn white. The room was beginning to spin and the news hit him like a ton of bricks. He took a moment to collect himself before looking at Kitt again.

"18 weeks," He repeated, unable to believe it. "And I didn't even know?"

"You still have her Conrad. If I know Y/n, she's a fighter, she'll pull through her recovery."

Conrad nodded at Kitt's words, trying to find comfort in them, but the pain he felt was almost unbearable. He felt responsible for not paying closer attention to you and to your behavior. He had overlooked the fact that you hadn't been feeling well due to the added stress. He should have caught the hints.

"I should have…" He began to say, but the words caught in his throat. "I should've listened to her…I should have realized sooner I-" A sob broke out of him. He clung to Kitt as she consoled him into her arms. Shushing him and saying everything was going to be okay.

After Kitt calmed him down, she left to give him a few moments alone. As he sat there, staring at the wall. Images of you and his unborn child filled his thoughts. He tried to imagine a life with you and your little one. He imagined teaching them how to walk and talk, tucking them into bed, holding your swollen belly, and feeling their kick. He imagined the life of fatherhood.

As he sat there, a wave of anger and determination washed over him. He needed to see you. He needed to see you, to feel you. To hold you in his arms and never let you go.

Taking a deep breath, Conrad stood up and slowly made his way to the ICU. The halls were eerily quiet as he walked through them, the sound of his footsteps echoed off the walls. When he reached the ICU room, he stopped and peered in through the door. He saw you lying in bed, surrounded by machines and tubes. Your face was pale and your chest slowly rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

He let out a shaky breath and leaned his head forward, letting it gently rest on the wall. He closed his eyes and silently willed himself to remain calm. He couldn't break down in front of anyone else, not here. He took in a few more deep breaths and slowly began to regain control of his emotions. As he stood there, his mind racing with thoughts, the silence around him felt deafening. He wanted nothing more than to have you crack a joke just to put him at ease.

"Hey baby, I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere anytime soon okay." Conrad sat down on the chair by your bed, his hand grasping yours gently and his eyes studying your features. Everything felt so familiar - his hand wrapped around yours, your skin, your hair, all of it. He felt a small wave of relief wash over him, knowing you were at least here, right in front of him. Slowly, he brought your hand up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against it. "When you wake up, I'm taking you home once you're allowed to be discharged. I'll cook you anything you want okay? I'll cook you chicken and pasta for the rest of our lives if that’s what you want, cause I know it's your favorite. Anything you want...you name it, baby." He chuckles lightly to himself but breaks down once more. Tears fall down his face onto your sheets as he tightens his hold on your hand.

"I'm here," He whispered, his voice barely audible. "I'm right here."

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 NAP TIME WITH NIKOLAI!

FEATURING: nikolai gogol

SUMMARY: nap time with nikolai is always eventful one way or another—you've gotten used to it. you think. (wordcount: 900ish; sfw; fem!reader)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: 1) is anyone having issues editing drafts on mobile?? it's not letting me. 2) does anyone know how to fix the dividers not letting posts show up in the tags glitch D: i am suffering

“nikolai.”

“yes, my dove?”

“what are you doing?”

you sigh softly as you card your fingers through his soft hair, absently feeling the man trace patterns on your skin with the tip of a knife. you don’t know where he got it—he isn’t wearing his overcoat so it’s not like he could have grabbed it from where it was stashed in his pocket dimension. 

he’s not nearly tracing hard enough to break your skin—if anything, it feels like a faint tickle—but it had woken you up from where you were dozing off, so you’re a bit annoyed. 

“… nothing,” nikolai replies, voice hesitant and laced with such a suspicious tone that it has you cracking your eyes open to give him an equally suspicious look. 

nikolai looks deceptively innocent as he tilts his head up to look up at you, eyes wide and expression soft. the knife is nowhere to be seen, he must have stuffed it up his sleeve. your eyes narrow, nikolai pouts at the expression.

“nikolai, if you cut me with that knife, i’ll chop off your hair,” you threaten watching a horrified expression cross his face before letting your head fall back against the pillow, intent on trying to get a nap in before fyodor barges in and demands for the two of you to get back to work.

nikolai is silent for a moment, but too soon he says: “no you won’t,” and then cackles and adds, “you looooooove my hair.” 

you peek your eyes back open, a bit more irate now when you catch the wide grin on nikolai’s face, eyes dancing as he looks up at you. “do you know what i love more than your hair?” you ask as you brush your fingers through his long, white locks. when he waits for you to answer your own question, you tell him, “not having my sleep interrupted.”

you tug his hair hard, painfully, and you roll your eyes when nikolai only lets out a moan, eyes fluttering shut.

“you’re disgusting,” you say, albeit fondly, as you release his hair and go back to stroking it softly. “put the knife away and rest.”

you hear a clanging sound as nikolai carelessly tosses the knife off the bed and against the wall. instead of laying his head back on your chest like he usually does when you want to nap but he’s not tired, he scooches up the bed to rest his head on the pillow next to you. you smile when you feel him hook an arm around your waist, tugging you back toward him so your body is flush to his. 

“thought you weren’t tired,” you murmur softly, eyes sliding shut as you melt into him.  it’s not often that you get to lay up with nikolai like this, he’s rarely tired enough to actually nap with you—he usually just lays on you until you fall asleep and then disappears to find someone to harass. 

“hmmm, i changed my mind, little koshenya!” he says, although you can’t help but notice that he doesn’t sound all too tired, a playful lilt to his voice as he nuzzles his face in your hair. 

“oh yeah?” you ask, amused, yawning as your eyes begin to drift shut again. the weight of his arm draped around you is familiar and comforting and you can feel his breath warm against the shell of your ear.

“mhmm!” nikolai agrees, still sounding a bit too energetic for you to actually believe he’s tired—you figure he has ulterior motives but you don’t know what they are, and that slightly terrifies you.

it doesn’t terrify you enough to rouse you, though, because you can hardly hold your eyes open as you bring your hand to where nikolai’s is resting on your waist, intertwining your fingers with his. 

he hums softly, his chest rumbling gently against your back—an old lullaby that you recall him mentioning as one of the few things he remembers from his mother during his childhood. his thumb rubs soft circles on your waist while he nudges his nose against your head, occasionally pressing kisses to your hair between the lullaby’s verses. 

and you bask, because nikolai is rarely as docile as he is in this moment and you want to savor it. a part of you wants to try to stay awake, but it’s hard with the warmth of his body spreading through you and the low, smooth hums of nikolai’s voice in your ear, chest reverberating against you. 

“sleep, my dove,” nikolai coos between his hums. “i have a surprise for you tomorrow.”

and that more than slightly terrifies you because surprises from nikolai rarely end well, but by the time the words finally process, he’s already back to humming and lulling you to sleep—purposely, you now realize sleepily. 

“better be a good one, kolya,” you sigh to yourself, not even sure if the words are intelligible, but if the way nikolai’s hums briefly are interrupted by a sharp, jarring giggle have anything to say about it, they are. 

“of course, it will be,” he promises cryptically. “now sleep, little koshenya.”

[mondaymelon]

— 𝘀𝗼 𝘁𝗲𝗹𝗹 𝗺𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝗺𝗲! ♡

໒꒱ || :feat~ xiao, kazuha, heizou, wanderer x gn!reader:

⤷ a handful of my faves since it’s my birthday!! ♡ (july 27th pspspps send me bday wishes i promise i dont bite)

໒꒱ || ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ (open!) : @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @achlysis, @swivy123, @solxima, @poweredbyghostadventures, @haliyamori

⤷ how they confess their love to you.♡

Is it really love that XIAO’s feeing? He can’t be sure, especially when he can’t even identify the complicated emotions that are making his heart flutter.

However, there’s no time to sit here pondering and examining, not when his heart longs for you at the very mention of your name, or how he just can’t seem to get the thought of you out of his head. He has to find a way to express what he’s experiencing, and soon, before the three words he dreads to speak escapes his lips against his will.

“I love you.”

You’d think it’d be such an easy task to complete, yet the adeptus grows uneasy at the mere thought of it. Perhaps denying him is the worst possible solution, but what should happen if you grow wary of him? Would you stray from his occasional touch, and fail to meet his eye? Xiao can’t risk finding out, yet by the day his quickened heartbeat seems to be growing all the louder.

“Ah, Xiao.” A faint smile crosses your face as you glimpse the familiar male at his usual spot, standing alone by the balcony railing, his arms crossed over his toned chest. “You wanted to speak to me?”

“Yes,” he speaks slowly, wanting to prolong this moment - to see your warm smile just a fraction longer. “There is something… I must tell you.”

You cock your head, letting out a little laugh upon seeing his troubled expression. “There’s no need to be nervous, go ahead!”

Would there be a need to if you knew what he was to ask of you?

He shakes his head lightly as to clear his meddling thoughts, his hair ruffled from the breeze. “I…I don’t know how to put this, but I-“ His breath catches in his throat, and he forces a swallow. “You’re all I think about, all I dream about. I’d do anything and everything for you. I love you, so please… let me call you mine. I just, I…” Xiao can’t even begin to explain what he’s feeling right now, or give a valid explanation for his actions. His gaze doesn’t miss the shocked expression that flits across your face, his own eyes hesitant to meet yours. But they do, upon hearing the melodic sound of your voice uttering his name.

“Xiao, I… archons, do you know how happy you’ve just made me?” Your words are breathy as you take in a shallow inhale.

He blinks once, and suddenly, you’re in his arms, pressing against him like you never want to let him go.

Warm.

In the pale moonlight, the smile that graces his lips is slight, but catches your attention all the same.

“Perhaps I was made to love you.” ♡

Yes, he’s heard tales of this adoration before, and however unfamiliar, KAZUHA as to convey these feelings before he’s unable to contain them a second longer.

Perhaps that was why he had unconsciously invited you out for a quiet stroll around Guyun Stone Forest, where the Crux was currently anchored. It was an innocent request, but the male did have some ulterior motives in mind - perhaps you’d understand if you read one of the many poems he’s written while thinking about you… lips pressed together in thought, a quill in his dominant hand as the other sat beneath his chin, the dim candlelight illuminating the focused expression on his face, his cheeks just slightly flushed with red…

Ah, but there’s no chance in Celestia that he’d ever show you his works of you. Those words are for him to read, just like what he’ll say to you tonight is for only you to witness.

Kazuha takes you by the hand, his touch warm in the cool night air. His bandaged fingers intertwine with yours, and while you don’t make a move to retract, his grip on you tightens all the same.

“Kazuha? Why’re…” While your companion has always been rather open to displaying his physical touch, he had never been this daring before, to take your hand and not even uttering a word about the manner. Something about his air was different this evening, but it was difficult to put a finger on it, especially with the distracting smile he sent your way that seemed to make your mind go blank.

“Hm? Is there something wrong?” He can’t possibly ask a question with that charming face of his and expect to receive a proper answer. Instead, you just sheepishly tilt your head to where the two of you’s hands meet. At that, he lets out a low chuckle, the gleam in his eyes proving his amusement. He doesn’t know what has given him this amount of confidence, how he’s become bold enough to pull you closer… perhaps it was the sake Beidou offered to him earlier? That’s the only possible explanation.

Gently, like the warm breeze, he lifts your hand, swiftly getting down on a knee as he brushes his velvet lips against your skin.

“Have I made my infatuation towards you apparent yet? I love you.”

The moment seems to pause time, everything, all of it, but you can sense how your lips move despite how you’re still frozen, “I love you too, Kazuha.”

Ah, the way his name rolls of your tongue so naturally sends his heart racing.

“It’s always, always been you.” ♡

As much as he’ll try to deny it, WANDERER, who doesn’t even have a heart to ponder these sensations, knows that what you’re doing to him is something he doesn’t wish to admit.

It’s unfair, really, how easily you’re able to sway his resolve. Every part of you is simply infuriating, from the way you say his name, to the way you gaze at him, it makes his face warm, and seemingly nothing he does is able to prevent that. And it’s strange, how he can still experience these… affections, even with his missing core. If it makes any sense, you bring a sort of humanity to him.

It was a philosophy he had crafted for himself - that there were certain aspects of what made one human, requirements that the puppet had been unable to fulfill. That is, until you appeared, because you made him feel something he didn’t want to confess, and bearing… love… made him like you.

At the same time, it scares him. Love is a foreign concept, if anything, and he’s constantly afraid that he’ll make a mistake that’ll cause you to leave him. He can’t let that happen - he can’t even imagine his life without your warmth now. Ah, but if he told you how he really felt, would that keep you by his side? He’s paranoid, yet desperate for your affection, and a confession seems to be his only solution.

A letter bearing your name arrives at your doorstep, the only evidence of the sender being a small sparrow perched upon the paper, chirping insistently until you had taken the envelope.

Meet me at our usual spot at dusk.

Those seven words are all that’s written on the blue-rimmed parchment, with no signature to identify the individual, yet you let out an amused laugh. There’s only one companion with this amount of audacity, and you can already picture his scowl as he wrote these words.

“Hello?” You tentatively call out his name into the evening air, glancing around yet seeing no sign of him. There’s a great gust of wind, and there he appears, donning his signature ridiculously large hat, the dangling charms on it swaying with the breeze.

“There you are.” Crossing your arms over your chest, you smile. “For a second, I thought you were going to ditch me for the fun of it.” Truthfully, you wouldn’t put it past him.

He ignores the comment. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

You’re slightly startled by his suddenly serious tone, but nod along. “Alright…?”

“I like you.”

“…Sorry?” How strange, it seems like today your ears have decided to play tricks on you?

A light scowl makes its way upon his face as he visibly grits his teeth. “Augh, fuck it- I said, I love you, idiot.”

There’s no mistaking the flush that’s descended upon his expression, dusting the tips of his ears and his cheeks. “Uh?” You sound stupid, but that’s the only sound you’re able to utter as you stare at the male in utter shock.

“I’m not repeating myself three times.”

You shake your head, frantic as you can feel your heart rate increasing. “No- I heard you the first time it’s just that- I…” it’s hard to explain what you’re feeling right now, so you don’t, instead wrapping your arms around and pulling the two of you closer.

He seems to melt in your hold.

“I can’t even begin to fathom my life without you, so please, stay by my side.” ♡

(a/n) ive grown old. ive… ripened

[joelscruff]

for what it's worth (joel miller x reader) 18+

part 3 of the soft!dom joel collection has arrived! this one tackles some backstory; it's time to see how they met and how exactly their little "arrangement" came to be. i hope you guys like it, your feedback means the world to me. i also have a kofi if you'd like to give me a tip (but of course this is completely optional). previous parts: you know i don't mean it & don't think we could help it summary: your relationship with joel has always been complicated, but it's about to change drastically, for better or for worse. rating: 18+ explicit (mdni) warnings: fem!reader, smut, age gap (reader is mid 20s, joel is mid 50s), mutual masturbation, praise kink, dirty talk, dom/sub dynamics (joel is dominant but not degrading or aggressive), mentions of porn (specifically magazines) word count: 10k (it's a doozy) | ao3 spoilers: this contains vague spoilers for part two of the video game (and most likely for season two of the show). nothing too major but i figured i should warn for it anyway.

To say that your first day in Jackson is alienating would be an understatement.

You feel like everyone is staring at you (they are) and no one will let you out of their sight (they won't). You understand immediately that there's a lack of trust which will need to be formed as soon as possible, otherwise you'll never be able to create a home here.

"They're wary of you," Maria explains in your brand new living room - you still can't believe you just went from having barely any possessions to having your own house - and gives you a weak smile, "It'll pass, they just need to make sure you don't have any ulterior motives."

You get it, but it still hurts. Especially that night when you join your new community for dinner and find yourself sitting alone in the corner of the room, poking at your food and trying not to let your emotions betray you. You're determined not to show weakness, even though you've never felt more isolated. You can feel their eyes on you constantly, like they're waiting for you to pull out a rifle and start picking them off like a shooting gallery.

There's only one person who seems to be consistently minding his own business, a middle aged man who sits in the opposite corner of the room. He's hulking and broad, kind of intimidating, but there's a softness to his jaw and the grey scruff covering it that makes you see something else, something kind. He takes large bites and seems lost in his own thoughts, eyes fixed on the wall to his left but unfocused, like he's looking through it. He's by himself too, mirroring you, but you can tell by the way people move around him that he's been here for a long time. He must just enjoy his solitude.

"That's Joel," Maria tells you, sitting next to you and following your gaze, "He's my husband's brother, came down here a few years ago."

"He doesn't stare at me like everyone else does," you say, still looking over at him, "Does he just not care or...?"

To your surprise, she laughs, and everyone who's giving you dirty looks suddenly seems to soften. You're grateful for Maria then for bothering to talk to you, to try and trust you.

"Don't ask me to explain the things Joel does, I wouldn't be able to tell you," you notice that she has a full plate of food with her and that she's decided to sit next to you for dinner, an attempt to alleviate the mistrust for you in the room. You can't help but smile, thankful.

"He's a closed book," she continues, "Even Tommy finds him hard to read and he's his own brother."

She changes the subject then, wanting to know more about you and what you've been through, a not so subtle way of trying to get some information for the council. You humor her; you have nothing to lose.

Your eyes still stray to the man named Joel every so often as you speak, but you're not sure why. After about ten minutes he gets up to leave, and you watch him place his empty bowl in the dishwashing area and give the woman working there a small smile. She smiles back, says something to him. He laughs, and you can almost hear it over the bustle of the dining area. You watch as he says something else to her in parting, gives her one more smile, and turns and walks out the door. He doesn't look at you, not even once.

-

Over the next few weeks, things get better. Less people are looking at you and more people are actually trying to talk to you, get to know you. You have some nice conversations and answer questions about yourself - mostly appropriate, save for the one teenager who kept asking how you got the different scars along your bicep, the long one on your neck, the one on your cheek, stories you really didn't want to recount. After hounding you for a few minutes, her friend had pulled her away with an apology, "She likes scars," she'd said sheepishly, tugging the girl's arm, "Come on, Ellie, leave her alone."

You meet everybody, shake hands and even hug a few people. You start getting invited to things, asked to suggest films for movie night, help set up some games for the kids, Tommy even asks you one evening to help him herd a few sheep that had gotten loose. They trust you, and it feels good.

You still see that man, Joel, every night in the dining hall. But that's the only place you see him. You're not sure where he goes during the day or after dinner; he must just be a bit of a recluse, which you can't blame him for. The people here are nice but a lot are overbearing and a bit too friendly sometimes, plus it's hard to find time for yourself when everyone has tasks to complete and always likes to help each other out. You begin to wonder if he'll ever notice you, which leads you to wonder why it even matters to you that he does.

-

Your patrols start around the three month mark. Tommy takes you out with a small group beyond the borders of the community and shows you the ropes, points out where most of the patrol spots are with a pair of binoculars and goes over the routine. Your first assignment is simple: manning the watchtower with Maria. You spend most of the patrol getting to know her, hearing about her past and telling her more about yours. You like her a lot, she's easy to talk to and has a strong spirit akin to your own. The conversation gets pretty personal around the seventh hour, and you end up telling her how exactly you got the scar along your cheekbone. She listens deeply, thoughtfully, nodding along as you detail the more difficult things you've had to deal with in the past, the things that have made you stronger.

"You're tough," she says near the end of your shift, nudging your shoulder, "You don't really belong on watchtower, do you?"

You shrug, "I mean, if there's somewhere else I'd be more useful..."

"How'd you like to head out to the ski lodge with Joel next week?"

Your ears prick up at the name and you nod quickly, unsure exactly why, "Yeah, that'd be great!"

"He knows the area well," she adds, then grimaces, "I have to warn you though, he might not talk very much. He keeps to himself, I'm sure you've noticed."

You wonder why she's so quick to put you on patrol with someone who might not even speak to you, but it starts to make sense as you're walking back from the watchtower in the early hours of the morning. Tommy exits the dining hall and walks over to the both of you with a smile, pressing a tender kiss to Maria's cheek.

"How's my girl?" he asks flirtatiously, and she bats him away playfully.

"Was just telling the new recruit that she's gonna go on patrol with Joel next week," she replies, and Tommy stops in his tracks, raising an eyebrow.

"Her? With Joel?" he appraises you and bites his lip, "I don't know, honey, wouldn't she be better off with someone who'll actually talk to her? I thought she was on watchtower with you."

"Tommy, I never see you anymore," she gives him an exasperated look, "The weekends used to be for us and ever since the Kingstons left-"

"I know, I know," he looks at you again, twisting his mouth in thought, "I've been, uh, a lot busier than usual lately. We had this family here for a while, big family, they helped out with the patrols. But they decided to go south a few months back, so-"

"So Tommy's been filling in for every shift he can," Maria finishes for him with a sigh, "And I never see the damn idiot anymore."

You smile, "I'm totally fine with taking over for you, really."

Tommy raises an eyebrow, "Seriously? You sure?" Maria slaps his arm lightly and he gives her a look, but then shrugs, "I mean, okay, if you wanna give it a try. It won't be all the time or anything, maybe just every other weekend, but it would actually be a big help."

"It really would," Maria adds, "You have no idea."

"But... you gotta understand, my big brother, he's.... he's complicated," Tommy's expression is serious now as he looks at you, "He's not very talkative these days, not since..." he shakes his head and you don't push it any further, though you do wonder what's changed.

"So you'll do it?" Maria asks, eyes bright.

"Even if he doesn't talk to you?" Tommy adds with a grimace.

You nod, somehow believing it won't actually be that bad.

-

It is that bad.

The first time you're officially introduced to Joel he doesn't even bother to shake your hand, just nodding vaguely to you as you stand there like an idiot with your palm outstretched. Tommy makes a face at him and then looks back to you with a reassuring smile.

"There's not usually much trouble up at the ski lodge," he says kindly, ignoring Joel's ambivalence, "The trek back and forth is arguably the worst part. The lifts were already damaged beyond repair when we got here so it's a bit of a hike, 'bout an hour to get up there and the same back."

You begin to wonder if maybe this really isn't the best idea, eyeing Joel silently as Tommy explains what you should expect. You've seen this man smile, know he's capable of making some kind of small talk, but it's clear that you're not an ideal candidate as he stands there stiffly and lets Tommy do the talking. Tommy had told you earlier that if the patrol didn't go well he wouldn't make you do it again, and you're already thinking this might be your first and last shift with Joel.

Tommy walks with both of you to about the halfway point, still going over the routine as Joel trudges silently ahead of you. He hasn't said a word, not one word. It's honestly starting to piss you off.

"Well, I gotta head back," Tommy says, giving you another smile of reassurance, "I'll talk to you tomorrow, see how it went, see if we might make this more permanent." He seems doubtful but you can't blame him.

A few moments later it's just you and Joel, hiking in complete silence save for the sounds of nature. The cogs in your head frantically turn, trying to land on something you can say to make things less awkward.

"So, when's the last time you saw infected up here?" you settle on, hoping it'll be enough to start some kind of conversation.

"'Bout a month ago," he replies immediately, voice gruff but quiet, "Weren't too many."

He's got an accent like his brother but it's fainter, less obnoxious, like he's spent more time with non-southern people in the later years of his life. Tommy had said they'd grown up in Texas and lived there 'til he was in his late 20s and Joel his mid 30s, then somewhere along the way they'd separated. You don't know much else about him other than that.

"It's the people you mainly worry about though, right?" you ask, quoting something Tommy had said a few weeks back, "Tommy said you've had more run-ins with raiders than infected."

"Tommy's tellin' you too much," he replies with a grunt, "Don't know what he's even thinking sendin' some kid up here."

You feel anger rise in your chest immediately, "I'm not a kid, asshole."

He stops then, turns around and appraises you with his eyebrows furrowed. It's the first time he's actually gotten a good look at you, his gaze catching on your face for a lasting moment before his eyes fall to your gun. You feel slightly vulnerable, intimidated by his heavy stare.

"How old are you?" he asks, genuinely curious.

"Twenty seven."

His brow furrows even more, "Coulda sworn he said you were seventeen."

"Well, I'm not," you reply awkwardly.

"No, you're not," he acknowledges, "I'm sorry," He seems to mean it, giving you the smallest of apologetic nods and then turning around again to keep walking.

"You thought Tommy sent a seventeen year old up here with you? I thought you had to be eighteen to patrol outside the border."

"You do, I just wouldn't put it past Tommy to send a kid up here with me," he grumbles, "Wouldn't be the first time."

"...Why?"

"None of your business."

"Okay, but now I'm just thinking you're some kind of pervert," you say it in a joking manner but he doesn't laugh. Instead, he stops again and spins around, looking at you with what you can only explain as pure rage. You flinch backward, eyes widening.

"Do I look like a fucking pervert to you?" he asks, voice hard and angry.

"I was joking," you say immediately, shaking your head frantically, "It didn't land."

"No, it fucking didn't," he starts walking again at a faster pace, leaving you standing there completely floored.

Yeah, it's bad.

-

"Ellie's not speaking to him," Tommy explains to you the next morning in the dining hall, hands gripping his coffee mug. You've just told him about your patrol with Joel and the horrible impression you've already managed to make. "I really shouldn't be telling you this but with an outburst like that...I need you to understand why he reacted the way he did."

You look at him, bewildered, "Ellie? That teenager who plays guitar down by the stream?" And the one who'd relentlessly bothered you with questions about your scars, but you keep that part to yourself.

"Yeah, she's...well for all intents and purposes, she's Joel's kid. And she stopped talking to him a while ago, maybe six or seven months back now," he takes a sip of coffee, "Don't ask me why 'cause I have no idea. I've asked both of them and neither'll give me any kind of explanation. All I know is they ain't speakin' and he's heartbroken over it."

"Must've been a bad argument," you say, scrunching your nose in thought, "I mean...seven months? That's a long time to not speak to someone, especially your dad."

"Eh, you haven't met Ellie. She's one of the most stubborn people I've ever met. They both are," he shakes his head, "Anyway, you calling him a perv probably pissed him off 'cause Ellie's real special to him, a surrogate daughter. He wouldn't like someone misunderstanding that, seein' somethin' dirty or wrong there."

"I wasn't-"

He puts a hand up, nodding, "I know you weren't, I get it, no worries. It's partly my fault anyway 'cause he's right, I have tried to send a teen or two up with him, thought it'd do him good to mentor somebody again. But he doesn't want it, I know that now. He doesn't want it if it's not Ellie."

"Well, he doesn't seem to like me anyway, no matter how old I am," you sigh, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms, "I mean, he didn't talk to me once after that, not for the whole shift. It was bad. I don't know if it's gonna work, Tommy. I'm sorry."

He nods and gives you a small smile, thumbing the handle of his mug, "It's okay, I didn't think it'd work out anyways." He tries to hide the disappointment in his expression but fails miserably, and you leave the dining hall feeling bad about your failure.

-

A few days later you're back in the dining hall finishing up dinner, chatting with a few of the community members who you've warmed up most to. There's not many, but you are starting to find yourself feeling more and more comfortable around people as the days go on, more like yourself. You're caught up in a story about an infected you'd encountered in a gas station when their gazes suddenly divert from you and instead fix above your head. Confused, you slow your words and turn around.

"Oh, hi," you say, voice a bit breathless when you see Joel standing there, hands in his pockets, "Did you need something?"

"I, uh, wanted to talk to you," he says it softly, kindly, completely the opposite of how he'd talked to you before, "When you're finished, of course."

"Oh, yeah, sure," your words are broken and awkward, "Uh, I'll meet you...?"

"I'll be outside the main doors," he says quickly, "Take your time."

"Okay, I'll be out in a few."

He nods to you and then to your friends, then turns on his heel and walks out through the big double doors at the end of the dining area. You watch him go, bewildered.

"I thought he hated you," one of your friends says, voicing exactly what you're currently thinking.

"Yeah," you reply, furrowing your brow, "So did I."

You finish your story much quicker than intended and shove away from the table, waving goodbye to your friends and bringing your empty dish to the cleaning station. You push past the double doors and scan the outside area for Joel, eyeing the picnic tables where a few people are enjoying their meals in the fresh air.

"Hey," you hear behind you, and you turn to see him leaning against the left side of the building, arms crossed, "Over here."

You walk over, trying to plan out exactly what you're going to say so you don't end up making some stupid joke again that'll push him further away from you. It turns out you don't need to, because he speaks first.

"I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry," he says it seriously, a soft and genuine look in his brown eyes, "I treated you horribly the other day, you didn't deserve that."

You raise an eyebrow, "Did Tommy put you up to this?"

He frowns, "No."

"Are you sure? 'Cause if he did...I mean, I get it. It's nice of him to look out for me like that but you really don't have to apologize. You didn't do anything, I'm the one who said the tactless joke."

"Tommy didn't say anything to me," he seems to mean it, kicking the toe of his boot against the building, "And I know you were joking, I knew it then too but I'd just..." he takes a breath, avoiding eye contact, "I was havin' a bad day. Doesn't excuse my behavior by any means but it...you just..." he finally looks at you again, expression pained, "I wasn't expectin' you to be there. Tommy only told me you were takin' over for him about ten minutes before you showed up. And then I thought you were a kid and-"

You put your hand up, silencing him, "Joel, it's okay. You don't have to explain."

"I didn't even shake your damn hand," he says gruffly, sounding genuinely ashamed.

You extend your hand to him immediately, splaying your fingers out into the cold air, "Here, shake it now." He stares at it, unsure, and you wiggle it a bit in response, "Seriously, it's okay. Let's start over, clean slate."

He slowly reaches up to take it, his much bigger hand enveloping yours completely. His grip is strong and firm and you can feel calluses along his fingers, showing you exactly who taught Ellie how to play that guitar.

"Clean slate," he repeats, and it begins.

-

He's annoying, but you kinda love it.

He's grumpy most of the time, hates when you don't obey his orders, isn't afraid to give you shit, and gets irritated with you very easily. But it goes both ways. You're stubborn and set in your ways, you hate being told what to do, you dish it just as much as you take it, and it doesn't take much to get you riled up. And somehow, as much as you'd both probably hate to admit it, you work well together.

After your little conversation with Joel outside the dining hall, you'd flagged down Tommy and told him you were willing to try again with Joel on another patrol. He'd looked at you like you were crazy but hadn't shot the idea down, telling you that if it's what you really wanted, he'd keep the schedule the same.

You've been up on the mountain with Joel three times now, and while there's certainly been challenges and a few arguments, it's starting to become a routine. He doesn't talk about himself - it's a bit of an unspoken rule that you dare not break - but in return you don't tell him much about you either. Your main conversation points are usually tied to your interests, not your pasts, and you find yourself discussing movies with him, as well as music and books. He's surprisingly well-read for someone in an apocalypse, but you suppose he could say the same thing about you.

-

The fourth trip is what sets things in motion.

"Did you catch the movie last night?" you ask nonchalantly as you hike beside him, almost to the ski lodge. It's early morning, around five, and the sun is just beginning to crest the tree line, "I don't think Maria knew about the sex scene."

He groans, reaching up to rub the space between his eyes - you've noticed that he does this a lot, a quirk you've become rather fond of.

"Yes," he replies, wincing, "I heard her givin' Tommy a piece of her mind afterwards."

"The way she was yelling for him to turn off the projector was so fucking funny," you grin at the memory, still fresh in your mind, "And listen, I get it, sex is taboo, yada yada yada, but it's not like there were any little kids there last night, it was just the teens. And it's not like it was a porno or something, it was one little sex scene."

"Oh, I know, but I think Maria's trying to keep 'em as innocent as possible for as long as she can."

"Good luck with that," you snort, "I think we all lost our innocence a long time ago, for better or for worse."

"For worse," he replies instantly, "Definitely for worse."

"You're probably right," you grimace, "Although, you know what? I've actually never seen a porno."

He raises an eyebrow at you, "Seriously? Never?"

You bristle slightly, suddenly a little self conscious, "Well, it's not like there's an adult video store in this town, is there?" You can remember them existing when you were a kid, before everything happened, but it's not like you'd had any use for them at that time.

"No, you're right," he turns away from you, lost in thought for a moment, "They do still exist though. Pornos, I mean. Just in other forms. There's a stack of magazines up at the ski lodge, actually."

Your eyes go wide, "Wait, really?"

"Yup."

"Could I maybe..." you trail off and stop speaking, realizing that you should definitely not be asking what you're thinking.

"Look at 'em?" he finishes for you, not looking behind him as he keeps walking, "And you call me a pervert."

The conversation ends there, and you don't dare try to continue it.

-

The day is spent keeping watch along the ski lodge balcony, binoculars passed back and forth as you trade shifts and chat here and there about irrelevant things. Your main objective in this patrol spot is to keep watch of the main watchtower's blind spots, keeping an aerial view of the border perimeter in case people - mainly raiders - decide to make themselves known. You'd thought early on in your admittance to Jackson that infected were their main concern, but you've come to learn that's not the case at all. When Joel had said they'd come across infected up here he'd been lying to you; they'd actually come across a group of raiders who'd tried - and failed - to murder Joel and Tommy during their watch. Not the most reassuring thing to hear now that you've taken over, but you needed to know.

"It's why we got the trip wires down near the entrance now," Joel had explained to you during your second patrol with him, "We won't get snuck up on again," he'd made a face, "Not unless someone decides to disobey my orders."

You'd given him a weak smile, remembering how you'd decided not to heed his warning about going outside the ski lodge after light's out and ended up almost getting your leg shot off by a booby trap, "My bad." He'd rolled his eyes and grumbled to himself.

Now that it's your fourth watch you've gotten the hang of things and have learned to enjoy the semi-solitude of being on the mountain with Joel. He's got a battery operated radio and a box of cassette tapes that keep you from being bored out of your mind, plus a few containers of books that he and Tommy had carried up over the course of a few patrols. Now that you really think about it, you don't remember seeing any of the aforementioned porn Joel had spoken of in any of those crates.

It's midday when you decide to glance through them again out of curiosity, handing the binoculars over to Joel and slipping past him as he traipses out onto the balcony. You head for the boxes immediately and start to dig through them, not sure exactly what you're even looking for. Someone naked, you guess.

"They're not in there," Joel calls to you after a few minutes and you stiffen, turning to look at him through the glass where he can very clearly see what you're doing. He's got a shit-eating grin on his face and you feel your skin flush red.

"I don't know what you're even talking about," you call back, walking away from the books and plopping yourself in the chair by the unlit fireplace, which has somehow become your chair via another unspoken rule, "I was looking for a tape."

"Okay, well the 'tape' you're looking for is in the back of the supply closet," he sounds like he's fighting back laughter and your skin burns even more, "Underneath a box of cleaning supplies."

"I'm ignoring you," you yell out, "Get back to work."

You swear you hear a muffled laugh through the glass.

-

When he comes in from his shift he barely looks at you, just pushes past you lightly and heads for the supply closet. You follow behind him, heart pounding a bit harder in your chest the closer you get to the stash. He opens the closet door and you watch as he yanks out the cleaning supplies, then digs a bit deeper and reappears with six or seven magazines in his arms.

"Here," he leans them toward you and you hesitantly reach forward to take them from him, "They're mostly from the 90s."

"And you know this because....?" you raise an eyebrow and you swear his cheeks go pink.

"I'm a man," he shrugs, trying to be nonchalant as he passes you again to head back to the living room.

"Perv," you call after him, but he doesn't turn around this time.

"You got ten minutes."

-

You've never seen so much nudity in your life, which is saying something considering you'd seen your fair share of it back in your QZ when life had been a bit easier. But seeing it on paper, in photographs that have somehow lasted through years of this shitty reality, it's something else entirely. You stare with wide eyes at the onslaught of naked bodies, most of which are posed in extremely graphic sexual positions, and feel your heart continue to pound in your chest.

Without much thought you'd opened the first magazine right there where Joel left you standing outside the supply closet, and you now find yourself sitting in said closet with your flashlight aimed at the pages, breathing heavily and trying to comprehend exactly how you feel about what you're looking at. A lot of it feels kind of fake, especially the looks on the faces of the models, but there's enough sexual energy there that makes you start to feel a bit wet in your underwear, a feeling you haven't experienced for quite some time; not since a few a years ago in the QZ when you'd been in your last relationship.

"I gave you ten minutes," you suddenly hear Joel say from the other room, and you quickly scramble to your feet and frantically shut the magazine, "In case you forgot, it's your turn."

"Fuck," you trip out of the closet and dash to the living room, clutching your brand new collection of media to your chest, "Sorry, I got distracted."

He stands by the balcony door and looks you over quickly, eyes scanning from the magazines to your face and back again, "Enjoy yourself?" his expression is unreadable and it makes you self conscious.

"Oh please," you reply, making a face, "Do not start."

-

"So which was your favorite?" he asks you casually once darkness has fallen and you're both safely settled in the lodge for the night.

"Which what?"

He looks at you from over his book and gives you a look, like he's questioning your sanity. You stare for a moment and then slap your hand over your eyes when you realize.

"Oh for fuck's sake," you groan, "I'm never gonna hear the end of this now, am I?"

He laughs and you look over at him again, laying there on the couch with a smug look on his face. You retaliate by grabbing the pillow behind you and tossing it at him, making him drop the book he's reading.

"Hey!" he reaches down to pick it up again, "I showed them to you, I'm allowed to ask."

"False," you say, flipping your hair, "And for your information, I only managed to look at one of them."

He chuckles to himself and returns to his book, "Okay, okay, I'll leave you alone. I was just kiddin'."

"Joel Miller? Kidding?" you make a faux-shocked face, "I fear we've entered the Twilight Zone."

"Don't even pretend you know what that is," he says it seriously but his smile betrays him, "You didn't know about the Twilight Zone 'til I told you about it last week."

"That's just what I wanted you to think."

He rolls his eyes and keeps reading, letting the silence take over again. You watch his eyes scan the page back and forth, taking in the story - whatever it is - and transporting himself to another world, away from the ski lodge. He does this every patrol once it's too dark to see outside, sets the battery powered lantern to its highest setting and reads until he falls asleep. You wish you had his concentration and focus; instead, you curl up in the red armchair and force your eyes shut until your thoughts quiet down enough to let you sleep. Which is difficult tonight especially, seeing as all you can think about are those damn magazines.

After about five more minutes of silence you take a deep breath, then quietly say, "The one with the blonde girl in the bunny ears."

You don't dare look at him, waiting for his response and focusing instead on the empty fireplace beside you. You hear the crinkling of paper as he dogears the page of his book and then the gentle thud as he places it on the floor.

"That's a good one," he says just as quietly.

Another moment of silence passes, and your skin feels like it's on fire as you whisper, "I like the page where she's like...bent over."

"I can't remember the pages, if I'm being honest," he replies, "I haven't looked at them in a while."

You nod to yourself, "Well, there's this page where the guy has her bent over a table. And he's like...pounding into her from behind." You wait for him to say something else but he doesn't so you continue, "It's one of the only pages where she actually looks like she's enjoying herself."

"Hey, uh, I really was just kiddin'," he says awkwardly, "You don't have to tell me, it's okay."

"Oh," you can't help but sound dejected and embarrassed, your fingers trembling a little bit as you push a loose strand of hair behind your ear, "Sorry."

"I mean, if you want to, you can," he corrects, sounding slightly embarrassed himself, "I know you probably....you probably want to talk about it."

You bite down on your lip and sigh exasperatedly, placing your hands over your face, "Kinda," you mumble against your fingers, "It's all I can think about right now."

"Did it make you uncomfortable?" he asks, voice still gentle, "A lot of people are offended by that kinda stuff, you wouldn't be the first person to find it weird."

"It's definitely weird," you take a shaky breath and drop your hands, "But no, I'm not uncomfortable. It was....I mean, it was hot," you bite your lip, "I haven't even thought about sex for a long time so it made me...uh..."

The silence is deafening and apparently neither of you wants to break it as you sit there without speaking, letting your words hang in the dead air. You suddenly feel like you want to crawl out of your skin for saying anything to begin with, for even asking about the magazines in the first place.

"Wet?" he suddenly says, voice breaking a bit, "It made you wet?"

"Very," you reply, relieved that he's not freaked out and trying to change the subject.

"Well, that's normal," he says, voice stiff.

You can't help but laugh, finally peering over at him and seeing that he's just laying there, staring at the ceiling, "I know it's normal, Joel. It's not my first time being turned on, trust me."

"Well, what am I supposed to say?" he grumbles, looking at you in exasperation, "You can't just say that and expect me to give you a casual response. It made you wet, you got turned on, congratulations."

You stare at him, watching as he reaches for his book again, "Wait," you clamor out of the chair and reach beneath it to grab the magazine you'd looked at earlier. You shuffle over to him, thumbing through the pages until you find the right one, "Here," you open to the correct page and show it to him, "This is the one I'm talking about."

His eyes assess the page, his Adam's apple bobbing heavily in his throat as he takes in what you were referring to. He nods slowly, "Okay yeah, I see what you mean. She's about to come, that's why she looks like that."

Your brow furrows, "You can tell that from a picture?"

He shrugs, eyes still on the magazine, "Well, see, he's rubbin' her clit," he points to it and your face goes hot again, "And he's fuckin' her pretty hard. So yeah, I'd say she's either already comin' or about to." his gaze shifts back to you, noticing that you're staring, and he awkwardly pushes the magazine back toward you, "What?"

"I just..." you swallow, shaking your head apologetically, "Sorry, it just sounded really dirty hearing you say that."

He suddenly looks uncomfortable, shifting on the couch and leaning away from you as he crosses his arms, "Well, you asked."

"I know, I don't mean it in a bad way," you step back and realize you're suddenly throbbing in your jeans, feeling that familiar wetness again, "It just... hearing you say it out loud like that, it makes the picture hotter, somehow."

He looks at you, gaze trailing from your eyes to your lips. You suddenly feel like you've said too much, exposed even though you're fully dressed, and you walk back over to the chair and quickly plop back down in it. You give him another look and see his lips parting like he's going to say something else. Instead he takes a breath and drops his eyes from your face, twisting around on the couch to face the opposite way, "It's late, we should sleep."

"Y-yeah," you breathe, crossing your legs, heart stuttering as your clothed core presses wetly against the denim of your jeans. "You're right."

You curl back up in the chair and try to calm your breath, slow your heart, try not to focus too much on the fact that hearing Joel of all people say the phrases he's rubbin' her clit and fuckin' her pretty hard has made you start falling to pieces. Do you even see Joel that way? Has there ever been a moment where you found yourself thinking about him like that? You want to tell yourself the answer is no, that your body is simply experiencing some pent-up sexual frustration and he has nothing to do with it, but you know you'd be lying to yourself.

He's hot. It's not some shocking revelation or something you've realized over time. There's a reason you'd felt so drawn to him that first day in the dining hall, a reason you'd watched out for him every day and hoped he'd notice you. Hell, there's a reason you're still doing patrols with him despite him being a pain in the ass. You're not an idiot, you know yourself well enough by now to know what these things mean.

You're attracted to him. You've been attracted to him this whole damn time.

You shut your eyes tight and curl up into a ball, holding your knees to your chest. He's rubbin' her clit, his voice echoes in your mind, and your cunt begins to ache.

Stop thinking about it, you shake his words away and try to focus on falling asleep. There's no way you're gonna touch yourself right now, not with him in the room, and you're not gonna excuse yourself either like some horny teenager. You can do this, you can get through it, it'll go away soon.

-

It doesn't go away.

About twenty minutes later you're still sitting there with your eyes shut, trying your hardest not to touch yourself. But it's so fucking difficult. His words are playing on a loop in your head, over and over, soft yet rough, kind yet sexy, his southern drawl making it all the more hotter:

She's about to come, that's why she looks like that.

He's rubbin' her clit.

He's fuckin' her pretty hard.

I'd say she's either already comin' or about to.

You squirm in the chair, imagining what he'd sound like whispering that in your ear with his fingers pumping in and out of you as you came undone beneath him. Rubbin' her clit, his voice breathes in your mind, fuckin' her pretty hard, she's about to come.

You're ten seconds from breaking your own rule and heading back to the supply closet to find some release when you hear an unfamiliar sound coming from a few feet away. Your eyes flutter open, thoughts stopping momentarily as you try to figure out what it is. You turn slightly in your chair to see if Joel hears it too, and you feel your breath stop completely.

He's turned off the lantern so you can't see him properly, but you can make out the shadow of him in the moonlight, see the long shape of him directly mirrored against the floorboards and his hand stroking himself up and down, quick and rough. Your lips part in disbelief, realizing the noise you're hearing is the sound of his palm slapping against the base of his cock as he jacks himself off.

You've gotta be fucking kidding me.

Here you've been, desperately trying to push away any and all sense of desire so you wouldn't make a fool out of yourself, wouldn't make him uncomfortable, and here he is doing that exact thing. Angrily, almost out of spite, you sit up in the chair and stuff your hand down your jeans.

Two can play at that game, asshole.

Your finger goes straight to your clit and you begin to rub it furiously, eyes trained on the dark outline of his hand moving up and down. You can only vaguely make out the shape of him but it's enough to make you start dripping, the base of your palm getting slick as you stimulate yourself continuously. He's well endowed, that much is obvious, and you watch his silhouette as he releases his large cock for a moment to bring his hand to his mouth and lick a stripe along his palm. You have to bite down on your lip to suppress the moan that threatens to bubble from your throat at the action, watching through lidded eyes as he brings his wet hand back down and fists himself once more.

Without much thought you slip your middle finger inside yourself, eyes trained on him as you pretend it's his cock pushing past your entrance. It's pretty difficult to imagine though, considering his cock is probably five times as girthy as your one finger, but you make do. You can kind of make out the shape of the tip, wide and shiny, disappearing and reappearing over and over. You slip a second finger inside and bite back a whimper.

The only sounds in the room are the slapping of his skin and the sudden wet squelch of your fingers; you don't even bother to try and make it softer, you're getting off now whether he knows or not, the fullness overwhelming you as you lick your lips and furrow your brow. You haven't masturbated in a long time; you know it won't take you long to get what you need.

"Are you-" he suddenly gasps into the darkness, and your head snaps up to look at him again, heart pounding when you see that his hand has stilled on his cock and he's looking over at you with an expression of pure disbelief.

You should probably be embarrassed, apologetic, but instead you can't help but feel a rush of pride, of spite, as he realizes what you're doing.

"Like you're not," you hiss back, practically spitting as you continue to fuck yourself, "I'm not deaf."

"Thought you were sleepin'," he says back, and you can see his fingers clench around his length, like he's doing everything in his power not to stroke himself.

"And that makes it less weird?"

He groans and lets go of himself completely, sitting up slightly on the couch and shaking his head like he's trying to wake himself up from a dream he isn't having. When he looks at you again his eyes fall to where you're still getting off, not bothering to be sneaky about the way he practically bores a hole in your jeans with his gaze.

"So what are you gonna do about it?" he challenges gruffly, eyes coming back up to meet yours, the hint of a cocky smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth.

Oh, he's proud of himself, isn't he?

You glare at him, "I'm not gonna do anything about it, Joel. I'm gonna keep going," you mean it too, fingers not even slowing down as you pant breathlessly in his direction, "And you can stay here or you can go, doesn't matter to me."

It does matter, actually, it really does. If he was to get up and walk out... it would basically be a rejection, something you're not sure you'll be able to deal with. You don't break eye contact with him, staring him down as you give him your own challenge.

He swallows, gives you one last look, and then flops back down into a horizontal position as he reaches for himself again. He returns to his quick strokes, almost purposely more heavy this time as he mutters, "No talking. Let's just do it and forget it even happened, deal?"

"Deal," you reply immediately, and add a third finger.

It doesn't take long for you to find your release, a particularly hard slap of skin from Joel on the couch pushing you over the edge. You don't try to stifle your moan this time, focusing completely on enjoying your orgasm as your hand stills in your pants and you begin to shake in the chair. Your hips buck pathetically, eyes shutting tight as you whimper and cry out in pleasure.

"Jesus Christ," you hear Joel pant a few seconds afterward, followed by a long groan as he starts to come too, "Fuck."

You manage to catch a glimpse of the way he twists his wrist, aims his cock against his button-down and stains it with his release. You wish you had a better view, that it wasn't so dark, but just hearing him come apart is enough. It's exactly what you hoped it would be.

You lay there in silence for a few moments, both of you panting breathlessly from your orgasms as the weight of what you've just done starts to creep in. You're suddenly slightly afraid of what he'll say, what he'll do. Will he get mad? Will he say he doesn't want to patrol with you anymore? You decide immediately that you don't want him to have the first word.

"What were you thinking about?" you ask, barely a whisper.

It takes a few moments for him to reply, and you start to worry that you've already ruined everything, but then he answers.

"Bunny ears," he says quietly.

"What?"

"I was thinkin' about the bunny ear girl," he's still breathless, "From the magazine. Weren't you?"

You figure you can't dig the hole any deeper.

"I was just watching you, Joel," you breathe, feeling butterflies tingle in your belly at the words, "Didn't have to think about anything else."

He doesn't say anything for a moment, then mumbles something to himself that you don't understand. You can't fully make out his expression but you swear you see him frown in the moonlight, not exactly the response you were aiming for. He suddenly turns on the couch again to face away from you, exhaling loudly, "Go to sleep."

The words strike you hard, lips parting in surprise. You obviously hadn't expected him to completely reciprocate, to jump into your arms and kiss you, but that? "Go to sleep"? What the fuck kind of a response is that? You stare at him, hoping against reason that he'll turn around again and apologize, say something different, but he doesn't.

"Yeah, sure," you mutter, curling back up into a ball in the chair and hoping sleep finds you as soon as possible so you don't have to think anymore, "Asshole."

You hope he hears you.

-

You wake the next morning to the sound of someone rummaging nearby, and you open your eyes blearily to see Joel crouched near the door, packing his bag. You stretch and yawn automatically, momentarily forgetting what had transpired between the two of you last night. His head tilts up to look at you and it all comes flooding back when you see that familiar frown on his face.

"Do you ever smile?" you say, voice rough with sleep.

He rolls his eyes and goes back to his pack, shaking his head, "Like you're so chipper."

"Well, at least I have a good reason to be annoyed," you snap, sitting up in the chair and stretching your legs, "Asshole."

"You love to call me that, don't you?"

"Just calling it like I see it," you mutter, pulling yourself up and heading past him to the door, "I'm taking a piss."

"Watch out for th-"

"The trip wires, I know," you interrupt coldly, "I'm not an idiot."

He doesn't say anything else but you feel his eyes on your back as you walk out onto the balcony and down the steps. You both have to pee in the woods when you're out here - the ski lifts aren't the only things that don't work properly anymore - so you've managed to each figure out your own designated area. You feel relieved once you're out of his eyesight and beneath the thick layer of tree branches that keep your makeshift bathroom secluded.

You really shouldn't be so pissed at him, it's not like he owes you anything. You know you're projecting your own feelings onto him and that it isn't fair, but god, him telling you to go to sleep after you'd essentially confessed your attraction to him makes your blood boil. He'd really had nothing else to say? Couldn't have come up with something a little softer, a little kinder? Let you down easy?

You grumble to yourself on the way back up the steps, questioning whether or not you should keep ignoring him or just get over it. Is it really worth an hours hike of hostility? You already know this is your last shift with him, there's no way you can come back from this in any way that will keep your dignity intact. It's over.

"You say you're not a kid but you sure do act like one," Joel says the second you re-enter the ski lodge, and you stop dead in your tracks. He's got his arms crossed, nose flaring in anger, "I'm sick and tired of the silent treatment, the cold shoulder, all that shit. What happened to people just talkin' to each other?"

You shut the door behind you and shake your head, "I'm not giving you the silent treatment Joel, calm down."

"Don't tell me to calm down," his voice is firm but you can hear some emotion there, something deeper. He doesn't like being ignored and you know why, but it doesn't soften your resolve.

"I'm pissed at you, yeah," you admit, shrugging, "But I think I have a pretty valid reason."

"And what is it?"

You stare, scrunching up your face in confusion, "Are you serious? Jesus, Joel, I thought you were smart."

"Oh, fuck off," he grumbles, rolling his eyes again, "I ain't a mind reader."

You shake your head again, inhaling deeply, "I'm not asking you to read my mind, Joel," you exhale and try to calm yourself, feeling the angry tears begin to sting your eyes. God, you hate how emotional you get when you're angry. You hate showing weakness like this.

"Then tell me," he groans, "Is it about last night? 'Cause I thought we made a deal that we're not gonna talk about it."

You laugh at his words, cold and hard, "Right, yeah, sorry. Deal's a deal, right? My bad," you couldn't sound more sarcastic if you tried, stuffing your roll of toilet paper back in your pack and zipping it up, "Come on, let's just head back and forget about it." Your voice cracks on the last few words and you bite down hard on your lip, feeling the tears spill over.

"Are you crying?" his voice falters, and you hear a twinge of kindness in his tone, something you'd desperately wanted to hear last night.

He crosses the room before you even have a chance to reply, striding over to you and placing his hand on your shoulder firmly, making you turn around. His face softens immediately when he sees the tears streaming down your face, the tears you're already trying to wipe away.

"Fuck," he says, brow furrowing in concern, "I'm sorry."

You snort involuntarily, shaking your head, "I'm just stupid."

"You're not stupid," it's almost a whisper, "I'm the stupid one, believe me," he brings his hand up like he's going to touch your face but seems to think better of it, bringing it back to your shoulder again, "I shouldn't have... I don't know what I was thinkin' last night, I'm sorry. You showed me that magazine and-"

You put your hand up to silence him, "I don't care about why, Joel. I don't even care that you did it, it's not like I told you to stop."

His brow furrows deeper, "Then what...?"

You close your eyes, breathing deeply before putting on your best impression of him and mumbling, "Go to sleep," like he had the night before, opening your eyes again to see if he understands.

He stares at you for a few seconds, confused, but you watch as it suddenly dawns on him, realization spreading across his features. He suddenly lets go of your shoulder and takes a few steps back, eyes falling to the floor.

"You can't... you can't think of me that way," he says it gruffly, swallowing and shaking his head.

You stand there without saying anything, waiting until he finally looks back up at you to speak. When he does, you make sure to look directly in his eyes.

"Why not?"

His hand comes up to touch the back of his neck and you swear you see patches of red begin to bloom along his collarbone, like he's embarrassed...or flattered? You take a step forward and he quickly takes another step backward.

"If it's because of the age thing... I really don't care, Joel," you say earnestly, heart beginning to beat heavily in your chest, "I think you're..." You can't believe the words are even coming out of your mouth, the tears on your face already beginning to dry as you try to process this new situation you've found yourself in, "I think you're sexy."

His brow furrows again, not in anger but in confusion. He doesn't take another step backward when you move toward him this time, staying rooted in place as you peer up at him, waiting for him to speak. He remains silent, his eyes trained directly on your face, lips set in a firm line.

"You don't believe me, do you?"

He shakes his head slowly, "I don't."

"Why?"

He doesn't reply, just keeps staring at you like he has absolutely no idea what to say. You suddenly feel the need to reassure him, comfort him. Your hand moves upward, aching to cup his face in your hand, feel that grey scruff beneath your palm.

He pulls back before you get the chance, shaking his head again, "Don't," it's barely a whisper, voice breaking as he says it, "Just...gimme a minute."

"Okay," you nod, dropping your hand, "I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizin'," he breathes, still not breaking eye contact, "Just let me think, please."

You swallow, teeth tugging on your lip as he continues to stand there motionless. He's still looking at you but his thoughts are miles away; you can practically see the wheels turning in his head, calculating exactly what he's supposed to do in a situation like this. Part of you wants him to kiss you, part of you wants to kiss him, part of you wants to wait until he makes a decision. You settle firmly on the third option.

"I lied," he finally breaks the silence, jaw tense and firm, "I wasn't thinkin' about that fuckin' bunny ear model."

Your lips part; you hadn't been expecting him to say that.

"Then...what were you thinking about?" You already know the answer before he replies.

"You," his voice is strained, broken, like he's holding himself back, "I was thinkin' about you and the stupid magazines in the supply closet."

You feel your skin flush, a tingle trailing up the back of your neck as you try not to show him how pleased you are, "W-what?"

"I couldn't stop thinkin' about you in that closet, lookin' at those pictures, getting...." he trails off and swallows, then whispers, "Wet. Gettin' all wet in your panties from that girl getting fucked."

His words send an immediate throb to your core and you can feel your heart in your throat, pounding relentlessly as he continues to speak, continues to say exactly what's been on his mind as you stand in front of him, so much smaller than him, letting his words get lost in the sudden warmth of your body and the buzz of your thoughts.

"I couldn't stop thinkin' about it," he repeats, voice rough, eyes dark, "Your wet panties, your big eyes, your..." he practically chokes then, "Your pussy, all wet and aching."

"Oh my god," you whimper, crossing your legs involuntarily as you feel an immediate surge of wetness in your underwear, "Please, keep talking, please."

"Wanted to see it and touch it," he murmurs, his breath ghosting across your face as he peers down at you with desire in his eyes, "Wanted to fuck it and make you come."

Without hesitation your arms shoot up to wrap around his neck, burying your face in his warm chest and tugging at the collar of his coat, "I want you to," you practically moan, clawing at the material, "Joel, I need you to fuck me right now."

To your absolute dismay he reaches up and removes your arms from him, taking a step back so neither of you are touching. His eyes are so dark, pupils blown wide and that red blush of heat now spread all over his neck and cheekbones.

"I can't," he says, shaking his head, "I'm sorry, I can't."

You're about to protest, whine and beg if you have to, but his eyes fall to your groin. You watch with wide eyes as he goes for his belt, begins to unloop it and remove it.

"Take your pants off," he groans, and you don't need telling twice.

-

You end up masturbating together again, this time in the light of day. You find yourselves laying on the couch where he'd slept last night, the memory of what he'd done there fresh in your mind as you pump two fingers in and out of yourself steadily and watch him stroke his cock to match your pace. He watches you behind hooded eyes, his lips parted as he pants and gets himself off to your pleasure, watches you do the same thing to him.

"That's it," he murmurs, eyes scrunching in arousal as he scans your face, watches you come undone, "Rub your clit, nice and fast."

You whimper, unable to hold on for much longer as you eye his cock and see the way the fat head of it drips for you, slicking his hand and allowing him to stroke faster and faster. You want to say something to help get him off too but your words are completely lost in the sensation; you couldn't speak even if you wanted to.

He knows you're about to come, can see it in your face the way he saw it in the face of the model in the picture. He swallows heavily and fucks himself impossibly faster, harder, silently asking you to match his pace. You do it, thumbing your clit and feeling the tense coil in your belly snap as your jaw drops and you let out a long and ridiculously loud moan. Your eyes shut tight and you throw your head back, feeling your body begin to shake from the stimulation.

"There you go," he grunts, and you hear the slapping of skin stop as he rides out his own release, coming into his fist, "Fuck." Your eyes open at just the right time to see his jaw go slack, eyes practically rolling into the back of his head from the pleasure. It somehow makes you ache for more, even though you can't possibly imagine being any more overstimulated than you already are.

You both lay there, chests heaving, hearts pounding, completely undone. It goes without saying that you've both just managed to each have one of the best orgasms of your lives.

"New patrol rule," you whisper to him, legs still wide and cunt dripping with your release, "We do this. Every time. Please."

"Yes," he replies immediately, still catching his breath, "I can do that."

-

"It can't be any more than this," Joel says to you quietly as you hike down the mountain a little while later, the sunrise cresting the trees again the way it had yesterday when you'd hiked up; it's like nothing has changed, but you both know that everything has.

"Okay," you say just as softly, though part of you aches to reach for his hand, loop your pinky through his and have some degree of touch between you. But you can tell he means business, that there won't be any more discussion on the matter today.

"Just this," he whispers, glancing at you with a meaningful look, eyes soft and tender as he peers at you, knowing what he's done, what he's started.

"Just this," you agree, but you don't really believe it.

You hope, deep down, neither does he.

thank you so much for reading! there will be more in this collection coming very soon. i'd like to do some short fics of certain nights they've had, especially the first time he calls her a good girl. that was originally going to be in this part but it was just getting wayyy too long and i have so many ideas i need to flesh out more lol. i'm also going to continue where they left off in "don't think we could help it", and yes, eventually they will do the deed, i promise. among other things....

if you liked it, please let me know! and again, if you'd like to give me a tip you can do so on my kofi 💖