#It would have been nice to see them sharing the same space like this you know?

[midday-clouds]

Yandere Batfamily x Neglected & "Immortal" Reader 》

There are many yandere batfam x neglected reader but I can't get enough of them--- So here is a silly story idea I have

I don't go into too much detail about how the reader is immortal but I'll probably share about it another timeee

CW: Neglect, Self-Degrading, Kidnapping, Violence(Being shot at)

Reader is a product of a hookup between Bruce and some random other woman, your mom

You and your mom had a decent relationship. The two of you would help each other out and have fun playing games. You were so content without knowing who your father was.

Your world begins to collapse when your mom doesn’t come home one day. A bunch of strange people suddenly come into your house and drag you out. You never understood what happened that day besides that you were now alone.

After your mother is announced dead, you find out that you are related to the millionaire, Bruce Wayne. You don’t know much about him but still find yourself put on the Wayne Manor's doorstep

Bruce had just gone through the loss of Jason and had just taken Tim in. He would have happily made some space in his schedule but a case always comes up and makes him forget about you.

Due to Bruce being too busy, you never properly mourned for your mother. Alfred would try to help you but you needed your dad.

For the first week, you locked yourself in your room, almost immediately forgotten by the rest of the family. Alfred would bring meals to your room, knowing that you aren't ready for any sort of interaction in this state. 

Alfred tries to convince Bruce to prioritize your health but there is always a case that takes up all of his attention

After that first week, you become comfortable enough to try and get out of your room at least.

With you around the manor more, the family begins to see them more often but not enough to care.

All of them were busy being vigilantes and weren’t interested in connecting with you. Sure, don't mean to neglect you, but some criminals just don't know when to stop

This worsens your mental state, making them regret not trying to bond with their family earlier. If they had tried in the beginning, then maybe they would have made connections with your new family. Now it feels like they've lost their chance

Alfred would do his best to comfort you but he could only help so much.

When you met Dick, it was when he was stopping by to talk to Bruce. You both had a fun conversation together but that was it.

After that first interaction, you tried to talk to Dick more often when he stopped by, but it seems the first time was just lucky. Dick always had something that didn't allow for a quick chat,

Meeting Jason was honestly terrifying. You were in the kitchen when you heard some noise from outside. It's dark outside so you walk up to the window to see what the sound was

Because of the darkness outside and lights inside, you mainly just see your reflection when looking outside

You squint your eyes to try to see past the reflection when a red helmet pops up and frightened you

Falling onto the ground, you stare in shock at seeing the stranger open the window and step inside

Jason tries to relax your nerves by taking off his helmet, showing he isn't a threat. It doesn't help much when you don't even know who he is

He explains himself after seeing your confused look and you both end up having a small conversation. It was nice until Bruce came in and pulled Jason away.

You never seem to meet Jason again

There were very few instances where you interacted with Tim. Even though you lived in the same house, Tim was always busy.

You’d both exchange small greetings when seeing each other in the hall but that was it. You didn't want to disturb him so you never stopped by his room

you hoped that when Tim had free time, the two could hang out. However, Tim always made plans that you couldn't fit into

Sometimes you would hear that Tim has been playing a game with his friends and you would play it but by yourself.

After a couple of years, Damian enters the family and you were so excited

Because Damian was new to the family, you thought it would be the perfect opportunity to bond with him

That didn't go well. He almost stabbed you

Your opinion of Damian was quick to go sour.

Damian's acts to show authority have gotten you scared of walking around the manor and frightened of animals. Specifically Titus.

It is quite unfortunate as you love animals and to have a dog in the family would bring you so much joy. Too bad Titus has attacked and chased you on multiple occasions

You didn't know what to do with the violence Damian had been taking out on you. You don't feel comfortable talking to Bruce and don't want to bother Alfred. This leads to you bottling up your emotions and locking yourself in your room

During your time, you spent reflecting on your life. Being in the manor isn't helping your mental health so it would be good to go outside more. Due to your constant attempts to bond with your family, you don't spend too much time with your friends from school

Seeing this as another perfect opportunity, you make plans with your friends to get out of the house and have a bit of self-care

Once the day comes, you quickly pack a small backpack and leave the house, only leaving a note for Alfred that says where you're at.

Finally getting some “fresh” air and being surrounded by those who feel more like family than your real family

You all have the best day and make plans for more get-togethers. 

It may not be the safest to be out so often but you’ve lived in Gotham your whole life, you know the safety procedures to stay safe. There isn't much news on you so people don't even recognize you as Bruce’s kid

Of course, something had to happen

You and your friends had just finished a fun day and you realize that your bike was stolen, meaning you don't have a way home. Your friends offered to take you home but you declined out of politeness. If something does go wrong, you ask your friends to call you to check up on you

Your walk home is longer than expected and it’s getting darker. As you walk through the streets of Gotham, you’re suddenly pulled into an alley and are threatened with a gun

There a three masked guys and one of them seems to have recognized you as Bruce’s kid, changing their plan to use you for ransom

You’re knocked out and taken to an abandoned building where you’re tied up to a pipe in the back

The kidnappers have a ransom letter and take it to the Wayne manor, including the small backpack you carried around

Unfortunately, Alfred was on his month-long vacation and Bruce was the one to receive the letter

He takes the time to contact "all" his kids and they're all perfectly fine and he doesn't recognize the backpack that was sent with the letter. There was a wallet but no ID card of any kind. The letter also didn't have a name on it.

Bruce brings up the case to the rest of the family but they agree that it may be a scam. 

The letter was likely from some desperate person who was trying to trick Bruce into giving money so it was put on the side while the family worked on a bigger case. 

Because of this, you’re held hostage for an unknown amount of days before the kidnappers get tired of waiting and shoot you in the gut out of frustration 

You’re filled with immense pain from the bullet before darkness consumes you.

More days pass before you wake up, still tied to a pipe and blood stained clothes

It seems your kidnappers had left your body behind rather than getting rid of it. You’ve been struggling with the rope since you have been taken and it was paying off because you can see that you can almost get your hands free.

Once you're out of the building, it is midnight. You immediately run back to the manor the moment you find a family path.

No one is there to notice you make your way back to your room. Because of how long it's been, you don't leave a trail of blood. Maybe some dirt but hopefully it won't be too hard to clean up

You debate on what action to take next. Looking in the mirror, the injury from the bullet is gone and you don't want to go to the hospital

One thing that is clear though is that you are extremely hungry and how dirty you feel. With this on your mind, you do your best to clean yourself up before going down to the kitchen

You don't feel comfortable talking to anyone so thankfully the rest of the family is busy at night,

Once you are sure no one is around, you take a bunch of snacks and hurry back to your room

In your room, you eat everything until you finally feel full. Hopefully, you don't just throw everything up because it feels so nice to finally have something in your stomach

Your nerves begin to relax and you truly take in the events that happened

How are they still alive? They were shot at and haven't had food for half a month. What happened? Did Bruce not get the ransom letter? Why did no one save you? Did your friends call you?

Quickly remembering your friends, you look for your phone but are unable to find it. Not wanting to worry your friends, you open up your laptop to contact your friends through there. You see that you've gotten multiple calls and messages from your friends and it honestly makes you happy, knowing that there were people that worried and cared about you. You quickly text your friends and tell them what happened (Not mentioning how you survived being shot)

During your chat, the topic changes to college stuff. Your senior year has just ended a couple of weeks ago and it would be good for you to move out and be closer to those that make you happy. Also, after the kidnapping, you don’t want to be near your current family. They were the reason you were kidnapped and didn’t even bother to help you

Your friends suggest going to college outside of Gotham, perhaps in Bludhaven.

After many years of being stuck in a family that does nothing but hurt you, you got an acceptance letter for a school in Bludhaven. You were so happy and had a small celebration with your friends. Unfortunately, none of your friends would be joining you but you couldn’t wait to truly be free. 

Alfred returns from his vacation and reviews all the work that he left behind, along with Bruce’s mail. He knows Bruce has likely already reviewed them but it helps Alfred get back on pace with his work

He finds the discarded ransom letter and immediately checks up on you.

When he goes to your room, he finds the room empty besides some items that you weren’t planning to bring to college with you. This worries Alfred more and goes to Bruce’s office to confront him about the letter.

Bruce is filled with immense guilt when he realizes he forgot that you existed and now you could be dead in an abandoned building. Him and the rest of your family completely forgot about you

Bruce has an emergency meeting with everyone where he explains the situation. Once a plan is set, they all go out in the night to find you. However, they only find loose restraints with dried-up blood and a broken phone.

When the family returns to the manor, Tim goes to his room to fix the phone, Bruce and Damian go to the Batcave to review the cameras, Dick and Jason decide to visit your room

With Alfred’s help, Dick and Jason find your room and take a look around. It isn’t the biggest and barely has anything in it. 

Jason finds some old and filled journals and looks through them. There is a checklist for school work, notes to yourself, and personal entries. He understands the emotions you put in your journal and wants to protect you. Especially when he reads your last entry about your kidnapping 

Dick looks at the decorations you have on the wall. There are some glow-in-the-dark stars, some posters from school events, etc. One of the posters is for a theater show and he wonders if you were a part of it. Either an actor or tech person, Dick wonders why he never heard about your shows. He attempts to take a poster off the wall but the tape used peeled some of the paint off the wall.

Bruce loads up the camera and looks at what happened the day the ransom letter was given to Bruce. You had this happy smile as you made sure you had everything you needed before going through the front door. About a week later, Bruce sees you on the camera, in bloodied clothes and completely exhausted. This brings a wave of relief to Bruce while Damian looks closely at the camera footage. The front of your shirt is covered in blood and has a hole in it, but you seem completely uninjured. 

The last thing the two see of you is you slowly taking your stuff out of the manor and officially moving out

Bruce and Damian find your room to update Dick and Jason on their findings.

They’re thankful that you’re alive but still need to see you in the flesh. Looking around your bedroom, there aren't many clues about where you have gone. 

Tim takes a few days to fix the damage on your phone. At the very least, he needs to save the data that was kept on the phone. After messing with a few parts of your phone, he transfers all the data to his computers.

Once everything is saved, Tim lets his curiosity get the best of him and looks through all of your stuff before informing the rest of the family. All your photos, text messages, etc. He sees all the calls and voicemails your friends sent you on the day you were kidnapped.

Tim continues to learn more about your interests and your efforts to spend time with the family. You ranting to your friends about only playing a game or reading a book because someone in the family has read or played it.

Tim ends up having a copy of all your data for personal use before speaking to the rest of the family

Your phone is finally fixed and Tim can use it to find the location of your laptop. All the way in Bludhaven

With new hope, the family begins their search for you

They just need to take you home and keep you safe

Forever

[saltpepperbeard]

For this Sexual Sunday, the Morning After, but they're on the same page ✨💜

[godsfavdarling]

watching him

part of him (one-shot series), my masterlist

pairing: Spencer Reid x gn!reader summary: You help Spencer wash his curls properly. words: 1,2k warnings: most self indulgent fluff you have ever read, nudity/bathing together, maybe a bit suggestive but still sfw, no y/n a/n: I was in the shower and famously I have the same hair type and color as mgg and we would absolutely share our routine.

Spencer's head tilted toward you, giving you better access to his tangled brown strands. 

Your fingers, maybe a bit too roughly, moved through his scalp, detangling with a kind of focused care you hadn’t realized you were capable of.

You sat facing each other in the cramped bathroom, your legs tucked on either side of his while his stretched out around you, creating a tight but strangely comfortable space between you.

You couldn't help but watch him intently. 

With his eyes closed, unaware of your gaze, he looked almost ethereal—peaceful in a way you rarely got to see. 

His wet curls framed his face, softening his features, and the dim light of the bathroom made him look even more serene. 

There was something mesmerizing about watching him like this, when he couldn't catch you staring, when he couldn't see the way you studied every detail.

He looked so pretty, so effortlessly beautiful, that you let yourself indulge, longer than you should, in the quiet act of watching him.

“This smells nice,” he murmured, his eyes squeezed shut to shield them from your movements and the severe foam you created. His voice was soft, almost drowsy. 

He didn’t say anything more, but you caught the faintest hint of pleasure in his tone. 

Maybe he enjoyed this. Maybe he liked having his hair tugged. You made a mental note of that.

“I don’t really like this one much,” you admitted, scrunching your nose at the scent as you continued working the product through his hair.

“Really?” he asked, his brows furrowing slightly. His eyes remained closed, but the slight upward tilt of his head suggested curiosity.

“Yeah. It’s too intense. I liked it at first, but now it’s overwhelming.”

“I still like it. It smells like you,” he replied, his voice low and steady.

Not water related heat rushed through your body. 

You suddenly became hyper-aware of how close you were. 

You resumed your careful work on his curls, trying to focus, but it wasn’t easy.

You never thought you’d enjoy this so much. You hated washing your own hair, but washing his? It felt like a sweet dessert, a perfect indulgence after the cozy dinner you’d shared on the couch.

Your thighs kept brushing against his in the tight confines of the tub, sending a slow, torturous fever through your veins.

As if that weren’t enough, his hands found your knees at some point, his thumbs tracing lazy circles on your skin. 

He wasn’t making your task any easier.

You fought to keep your breath steady, your heart from racing out of control. You tried to play it cool, as if having him this close, this intimate, wasn’t driving you to the edge.

Is this what it felt like? 

Is this how you know the bond with him is real? Maybe it wasn't an accident after all. 

You've felt like you dreamed Spencer into existence, like he stepped out of the picture you'd been painting in your mind since childhood. 

You felt like you dreamed him up .

And one day, there he was—alive, right in front of you, as if he'd always been meant to be.

And now you were squeezed together in your tiny bathtub on a Friday night, showing him how to take care of his curls. 

“Okay, I’m going to rinse out the shampoo now. Don’t open your eyes,” you warned.

“They’re still closed,” he assured, a slight smirk tugging at his lips.

You carefully worked the water through his hair, rinsing away the foam while your fingers combed through his curls. You realized you might’ve been a little rougher than necessary. You gently squeezed the excess water from his hair.

“You have to get rid of the water like this,” you explained, gathering his hair and squeezing it upward in small sections. “Don’t straighten it out, just squeeze it up. Does that make sense?”

“I get it,” he said, his voice laced with quiet trust.

“You could do more complicated stuff, but your hair’s pretty gentle, so I think just shampoo and conditioner for curly hair will do the trick. Just... don’t brush it when it’s dry, okay?”

“Okay,” he repeated, nodding slightly.

“You only brush it when it’s really, really wet. Now for the conditioner.” You took the bottle and squeezed out what you deemed the right amount, showing it to him. “This should be enough.”

He nodded again, his head still hanging, eyes shut as the water ran over him. You carefully worked the conditioner into his hair. 

“You can brush through it if you need to, but don’t put any on your scalp. This one doesn’t need time to soak in, so we can rinse it right away.”

You gently massaged the conditioner through his curls before turning on the water again, running your fingers through his hair to ensure all the product was rinsed out.

You turned the water off and squeezed the excess water from his hair one last time.

Gently, you lifted his head, tugging it upward, and carefully pushed his damp curls away from his pretty face. 

As you brushed the hair from his forehead, his eyes blinked open, still sensitive to the bright bathroom light. 

His lashes were damp, and he rubbed at his eyes, finally releasing his hold on your knees. 

For a moment, you both just looked at each other.

There you were.

Both naked.

Taking care of each other.

What kind of dream was this?

Before you got to dwell on your life more Spencer broke the silence. 

“Now, my turn,” he said, his voice still soft but now filled with a teasing certainty.

You blinked, surprised. “What?”

“I’m going to wash your hair,” he clarified, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

There was even more warmth in his eyes than usual and a quiet determination you weren’t sure you could say no to.

“Spence, you don’t have to—”

“I know,” he said, already shifting in the tub to give himself a bit more space, motioning for you to turn around. “But I want to.”

You hesitated for a moment, the idea of letting him touch you in such a way—this close, this tender—sending a flutter of nervous excitement through your chest. 

“Okay,” you murmured as you turned around. 

You weren’t sure how much longer you could handle facing him now that his eyes were open.

You couldn’t take the way he looked at you. It felt too soft and too loving sometimes.

What did you do to deserve this? To deserve him?

For the sake of your own sanity, you shifted your focus to counting the tiles, letting the numbers steady your racing thoughts of him.

So close. So visible in the bathroom lighting.

His hands found their way to your shoulders first, steady and reassuring, before sliding up to your head. 

His fingers, surprisingly deft, massaged your scalp with slow, deliberate movements, while his other hand held the showerhead, gently wetting your hair. 

You hadn’t anticipated how good it would feel, how effortlessly the tension in your body would melt away under his careful touch.

“I’ll be gentle,” he murmured, his voice close to your ear, causing a shiver to run down your spine.

You closed your eyes, surrendering to him. Letting him watch you.

[ameliathornromance]

It was strange for your Orc Boyfriend not to pick up his phone.

He was normally available at all hours of the day. Usually, you’d never call him unless absolutely necessary - the last thing you wanted was to be one of those overbearing girlfriends.

At the start of your relationship, everything was amazing. 

Every time you met up at the end of the week for a date, he always brought a freshly cut bouquet of flowers paired with a broad smile across his usually intimidating face.

After the six month mark of being together, he suggested that you move in with him and you gladly accepted the invitation.

It was nice to come home to a partner, who greeted you with open arms, a kiss on the cheek and an, “hi honey, how was your day?”

But the past few weeks had become… strange.

It was the change in the air when you woke up, the way that whenever you tried to display any kind of physical affection, your Orc would shrug you off, grunt in annoyance.

It was fine the first few times - sometimes people just aren’t in the mood for that kind of thing. But the tense air never left your flat, and your boyfriend’s company became less and less frequent in the evenings.

Maybe he just needed some time alone, you’d reasoned. Even you needed alone time, and since you both now shared a living space, that became more important than ever. 

You knew you shouldn’t place a timer on these things, however the need for his ‘time alone’ became longer and longer. So, you asked him when he got back from work if you’d done something wrong.

You had already searched your mind for things that you might have done to annoy him, but nothing came to mind.

He just gave the same, nonchalant grunt, “no. Why would you think you’d done something wrong?”

Well, if it wasn’t you, then maybe it was work? He had been staying out in the evenings more often. 

That was your follow up question, to which he also replied, “no. What makes you think that?” After which, he gave you a glower and stalked to your shared room.

Not wanting to start anything, you’d just left it at that. 

As Boys Night went on, you began to bite at your fingernails, staring at your phone on your coffee table.

The screen was black, blank. What were you watching it for? A call? A message? A DM from him?

Usually, your Orc would text you when he was on his way back home or would let you know that he and his friends were going to be staying out later than initially planned.

As the evening got later and later, you knew something was wrong. Picking up your phone, you dialled your boyfriend’s number.

Nails still in your mouth as the dial tone went on, once, twice, three, four- 

“I’m sorry,” the robotic voice said from the other end of the line, “but the person you’re trying to reach-“ you hung up the phone and tried again.

This time it went straight to voicemail.

You flinched, frowning at your phone. Did he intentionally hang up on you?

Not being able to stand the lack of communication any longer, you tracked his phone to a club called ‘Eden’, picked up your coat and keys, and left your flat.

There had to be an explanation for this, there had to be. You’d get to the club, and find your Orc absolutely hammered. 

Your heart ached at the image of his face lighting up at seeing you… the way it used to when you were first seeing each other. 

You wished he’d look at you like that again.

Sucking in deep breaths, you drove to the club and found the line outside it to be relatively small.

After waiting in line for what seemed like an eternity, you were let in and greeted by the thudding music, sweaty clubbers dancing and swaying to the beat.

Navigating through them, you looked down at your phone, which guided you to the bar, where you stopped dead in your tracks.

A smile you hadn’t seen for weeks, was plastered on your Orc Boyfriends face as his arm was slung around a human woman, glitter decorating her cheeks, dark hair and revealing outfit on, hand on your boyfriends chest, her eyes half-lidded and looking at him as if he was the most attractive Orc in the room.

They chatted animatedly, your Orc getting closer, and closer to her face, as if he was going to kiss her.

It took a moment for the both of them to notice you, but when your Orc did, his face fell.

You were too stunned to say anything, and so you turned and walked straight back to the exit.

The night's cold air stung your cheeks as you freed yourself from the humidity of the club atmosphere, eyes stinging with hot tears.

You bit your lip, trying to fight them back as you heard your boyfriend's voice behind you. “Love, what are you-”

“Don’t you ‘love’ me!” You spat at him. Wheeling around on your heel, you glowered at him. “What the hell is wrong with you?! I was worried sick about you, and here you are, chatting up some woman at a club!”

Your Orc flinched at your harsh words, as if the accusation was completely and utterly false. 

He recovered quickly however, his usual glower returning. “You aren’t even supposed to be here,” he growled, jabbing a finger at you. “It’s Boys night, the one night of the week I get to have time to myself!” 

“Really?!” You shrieked. “Because it seems as though every night of the week you ‘have to yourself’!” 

“Yeah and maybe I need that time to myself, because I have such a clingy girlfriend at my side all the fucking time!” He snapped back at you. 

You recoiled at the harsh words. Staring at him, you searched his face for any kind of regret for what he just said. 

But his tirade continued, “‘have I done anything wrong?’” He imitated you, “‘you’re not mad at me are you?’ ‘If there’s something wrong you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?’ I’m fucking sick of it!” 

The tears rolled down your cheeks as the Orc opposite you rubbed his face with his palms, frustratedly, letting out an irritated sigh.

“I’m sorry,” your voice cracked, “that I wanted to make sure my boyfriend was okay. I was only asking, because you’d been pulling away from me,” wiping the tears from your face, you raised your own voice, “I’m still trying to make this work, because I love you!” 

“Have you ever considered that maybe I don’t?” The Orc snapped back.

“Then why did you ask me to move in with you?!” 

“Because I didn’t think you were going to be this annoying!”

It was like your already fragile, glass heart had been shattered.

What happened to that friendly, loving Orc you’d first met? The one who played with your hair when you first woke up in the morning? The one who would bring home gifts and say, “I saw this and thought of you.”

A wave of clarity hit you, like calm waters after a chaotic storm at sea: this Orc never loved you - at least, not in the way you did.

It surprised you how steady your voice was when you spoke, “fine.” You shrugged. “I’ll go and get my stuff.” Turning on your heel, you walked back to your car, parked just across the street from the club.

For a moment, the Orc didn’t say anything, but still followed after you. “(Y/N), come on I didn’t-” His voice came out soft, weak.

“No,” you opened the car door, looking back at your now ex-boyfriend, “no, it’s fine, I’ll gather my stuff up and I’ll never annoy you again.” 

And with that, you got into the car and drove off, away from Eden.

Away from your Orc.

Patreon - I now have a 7 Day Free Trial enabled! Come have a look at what I've been writing recently!

[anonimusunnoaniswriting]

Sukuna "asshole to the world, sweetheart to his girl" Ryomen

🎀minors and ageless blogs will be blocked 🎀

Pairing: Yakuza!Sukuna Ryomen x Reader

Genre: Smut, dark hero.

Word Count: 1450

Warnings: first off, fucking sukuna himself is a warning on his own so let's just start there. Possessive Sukuna, dark sukuna, yakuza sukuna, shitty boss, mean fucking asshole boss, violence, against boss, dacryphillia, p in v sex, rough sex, semi-public sex, read at your own discretion.

Summary: Sukunas heard you cry because of your boss one too many times. He takes matters into his own hands

A/N: This absolutely SPECTACULAR ART is by @innaillus and you can find the original here.

I want to thank her, not only for allowing me to use this as a banner but also for making such amazing art and sharing it with us. ♥️

This is a purely self indulgent fic. If you don't like it, please don't read it. I had a shitty week and needed a place to cool off.

Sukuna Ryomen glared down at your boss. He’d come in to pick you up and heard the creature screaming at you for something he already knew wasn’t your fault. You’d told him about the trouble you were having with your co-workers who slacked off and your shitty fucker of a boss who for some reason didn’t tell them off, but instead unloaded his anger on you. This would be the last time this pathetic vermin made you cry, he vowed.

He pushed open the door to your small office and stalked in. You stood in the corner trying to make yourself as small as possible, silent tears streaming down your face as your boss kept berating you – not even noticing his presence. One of the other workers tried to step in his way but he shoved them aside like they were nothing more than window curtains. He placed himself in between you and the balding middle aged man who dared to call himself your boss. “Hey nimrod, she doesn’t work for you anymore. Don’t fucking yell at her.”

The man cowered. Sukuna was taller than him and his crossed arms made his thick muscles ripple under his skin.

“Ryo…” you whispered

“Wh-who let th-this man in here? Sir, th-this is an office space. You n-need to leave.” your boss sneered at your saviour.

Sukuna merely smirked at you and pulled you into his side placing his lips on the top of your head in a chaste kiss. “Yeah, don't worry, I’ll be going pretty soon. Breathing the same air as you is making me feel nauseated. Can't believe the patience my baby girl had with your shit-ass, fucker” his first met the man's stomach with a sickening squelching crunch, and your now ex-boss, crumpled onto the floor in a heap.

“I'm gon-gonna call the cops on you asshole’ he croaked out.

Sukuna just laughed. “Have at it, ya great ballsack.”

♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

When Sukuna came to pick you up from work that day he had planned the night down to a T. He’d wanted to take you to a new movie that you'd been itching to see but hadn't had the time. He would follow that with a fancy sushi dinner at the city's best restaurant and then take you to the outskirts where there was a nice little viewpoint he had discovered where he planned on showing you the stars – in more than one way…

But when you didn't come out at your specified time, nor answer the cute message he’d sent you – Where you at, kitty-kat? – Sukuna decided to investigate and came across your asshole of a boss yelling at you. He’d had enough. You’d been coming home and complaining about him and even once returned in tears. It took everything he had to not rip the bastard’s throat out. But he was done with you being abused. You deserved better. Which is exactly what he told you now as you lay with him on the hood of his car.

The plans had been altered slightly, you would be watching the movie with him the next day. He’d skipped the fancy sushi and instead opted for your favourite comfort food – Chinese cuisine. Slurping down saucy noodles, and munching on crispy gyoza always made you feel better he knew and he found himself smiling at your joy. He’d then driven you to his secret viewpoint. You sat there on the hood of his car with him beside you. In the distance, the pretty lights of Tokyo lit up the horizon and reflected off your lover's red eyes. Above you, the stars twinkled in their own magic…

Something about you had him wrapped around your finger. One of the most feared yakuza, putty in your hands. Of course, no one knew the connection. It was all kept hushed for your convenience.

“Kitty-kat?” Sukuna called to you and you looked up at your man. “You know— you know I’m rich enough to support both of us easily right?”

You hummed. “Yes, but I don’t wanna be some dainty housewife, sitting and waiting for my husband to come home and serve him dinner Ryo! I have a whole ass degree that a lot of money was spent on, I’d like to use it babe!”

“Husband?”

“What?”

“You said, husband. Not boyfriend. Or SO. Or partner. You said husband.”

“Yeah… I said husband…”

“You wanna marry me?”

“I mean, yeah, eventually right?”

Sukuna crashed his lips into yours in a heated kiss; all teeth and tongue. He pulled your body close, pressing against you. “I want you so bad right now, future wife. I want you so fucking badly.” He half growled in your ear.

“You have me Ryo. I’m right here.” you replied. You tugged at Sukunas pants and he unbuckled his belt. Sukuna grinded against your thigh while kissing you. His hands tugged at the buttons on your blouse, undoing them as he went. You could feel the bulge growing in his jeans. He kissed down from your lips, to your jaw, to your neck down to the valley of your breasts.

“I wanna fuck you.” He looked at you with a lidded gaze “May I? I won’t be able to stop if we go further than this kitty-kat.”

You lifted your leg to rub against his clothed cock. “I’d leave you right now if you didn’t, Sukuna Ryomen. So fuck me already.” Sukuna flashed you a fanged smile and dipped his head pulling down your bra and freeing your breasts. He bit and licked and sucked, actions that were sure to leave marks on you. Further south his fingers pushed aside your panties and found entrance. He slowly worked his way into you, rubbing gentle circles in your skin. You allowed yourself to let go and dirty moans slipped out from your lips. Your fingers tangled in his pink hair – so soft, so smooth.

Once he had you dripping, he lay back down and ordered, “Sit on my face, and suck my cock while you’re at it.”

You followed, undoing his zipper and pulling his boxers and jeans off his semi-hard cock. You tentatively licked his head as you positioned your pussy right about his face. Sukuna pushed your skirt up and ripped your panties with a practised ease, pulling your hips down to his face. He loved having you like that. Every time he flicked his tongue against your clit your pussy would visibly tighten. You’d drool down the length of his cock hypnotised. Tongue flat against it as you struggled to maintain composure. It wouldn’t take long for him to make you cum all over his face for the first time. Legs quivering and hips shaking he brought you down again, laying you on the hood for him.

He lined up his cock – now rock hard from your mouth – with your entrance and sank into you. Slowly pushing his bulbous head, followed by his girthy length. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss.

Sukuna thrust up into you. Your lips were hot and burning. You felt a wave of emotion come through and tears welled up in your eyes.

“Fuck Ryo— feels s’good!”

Sukuna snarled and increased his pace. His eyes glinted dangerously. “Feels good, huh kitty-kat! Gonna make you mine. No man’s gonna dare fuck with you again.” His movements were rough and jagged but drew out the pleasure in your core. The tightly wound knot in your abdomen built up with each movement, each drawn out pull, each hard thrust. You arched your back desperate to have him more, more, more!

Your second climax hit just as Sukuna grabbed a fistful of your hair. Your cunt spasmed, clasping around him and you cried out his name in a debauched prayer.

Sukuna looked more composed than he felt. His cock throbbed inside you, attuned to the flutters of your pussy. Just because you’d come didn’t mean he would stop. He chased his own release inside of you pulling your hair back, devouring your lips. His cock bullied you to the point of overstimulation. Tears ran down your cheeks again but this time they were those of pleasure.

He came, towering over you, eyes squeezed shut, head buried in the crook of your neck. His giant frame collapsed onto you and he carefully rolled off to the side so he wouldn't crush you.

“So, about that husband thing…”

You turned to look at him, blushing. “Ryo…”

He held up a ring; the ring his father left him. Gold work, carved into a dragon that held a shiny black pearl in its claws.

“I’ll get you a prettier one later, I promise but for now…” he took a deep breath. “Marry me, kitty-kat?”

A/N: please note this was a very hurried creation and edit, if you do find any errors or typos feel free to point them out KINDLY. Thank you for reading.

As always likes and reblogs are much appreciated and comments will earn you kissies!

[bayjaruchel]

Whammy Kiss Me (Whammy Hug)

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Pairing: Clapton Davis/AFAB Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Maybe Seven Minutes in Heaven isn't a pointless party game, after all. (3.9k | originally posted on ao3 | Masterlist )

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It's not until the closet door shuts that you realize the gravity of your current situation. 

You've been at the party for at least a couple of hours; you've grown used to the general noise. The slight haziness of the air. You're not quite hammered yet, but you've got one or two drinks in your system. Just enough that you can enjoy the feeling without worrying about the hangover tomorrow. Judging by the way that a couple of people had been giggling and swaying, not everyone who was sitting around the circle shared your sense of self-conservation. 

Although it hadn't been the brightest outside— it was dim, but also somewhat illuminated at the same time with the neon lighting— the single lightbulb hanging above your heads doesn't do much against the darkness. 

Yeah. Heads, plural. 

Luckily, there's only one person in the cramped space besides yourself. 

Unluckily, that person is one Clapton Davis. 

It's not that you don't like him. Actually, you feel the exact opposite towards him, but that's not the point. It's just that— you know, you could spend seven minutes just sitting in silence, doing absolutely nothing— but you're suddenly hyper-aware of the way your knees are brushing. The way there's something in the air. Maybe you're just imagining it, but there's something … restless. Something like—  

Your thoughts are abruptly interrupted when he speaks. 

"So," he says, casually. As if you're not within necking distance in a cramped space. "You enjoying the party?" There's that same easy grin on his face. He's completely at ease, apparently. You're not sure if that's because of his ever-present (and sometimes misguided) confidence, or because he's used to stupid little party games like this. It's probably a combination of both. 

"Yeah." You find yourself replying, almost on autopilot. "The punch isn't as bad as I thought it would be." 

Clapton honest-to-god giggles at that. "It's still pretty shitty, though."

"I wouldn't say shitty."  

"Awful, then." He raises his eyebrows. "Let's just say that it's an … acquired taste." 

You can't help but smile. "Fair." He's right— you're pretty sure that the only people who actually enjoy it are the people who regularly attend these parties. Said people usually just come to get drunk, anyway, and the punch works wonders. Magically malicious.  

"It's either that or cheap beer," he muses. "Or wine busted from mommy and daddy's fridge in the basement." 

"Expensive wine?" 

"Could be." Clapton shrugs, pulling his knees closer to his chest. You try in vain not to focus on his arms as he wraps them around his legs. Was it really necessary to wear the tank top? "Maybe," he says. "But I doubt that anyone here would wanna drink it." 

You unconsciously mirror his posture. "Why's that?" 

He snorts. "Too classy." 

It sort of makes sense. You can't really see Josh from Calculus sipping a glass of pinot noir, much less enjoying it. Maybe one has to start from the bottom of the hypothetical alcohol pyramid and work their way up. The bottom, meaning Bud Light. Or Coors Light. All of the Lights. 

"Cheap beer it is, then." 

Clapton's grin is back. 

"Unfortunately." 

You're starting to relax, even if you can still feel your heart pounding whenever his eyes meet yours. Even if your eyes are lingering. When he reaches up to idly run his fingers through his hair, you can't stop yourself from wondering: is it as soft as it looks? 

"How much time d'you think we have left?" He asks, just as you're attempting to reel yourself back in. 

"Uh," you start. Nice. "I don't know— maybe, like, four minutes or so?" Spending a couple of minutes talking about drinks wasn't exactly the plan, but you're not exactly complaining. It's still better than awkward silence. You wonder— again— about how many times he's done this before. How long does it usually take before people give in? 

The muffled music from outside has been reduced to just the thumping of the bass, and the rhythm matches your pulse. 

"Four minutes," he echoes. 

You can't hold his gaze, glancing down at your knees instead. 

"Yeah." 

You can tell when Clapton adjusts himself where he's sitting, but you have a feeling that he hasn't looked away. Not yet. 

"What do you wanna do now?" He asks, innocently. "Four minutes is a long time." 

When you look up, you're proven right. The faint glow of the light doesn't hide anything. It just makes everything feel vaguely dreamlike. And, okay. This is pretty cliche. But you've watched too many movies, seen too many shows—  you know what that look is. That look doesn't mean that he wants to play rock-paper-scissors for the remainder of your time left. 

"I don't know," you manage. "What do you want to do?" 

His eyes dip briefly before flicking back up. 

"I was asking you," he teases softly. "We've already had a pointless conversation." He mimes checking a box midair with his pointer finger. "Check. And we've already sat in silence for a couple of seconds." He repeats the motion on another imaginary box. "Check." 

"Oh, ouch. Talking about alcohol is pointless?" You're a little amused. "So, what's left on the list?" 

Clapton raises his eyebrows again. 

There's a shift in the air. 

"C'mon, don't tell me that you actually don't know." His tone's dropped to little more than a whisper, but due to your closeness, you can hear him loud and clear. Your brief bit of confidence wanes— your face warms, and you pause. Sure, you're well aware of what he's implying— but you're not sure if he's just joking around or not. When has Clapton Davis ever been serious, besides that one time he competed in a skateboarding competition in the sixth grade?  

The lighthearted lilt in his voice is almost gone, though. 

"I know what you're trying to say," you finally reply, matching his volume. And you do want to kiss him. You really, really do. 

"Okay," he murmurs in return. "Well, that's good." He dares to smile, though you know you're weak to it. 

"I don't have to ask you out loud, right?" 

He definitely already knows the answer to that question. 

"Yeah, you don't." 

You've tuned out the outside world, muffled as it already was. The music and noise fade to a quiet hum. You can hear the quiet buzz of the lightbulb— the barely audible clattering as your back moves against the uncomfortable storage shelves— the sound of his sneakers scuffing against the hardwood floor— 

"But if I did ask," he says, uncharacteristically hesitant, "you'd say yes?"  

Your heartbeat thrums in your throat. 

The seconds tick by— you know you can't wait. It's been at least a minute and a half— 

"Just do it," you breathe.   

And he does. 

The first thing you register is how soft his lips are. Then, his hands— cupping your face— your own hands reaching up to tangle in his hair, tugging him closer. His hair is as soft as it looks. There's no slow build-up because there's no time for that. All you can think about is him— the little sounds he lets out as you kiss, the way he can't wait when you part, his breath briefly coming in soft pants before he leans in to capture your lips again. He tastes vaguely like beer, and maybe that would have bothered you if it were any other guy— but with him, you don't really care at all. His nose presses a little awkwardly against yours a couple of times, but he makes up for it with how eager he is. You know he's not a bad kisser; he's just impatient. 

You lose yourself for a little while. It feels like forever. You wrap your arms around his neck, reluctantly dropping your grip on his hair. His hands start to stray, one anchoring itself behind your neck and the other traveling lower. And lower— 

There's a loud series of knocks at the door. 

Clapton's slower to react, and you're the one to pull back first. When you do, he leans forward to chase your lips—  but stops upon noticing your expression. In direct comparison to you, he just looks giddy. Almost dazed. His hair's a little disheveled from earlier, and he hasn't let go of you yet. 

"Huh," he says, before the door is yanked open. 

You're immediately greeted by exactly what you had expected. Whistles. Catcalls. General hooting. Some "called it!"s and "you owe me five bucks, man!"s. 

Clapton just grins, reveling in it all. Because of course he would. But, before you can get too embarrassed, he's getting to his feet, pulling you along with him as you both exit the closet— exiting what had previously been your own little world. Instead of just rejoining the circle, like part of you expects him to do, he pauses to lean over to you and whisper: 

"Wanna go upstairs?" 

You blink at him. He's still smiling— he almost looks star-struck. You feel that familiar swoop in your stomach. Maybe it's a stupid decision that you'll regret later, but—

"Okay," you agree. 

The whistling doesn't stop as he grabs your wrist, making a beeline for the stairs. The son of a bitch takes them two at a time, and you do your best to keep up. Upstairs, it's quieter than it is on the ground floor, since there are fewer people up here; still, though, you can hear the music echoing through the hallway. A girl's laughter rings out, followed by a string of giggles. 

It's not very hard to find an empty bedroom. You gingerly shut the door behind you, taking a moment to look around. There are one or two posters here and there, and a few photos placed on the dresser. Other than that, it's kind of bare-bones. A guest room, maybe? You sure hope so. While you're distracted, Clapton leisurely sits down on the bed, bouncing a couple of times. 

"Cozy," he remarks, and you turn to look at him. 

"You think?" 

He grins. "Sure do." 

You sit next to him on the mattress. It's not bad. For a moment, he just looks at you. Taking you in. 

But he doesn't hesitate much longer, and leans in. Automatically, you angle your head just so. Unlike before, he kisses you in small pecks at first. One of his hands finds your cheek. However, as the minutes draw by, your kisses grow longer. More languid. He hums into your mouth, and you move closer. Closer, until your thighs are brushing his, and you're nearly off-balance, but it's still not close enough. 

He draws back. This close to him, you can pick out his freckles. His eyelashes are long, framing half-lidded eyes. His lips are still parted. 

"Should I lay back?" He asks, hushed. "Or do you wanna—" 

"Go ahead," you interrupt.  

Clapton flops backward onto the pillows, wiggling around to make himself more comfortable. When you think he's got himself in a good position, you crawl over him. The way he looks up at you— it makes you a little lightheaded, but in the best way possible. His hands find your waist. You can do little but settle against him, pressing your lips to his for the nth time. 

Enthusiastically, he responds, and it's not long before your kisses grow messier. Needier. His hands wander, moving down to rest on your hips, and then lower— you let out a gasp when he squeezes your ass, and he uses the opportunity to pull you harder against him. You're no stranger to how strong his arms are, but, yeah, being on top of him like this is an entirely new experience. He's soft and firm in equal measures, his chest sturdy where it's pressed against yours. His hands are warm when he moves them under your shirt, up your back, making you shiver.  

Bracing your hands on his torso, you sit up. For a second, he's confused, but that quickly fades away as you reach down to pull up your shirt. 

"Holy shit," he murmurs. He scrambles to discard his tank top too, yanking it over his head. You were right— he's toned, but there's still a fair bit of softness there. Of course his chest doesn't have any hair, but at least he kept the trail. You lay back on top of him, the feeling of his skin against yours like this causing you to shudder again. Clapton's hands start to explore once more— square palms, strong fingers. It must be a little bit of an uncomfortable stretch for him, but his thumbs find your nipples, tracing soft circles. 

You briefly enjoy the sensation. Then, your breath stutters when he gently urges you forward and then leans up so he can take them into his mouth. It must be self-indulgent for him, too, because he spends more time than necessary— sucking, flicking his tongue— but it's not like you're complaining.  

When he finally stops, he presses a kiss to the middle of your chest before laying back on the pillows. You move back down, and can't resist the urge to kiss him in return. His jaw— his cheek, which makes him smile. He's already started hooking his fingers in your waistband, and your mild surprise must show on your face, because he abruptly stops. 

"Sorry," he grimaces, "am I going too fast? I - Is that too much?" 

Hastily, you shake your head. "Oh, no. Not at all. It's fine. Just— it just caught me off-guard."  

"Okay." The worry vanishes in an instant. "Okay, I'm gonna." 

You let him slide down your bottoms, and then take them off the rest of the way yourself. His shorts quickly join the rest of the clothing on the floor. Now, you're more or less sitting in his lap— he props himself up on the headboard, his breath heavy as you shift on top of him. With only a few layers between you, you're aware of the shape of him through his boxers.  

You grind your hips with purpose, and he swears under his breath. When you do it again, he muffles himself by kissing you. The friction— you know it's not going to be enough— makes you more desperate, and it must be having the same effect on him, judging by the way he's slightly squirming underneath you. He's not quite thrusting up against you, but it's obvious that if he were in a better position, he would be. When your cunt brushes against him, catching at that angle, he moans openly into your mouth. You draw back only for air. If you could, you'd keep kissing him forever. 

"You gonna let me— mmh — fuck you?" He pants, "ohmygod, 'cause if you don't, you— you are one sick bastard—"  

You smile, although you want him just as badly as he wants you. You're doing a slightly better job at keeping yourself composed, after all. "I don't know," you murmur, "isn't this nice?" 

Clapton bites his lip when you grind down harder this time. "I — well," his hands scramble on your waist, your hips, "it is pretty nice, but, like — I just wanna take the logical— shitfuck — next step, right?" He's looking up at you with wide eyes, "and you are gonna let me, right?" 

"Right," you repeat, your breath catching when you roll your hips at just the right angle, "I am gonna let you, don't worry." 

He's flushed a pretty pink, pupils blown wide, obscuring hazel eyes; you drink him in. "Thought so," he grins. Before you can ask, he's already answering. "And, uh. There's a condom in the pocket of my shorts, if you're worried about that." 

You're in mild disbelief, abruptly halting your movements. 

"In your—?" 

Clapton looks a little bashful, though he's still grinning. "Could you just get it?"  

You're already awkwardly dismounting his lap. "Sure, sure." True to his word, there's a condom in the left pocket of his shorts, and you fish it out without a problem. You glance back at him for a moment, and he doesn't even try and pretend that he wasn't staring. Oh, well. A little clumsily, you get back onto the bed, and move to straddle him again— but he gently stops you. 

"Hey," he says, "can we switch places?" 

You don't need much time to consider it. "Alright." 

Now, he's hovering between your legs, and you're the one lying back. His gaze lingers, but he can't wait for much longer. You lift your hips, and he slides your last remaining piece of fabric off. 

"Fuck," he breathes, just before he gets to work. With the pad of one of his fingers, he collects the wetness that had been gathering, then smoothly slides the digit into your cunt. Swiftly, he adds another, the sensation odd at first, but you know you'll quickly get used to it. When he begins to lightly trace your clit, it only makes it easier for you to loosen up— both figuratively and literally. And he's still adding another. Maybe three fingers aren't strictly necessary, but he crooks them, finding the spot that makes an almost embarrassing noise tumble from your lips. 

You spread your thighs wider. You could definitely cum like this if you let him continue for a while. Glancing up at his face— oh, he definitely would if you wanted him to. He's torn between looking at how his fingers disappear into you and your face. How you're reacting to his touch. It's a little flattering. But as much as part of you wants to see what he's willing to do — 

"I'm — " You feel yourself tense, and you barely stifle an involuntary moan when he thumbs your nub again. "I'm ready. You can —" 

He doesn't even wait until you finish the sentence. He's already pulling out his fingers, tugging off his boxers. Your eyes are immediately drawn downward. Again, you're not surprised that he's shaved. Length-wise, he's probably around average, but girth-wise he's nice and thick. There's a bead of precum at the tip— if he wasn't already tearing open the condom with his teeth in a move that he's probably practiced before, you would've offered to blow him or something. Maybe some other time. 

Your idle thoughts dissipate when he lines himself up and, with an amount of care that nearly belies his previous neediness, presses in. You both moan in unison— he sounds infinitely more strained. He takes a moment to catch his breath, but— 

He starts moving. Little thrusts, at first. Then, pulling out more, pushing back in. His mouth falls open, and you can't resist throwing your arms around his neck, pulling him down. He groans, and you take it in, taking it with his increasing pace. It's good— his thumb finds your sensitive apex again, and that makes you jolt, but you know he's trying to give you a smooth progression between slow and fast. That's not what you want, though. Especially not now. Inches from his lips, you mutter: 

"Don't hold back." 

And that's all it takes. You can vaguely hear the bed creaking when he snaps his hips up to meet yours, roughly fucking into you with almost reckless abandon. Your kisses are sloppy, uncoordinated. But you wouldn't prefer it any other way. You know he probably wouldn't be making those noises if he didn't know they were muffled against you. Some are high-pitched— ragged gasps, moans, and at least one whimper. You also know you don't sound much different. He can't reach down to rub your throbbing clit anymore, due to how he's positioned, but the way that he's angled is more than satisfying in that regard. 

You lose track of time, only aware of his hips colliding against yours— his lips, his hands — the way he's starting to babble. "Fuck, you look so pretty like this," he confesses in a rush, "god, your eyes. I could just — I could just look at you like this forever. If you could see yourself — nnh — you would know." A sharp intake of breath, a few kisses, and then, "Ohfuck. Shit. You're gonna ruin this forever for me. I can't — " 

His rhythm is starting to falter. You can feel the heat pooling low in your gut, the tension that comes before the inevitable release. You tighten around him. His hands braced near your shoulders tremble, and you can see his biceps flexing with the effort of holding himself up like this. 

"Please," Clapton chokes out, and he doesn't specify as to what he wants, but you have a pretty good idea. "I'm gonna— " 

"Do it," you manage, despite your own climbing pitch, "c'mon, give it to me—"    

"Fuck— "  You feel him pulse. For a split second, you wonder how it would feel if he didn't have on the condom—  but your thoughts are quickly overtaken, as you're not too far behind. You twitch, spasming around his cock as your mouth falls open. The tension peaks, the heat spikes— 

He fucks you, gently, as you float back down, riding out your orgasm. Your eyelids flutter shut, and your breath slows, but your pulse is still a fast-paced staccato. 

He gingerly lays on top of you, catching his breath. It's hot against your throat. The world ceases spinning, and you let out a long sigh. 

He mimics it, and you glance down at him. 

You're reluctant to say it, but seriously, this is someone else's house. Guest room or not. 

"We should get cleaned up or something." 

He blinks once, lazily. Seemingly, he's content to lay on your chest. Of course, he's the type to get sleepy after sex. But at least he makes an effort to respond. "Ugh," he says. And then: "Jus' gimme a minute or something." 

You give him a look, and he surrenders. "Okay, fine." 

He slips out with a wet noise, and you only miss the fullness for a moment. Getting off the mattress, he throws out the condom, then accepts the wad of tissues you hand him. It's not the best, but it'll have to do for now. You manage to get most of the evidence of your arousal off before pulling back on your clothes. There's a mirror, thankfully, so you go to try and make yourself look less … fucked. Not that it would really matter. There are definitely people in worse states. 

Clapton stands next to you, but doesn't even try to fix his hair. On him, it looks fashionably disheveled, anyway. 

It's silent, before he interjects: 

"Is this … gonna be just a one-time thing?" 

The strange apprehensiveness is back, and you chance a glance at him. He's not meeting your eyes, but you're sure he's looking at you in the mirror's reflection. 

"I don't know," is all you can think to say, "do you want it to be?" A beat. "We could totally go back to being just sort of friends, if that's what you want." 

Clapton visibly swallows. "I … " 

You wait, patiently. He takes another few seconds. 

"I liked that," he mutters, "a lot. And I— I meant all that stuff. About you." 

He's still not meeting your eyes. It makes you pause. 

"I liked it too," you reply, softly.

The look he gives you next says it all. You know he's not big on old-school romance. He's not big on flowery words— his English grades can certainly attest to that. He's more of an action-oriented guy. Even if you don't get a verbal confession just yet— and you know you will, just not now— you suddenly understand what he's trying to convey. So, you pull yourself together and throw caution to the wind. 

"You wanna get out of here?" 

He beams. 

[the-s1lly-corner]

Can you write some scar fluff/comfort? As in kissing slashers scars (And trying to not get stabbed /hj) or vise versa? Maybe with Jason, Micheal, Brahms, and Thomas? (Feel free to change them up)

Kissing their scars (Jason, Brahms, Thomas and Michael)

and the days writing begins! hoping to get a lot done, even if a lot of it wont be posted today to avoid spam- wooo!! notes: reader is gn, you kiss their scars, michaels part is admittedly short mostly due to the admin still not totally used to writing for him yet- havent quite felt ive got his personality down cws: healed injuries, nothing intense but i like to be safe than sorry

JASON

he has more than his fair share of scars, and honestly? hes not all that worried about them, hes not ashamed of them- he takes them as a sign that hes been doing well with protecting his space as well as you

still open to you kissing them, theres lots to choose from.... hes got them on his hands, his back, shoulders, youre sure if you look there would be a scar somewhere

the moment is so tender that he may shutter a little with some emotion, being slightly more emotive than he normally is

take his hand and press his scarred knuckles to your mouth for a gentle kiss and hes going to be melting in your grasp

its not much different than the kisses you press onto his mask but the intention feels different- if that makes sense.. hes bad at describing things...

BRAHMS

does not like his scars at all- he thinks they look unsightly and they feel uncomfortable against his skin thats not scarred over

covers most of them with his mask and clothing, but you can see some splotches here and there

he... doesnt quite know how to feel about it when you kiss them, but hes not going to deny himself the extra attention and affection that youve giving him

with time he may grow to accept them; whether or not he stops covering them up is a totally different thing, though...

one thing is still the same, the second you give him some extra loving hes going to expect that to be the new normal- surely you wont mind cuddling into him while trailing kisses up and down his body where his scars reside!

MICHAEL

similar to jason, he doesnt mind his scars all that much... in fact he doesnt care about them at all, and you probably wouldnt have known he had them if you didnt see him without his usual coveralls on

shows no visible reaction to you lightly pressing kisses to the scars he lets you get close enough- usually reserved to the ones on his hands hes gotten from minor burns or nicks

does not seek affection, but its a good sign that hes not pulling away or otherwise getting you to stop... because if he truly wasnt interested in it he wouldnt indulge you

doesnt quite understand the sentiment behind kissing his (now healed) wounds but you do you

THOMAS

you make him feel better about his looks, youre always uplifting him so you kissing along his face- especially concentrating it around where his nose once was- makes him feel.. nice

it does come as a little surprise at first, though, not that he thinks youre revolted or not fully willing to show your devotion and love for him... its more so the act never crossed his mind until you did it

youre cupping his head in your hands, fingers lightly tangled in his hair... perhaps even massaging his scalp as you lean in for another kiss

truly he is in heaven as you give him all of your love, youve never seen someone look at you with so much love in their eyes... much less look at you like that

it does make him more willing to take his masks off around you, now fully reassured that you dont mind his appearance at all and that you like the face he was given

[pombeom]

okay never rlly done this before but here me out, txt fic inspired by "guess" by charli xcx and billie eilish. i dont have a member preference but i based it on tae (›´ω`‹ ) HERE ME OUT roomatetyunx reader. txt and reader's friend group decide to go out for dinner/clubbing. reader has secretly been liking tae for a WHILE, and THIS WAS THE NIGHT. and reader puts on a very VERY short skirt/dress (they know what they were doing) and purposely leans down when tae is behind them *evil laughs*

(also imagined it as afab but idrc)

sorry i dont have anything else to add but you now have the reins (๑˘ꇴ˘๑)

guess | taehyun fic (nsfw)

nsfw, mdni!

pairings: domroommate!taehyun x subtease!reader

warnings: soobin present at the start, lots of mentions of underwear, teasing, fingering, scissoring, wall sex, creampie, squirting, messy sex, taehyun is kinda kinky, panty stuffing, mentions of exhibitionism, they both have sex while standing up, taehyun gives orders and reader follows, nicknames (baby, slut), unprotected sex, lots of dirty talking, am i forgetting something??

a/n: thank you so much for your request! decided to go with taehyun cos i could envision your request so clearly. you guys are such teases istg but im all here for it 🤧

Being Taehyun’s roommate isn’t for the weak. The way he’s come back after his daily workouts in his compression shirts with his hair pushed back made your knees quiver every time he would walk in through the door. You swore it was a secret you guarded with your life but everyone around you seemed to know of your little crush. Your friends managed to catch on as soon as they witnessed your head swivel whenever he’d walk past, staring a little too longingly in his direction. 

“Y/n you should just tell him at this point. I can’t watch you drool over him any longer, it’s gross,” Soobin advises you on your way out from class. 

“No but what if doesn’t feel the same way?” 

“Trust me. He does. And if he doesn’t then that’s his loss. I’ll bag you up if he doesn’t want you,” his wink had you reacting with a disgusted scowl.

“Anyway, we’re meeting up for dinner this Saturday. One of our friends has had to cancel last minute so there’s an extra space in the reservation. Wanna come? Taehyun’s coming too you know. Maybe you can finally tell him how you feel.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Oh come on. We’re heading the the club after. It’ll be fun.” 

“Fine. Only because you insisted.” 

“You don’t need to lie to me. I know you’re only coming cos Taehyun’s coming.” 

“Shut up.” 

By the time Saturday evening rolls up, you had planned your outfit and gone through your confession speech multiple times. You finished your hair and makeup and slipped into a black mini dress that was slightly too short but it hugged your figure so well that you wanted to show off as much as you can. You pair it with a black kitten heel, preparing for your time at the club later that night. But most importantly, your needy cunt was exposed through the black lace underwear you wore under your tiny dress. 

Feeling a sense of feigned confidence, you step out of your room, heading into your shared living space where Taehyun was waiting. He’s sat sprawled across the armchair, taking up the entire seat as he manspread whilst scrolling through his phone. Upon hearing the clacking of your heels, his head jolts up taking in your presence. He eyes your naked thighs, feeling the sharpness of his gaze lasering through your legs making your knees go weak. 

“You look nice,” his compliment has your confidence crumbling as you instantly resort back to your usual shyness. 

“Thank you,” your voice comes out more strained than you wanted but this was a reaction to the current wetness building up in your folds as you begin to notice the way his shirt clings to his body, looking almost see-through under his brown jacket. 

“You ready to go?” 

He follows you to the door when suddenly you pause.

“Hang on. Just need to fix my heels. The strap is a little loose.” 

You arch forward, bending down to reach your shoes as the back of your dress rides up. You felt exposed as your underwear was evidently wet but you sought the thrill of provoking a reaction from the man behind you. Even as you were still bent down fumbling with your straps, you felt his gaze staring heavily into your core, past the black lace fabric. 

“Ok, I’m done. We can go now.” 

You hand barely reaches the doorknob before you’re being pulled back into his chest. 

“You think it’s funny to tease me like that?”

“Mhm?? What do you mean?” 

“Playing dumb won’t work on me.” 

“I don’t get it. What are you talking about?” You kept egging him on with your masquerade of innocence, each step getting him a little further to your desired goal. 

“You’re still gonna keep going with that? Even after you flashed your underwear to me?”

“What? I did that? Really? I bet you don’t even know the colour of my underwear.”

“Oh baby, I don’t even have to guess. I saw that black lace with my very own eyes. That little bow was cute too.” 

You hadn’t noticed until you felt his breath against your neck but he has inched closer to you, his arms slowly crawling up your legs, grabbing onto your waist. Your cheeks burned from the closeness you had been longing for. 

“You wanna tell me you did that on purpose or are you gonna keep pretending that you flashed me by accident?” His voice grumbled, echoing through the chambers of your mind. 

Your breath was shaky and unstable as you managed to answer his question, “It was on purpose, Taehyun.”

Before you knew it, his lips came crashing onto your, sucking the life out of you. The lustful kiss had you moaning into his mouth as his tongue darts into yours, claiming you for himself. 

“I knew it. Now take those panties off.” 

Lifting your dress up, you slip your underwear down, letting it fall to the ground as the wetness begins dripping down your legs.

“Shit, look at you. Fucking drenched already. Bet you’ve been dreaming of this: wanting to strip naked in front of me just so I can get a look at how much of a slut you are for me. Am I right?” 

“You’re righ- ahh!” 

His fingers circle your entrance before you get then chance to finish, teasing your hole. Before long, he pushes in 2 long fingers, struggling to keep going in your tight, clenched pussy. 

“God, are you a virgin? You’re so fucking tight.” He groans as he manages to get his fingers deep into your core, feeling the tightness squeeze his digits. 

“Mhmm… I am. Wanted your cock to be the first inside me.” 

“Fucking hell. You’ve been waiting for me all this time huh? Guess I’ll have to give you everything you’ve dreamed of.” 

His fingers scissor you walls, stretching you out in preparation for his cock. The way your muscles are pulled sends shock waves running down your leg, almost losing sensation in them as you’re on the verge of collapsing, gripping onto Taehyun’s shoulders for support. 

“I want your dick in me. Now!” You demand. 

“Why so desperate? You’ve been such a tease and you won’t even let me finger your cunt. But ok, I’ll give it to you. Just don’t expect me to go easy.” 

He unzips his trousers, pulling them down along with his boxers in one go. He strips himself of his jacket, remaining only in his white form-fitting t-shirt. 

His cock springs up onto his stomach. The tip is red while his length is girthy and long beyond average, the veins matching the ones that run up his forearms. He teases your hole by pumping just the tip in making you grind against him, hips rolling as you force yourself onto him. 

He pushes your back up against the wall, controlling your movement before slamming straight into your gummy walls, your moans shrieking out from surprise. 

“Fuck Taehyun! Keep going like that!”

His movements are controlled and precise, making sure to hit the g-spot with each pump. Your moans become uncontrollable with the increase in speed, crying as he slams into your repeatedly, abusing your cunt. 

He then lifts up your thigh, holding it against his waist, allowing him to hit different angles making your mind feel fuzzy at the new sensation. 

“Fuck. If you keep clenching round my cock like that, I might cum already.” His grunts are disheveled and all over the place as he begins to lose control over his speed, rutting into you like some dog. 

“I’m gonna cum too. Please. Please come in me.” Your whispers are the only sound that comes out you as your voice has cracked with all the screams you let out.

He spills his spurts inside you, coating your walls in white as you feel his dick throbbing inside your trembling pussy. Your orgasm hit like the ocean onto the rocks, the speed at which you came leading to a spray of liquid to shoot out. Your eyes instantly shut, feeling exhausted from being fucked out to your climax. 

“You squirted?” 

“I guess I did.” 

After letting your body cool down from the intensity, you pick up your panties, getting ready to slip them back on, when Taehyun’s voice hisses at you, grabbing your underwear from your hands before shoving them up your stretched hole, pushing it in deeper and deeper until it remains stuck in your sobbing cunt.

“Let’s see how you tease everyone else looking like this.” 

“But Taehyun, it was only meant for you. I can’t go out like this. Let me out them back on, please” 

“Only for me huh? You only want me to see you in this state?” 

You nod frantically, “You’re the one I like Taehyun.” 

“The little brat likes me. Well I like you too. Your pussy was made for my cock and you take it so well. But you still deserved to be punished for teasing me like that. Keep the underwear stuffed in your pussy and go put on another pair.”

Following his orders, you head back to your room, picking out some pink panties, feeling the black lace slipping out. You push it back in and secure it in place by hitching the pink pair up high. You waddle back to Taehyun who was now fully dressed again. Your legs feel uncomfortably shaky as you walk but his arms hold your waist, supporting you. He bends down checking that you’ve followed his orders, grinning with satisfaction as he catches a glimpse of the pinkx

“Good girl. Now no one can guess what you have going on under there but me.” 

[taffywabbit]

"why not just make your own website?"

with the announcement of cohost's death and amidst all the other tumultuous shit currently going on with social media as a concept (i am AMAZED twitter has survived this long given the circumstances), one suggestion that i've been hearing a lot is "we should just go back to the good old days of personal websites. let's all just make neocities pages!!"

(this is gonna be a long one sorry)

and like. idk! it's certainly something i've considered, i think it would be a fun thing to have, but it also feels like the equivalent of "capitalism sucks so let's all just run off into the woods and live in a cabin outside of society" to me. like it would be nice, it would be fun, but it doesn't ultimately solve the actual problems that are present with the modern internet, it just evades them. more importantly in my case and many others, it does not really help people who rely on the modern internet and the connections they're able to make there for their income. sure i can make a website and host my art and blog posts there, but who's going to see it? i can't build a consistent audience and make a living off of random passersby who peek at my website once, say "huh, neat!" and MAYBE add it to an RSS feed or whatever if they really like it. there's minimal potential for meeting and impressing new people outside my existing circles if i don't ALSO still have some manner of social media platform to promote the website on.

a lot of the "solutions" i see people proposing for the slow, painful decline of social media as a user experience keep coming back to old-fashioned, more isolated/insular systems. we miss forums, we miss personal webpages, we miss newsletters, etc etc. but like... those things were ideal in the "old web" because the old web was more about sharing hobbies and interests with whoever happened to pass by and check them out, and even just USING the internet was a niche hobby in and of itself for a lot of people. if you wanna be kinda cynical about it (and not unjustifiably so), web 2.0 is much more blatantly business-oriented, and its algorithms and carefully crafted UX's are primarily meant to funnel you towards viewing ads and spending money on products. looking at it that way, it sure does suck and Everything Was Better Before! but the modern web is ALSO more powerful than anything before it for just like. connecting people. spreading information and news. showing your art/music/writing/thoughts/etc to strangers who never knew you existed an hour ago. putting the tools to reach out to someone and tell them you think they're cool right there on the same website where their art is hosted, just a comment or a message away.

if you're able to avoid patterns of engagement-bait and obsessing over follower counts as a measure of self-worth (a big "if", i realize, but i view it like installing an adblocker - it's just kind of a basic prerequisite for modern internet safety and survival), a lot of these systems can genuinely be really positive and life-changing in ways that were simply not possible 20 years ago! almost all of my current closest friends are people I met through sharing our art on platforms like Twitter who were complete strangers at the time. all of the art clients that regularly pay my bills and support my work came from places like that too! the "social" part of "social media" is really what makes it ultimately worth keeping around in any form, and makes the pursuit of a Good social media platform still valuable.

there's a lot to love about the old web - its aesthetics, simplicity and freedom for personal expression - but every time someone says "just delete your socials and make a personal website" i am forced to confront the fact that i could never do what i currently do or be the person i am on the old web. if i was stuck hanging out in my own little space and only ever interacting with people who openly and loudly share my interests, i couldn't support myself with art full-time, i probably would never have met the kind and quiet strangers who are now my best friends and have made me who i am, and i'd just generally get a lot less insight into the vast range of experiences and perspectives that exist outside of my own. my life would be on a fundamentally different trajectory in countless ways without the advent of web 2.0.

and that's not to say "well twitter and facebook and tumblr all suck but you kinda still have to hand it to them" cuz you don't, obviously. they're corporations, and their job is to take the personalities and thoughts and art of the people who use their products and try to scrunch it all into something uninform and marketable that generates profit and pleases their shareholders. but like, you CAN still make a good thing out of them! these websites are tools just as much as geocities or myspace or IRC used to be. and the one thing these newer tools are pretty much all REALLY good at is discoverability. if you're just a hobbyist at the things you wanna share on the internet, then you likely don't have a lot of use for those tools, and perhaps you WOULD genuinely be happier just keeping a personal blog site or hanging out in private groupchats or sticking to specialized federated Mastodon instances or whatever. it just isn't feasible for me, and there are a LOT of people in my same situation. my entire industry of online freelance artists barely existed 20 years ago, and the web culture of that era is largely incompatible with my continued survival in the mid-2020s. i would LOVE to run off and live in the woods in concept, but all my survival skills are adapted for city living and i would just eat the wrong berry and die out there. i want- i NEED people to try and improve the spaces we're in, and support better forms of social media (like what cohost was trying and largely succeeding to do!) instead of just complaining that it all sucks, everything was better when we were kids, and digging ourselves little holes to hide in. much like all the other problems and frustrations and systemic issues of the world we live in, the modern web isn't going to go away if you just ignore it, so we may as well try to make it better for everyone.

anyways tl;dr i probably WILL make a neocities at some point. it could be fun, even if it doesn't help my career stability or whatever. but i do also need ALL THE SOCIAL PLATFORMS I USE FOR MY JOB TO STOP EXPLODING PRETTY PLEASE, and failing that, some actual half-decent alternatives that aren't going to fizzle out in a month would also be great thanks ✌

[akookminsupporter]

I think I'm going to get cancelled for this.

Perhaps my most honest opinion as a Jikooker so far.

Something that has always bothered me about Jikookers is how they hold Jungkook to different standards than Jimin. I’ve often seen more than one person criticize Jungkook for something he did or didn’t do—whether it’s for looking at Tae in a certain way, saying something nice to him, or not doing something —while similar behaviours by Jimin are overlooked. Jimin has always been close to Tae; we’ve often seen them cuddling or saying sweet things to each other. Tae even told Jimin that he “likes him the most.” Yet, for some reason, Jimin’s actions don’t seem to provoke similar criticism or disappointment among Jikookers, who often view Jimin and Tae’s friendship as perfectly acceptable and even celebrated because, of course, Jimin and Tae are friends! Soulmates! And that’s great! That’s how it should be. But if Jungkook were to do any of these things, the world would end. How could Jungkook possibly do that? It obviously means he doesn’t care about Jimin, that they’re not close, etc., etc.

Jungkook is the one who has to make grand gestures. He has to be special with Jimin ALL THE TIME, and not just that—he has to be special by the standards of their supposed fans; otherwise, it doesn’t count. Jimin can reach for the moon for Jungkook, and many wouldn’t care. It wouldn’t mean much. Jungkook has to reach for the sun for Jimin for people to “believe” that he cares about him. And to believe jikook is at least really close.

Jungkook can’t be sassy with Jimin; he can’t push him, and he can’t say no to him because poor Jimin! It means Jungkook doesn’t care about him. But Jimin can do these things, and no one says anything. Jimin can hit Jungkook or be sassy with him, right? Because Jimin is “delicate”? So it’s not the same. Do you know how incredibly offensive that is? And the worst part is that many of you don’t even realize it! And I’m sure that after reading this, many will insult me, block me, or unfollow me because, how dare I? I can already imagine some saying that I’m defending Jungkook and that I don’t care about Jimin, completely missing my point.

You validate the possibility of Jikook being real based on what Jungkook does or says—or doesn’t do or say.

And that’s the “fear” many of you have with the upcoming episodes of the show. You don’t care if VMin declare their love in an episode; you don’t care if you see Jimin and Jungkook together cuddling on the bed, because if Jungkook interacts with Tae in any way, that will cancel out any interaction he has had or will have with Jimin.

Why, for many of you, do the interactions Jungkook has with Tae carry more weight than those he has with Jimin? Why do the interactions Jungkook has with Tae carry more weight than those Jimin has with Tae? Why do we have to weigh the interactions of three people who know each other far better than any of us?

And yes, I know you’ll excuse yourselves with, “The problem is the subgroup…” but why does what they say have to hold any validity? Their opinion, like ours, doesn’t influence anything those three men do, and by this point, that should be obvious to everyone. Haters can say what they want; it won’t change anything. Don’t pay attention to what they say. Just report, block, and ignore as necessary, and enjoy the show. Enjoy what Jimin and Jungkook decide to share with us. And if they want to share their friendship with Tae, ANOTHER MEMBER OF BTS, well, great!

Do you know why the subgroup has never stopped invading our spaces, saying whatever nonsense they come up with? Because they know it bothers many of you or us. Jimin, Jungkook, and Tae might never know what’s said on social media, and that doesn’t matter to the subgroup because their real target is us.

I’ve always said that for tkk to be real, it depends on Jikook not being real. Meanwhile, Jikook only depends on Jimin and Jungkook to be real. The subgroup knows this, but for some reason, they believe that by getting rid of Jikookers, they would get rid of Jikook. That’s not how it works, but that’s how they see it. That’s why they attack us ALL THE TIME.

So, stop with the PENDEJADAS. Because everything I’ve seen is just that, PENDEJADAS. At the end of the day, we don’t know these three men, and if nothing between them seems to be going wrong, we need to respect that, no matter what the HATERS say.

And I’m not going to be hypocritical and claim that I’ve never side-eyed some of the things Tae has done involving Jimin and Jungkook together, but that doesn’t mean I hate him or blame him for anything. Yet, that’s exactly what many of you are doing. Some openly admit it, while others pretend not to. You often start your explanations or opinions with, “I don’t hate Tae, but…”—and that “but” negates the beginning of the sentence.

And that makes all this sadder because much of what I’ve said here applies to the subgroup, and nothing would embarrass me more than reading or hearing that the subgroup and we are the same.

[lovelookspretty]

not so bad

college!rafe cameron x reader au

— in which rafe and y/n absolutely despise each other in public but crush in secret. rafe is failing his humanities class & is assigned y/n as his tutor . . . maybe all it took for this relationship to form was just a bit of forced proximity and some time.

warning(s): nothing much, just rafe and y/n being cuteness, but there is a little bit of a serious talk !! omg rafe being kind ?? this is insane

authors note: this is NOT the end of the series of course. theyre just starting to become friends but obvi theyre gna become lovers with time. am i rushing this ?? idk cs theyve been frenemies since kids n now theyre js officially friends in part 4 like okay u guys move fast. mayb its my fault

one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine

you knock upon his door, your heartbeat thudding with each pulse as you anxiously wait outside his dorm. rafe had gotten back to you just hours after you sent him the message about the second tutor session, seeming to be just fine with having to spend more time with you after ignoring each other all week.

it just worries you a little about how this is going to go.

the door opens, revealing the blond boy himself. his tongue is pressed against the side of his mouth as he leans out between the crack in the door. his eyes are right on you, and he strands up straight, pulling the door open completely to let you in.

he’s standing there in some forest green crewneck with a white shirt underneath and some pants. in his hand is a small glass container full of what looks like mac and cheese and what you guess are steak bites with a spoon sticking out of it. he eats so much actual food instead of cafeteria food that you know that he’s gonna get his own place after freshman year and invest mostly in his kitchen for some gourmet shit that reminds him of home and some gym preps. that’s just so rafe.

you’re not surprised though that he doesn’t share any of his food with those in the dorm building with you guys, even just to sell them and make money. even though you know a ton of students would pay and kill to get away from the same rotation of food they’re usually served here. ‘cause it’s not like he needs the extra money anyway. his family’s loaded. so that is so not rafe.

there’s also a small smile on his face when he lets you in, but also like there’s just absolutely no thought behind his eyes. he looks stupid. but you think he looks stupid every time you see him.

you hesitantly step inside, still not completely comfortable in his space. or comfortable at all. it almost feels like your first time inside his dorm again, only with more tension than before everything. a month ago, you didn’t even think that was possible.

“so you’re failing english,” you’re the first to say something. you walk over to his desk like last time and carefully set your ipad on its surface.

“english isn’t for everyone.”

“surprised it isn’t for you after that little showdown in class,” you point out, turning to him.

he shuts the door behind him and locks it, then walks to his bed to sit on the edge, facing you. digging into his mac, he nods, “that was fun by the way.”

you raise an eyebrow at him. what is going on? one moment he’s not even paying you any mind but now he’s able to have a normal conversation with you. even say something kind of nice.

but then, you’ve been the same way in the switch from neglect to willingness.

“show me your notes,” you tell him, and he pushes himself off the edge of the bed to stand and walk to you. you watch him as he approaches his desk, controlling his laptop through his track pad.

he navigates through chrome and opens his documents like last time. he pulls up his most recent notes, which are in a folder with the title being the dates of this past week.

“since our first ever session, i started organizing my notes for class for every lecture per week,” he says, stepping away from the laptop to let you take a look at it. you go to sit in his chair to inspect his new notes, noticing the huge difference in how he takes notes now. “these five have been from this week for this class. so . . .”

as he trails off you can hear him eat spoonfuls and spoonfuls of his food, in which you glance back at him at the sounds of. but your focus is still on the notes, to tutor him.

you’re surprised that he’s gone to no notes to notes at all, let alone organized ones with folders, headings, dates, actual information, the whole shabang. has he been doing this for all of his classes too?

“that’s . . . impressive,” you say honestly, looking back at him. “but i don’t get it. if you’ve been writing down the lecture material then why are you almost failing the class?”

he shrugs, finishing his bite before swallowing it down to speak. “english isn’t for everyone,” he repeats himself, and you raise an eyebrow at his words.

you’re a little lost because literally none of this makes sense. “w— wait, so you . . . you take your english notes for about three weeks and whether or not you absorb the material, you boil it down to: at the end of the day you’ll fail because ‘english isn’t for everyone’? rafe.”

“y/n,” he says.

“why are you even in university?” you ask him, and you see his expression falter when he realizes you’re serious. “i mean like actually. we both left the outer banks to attend here but you’re failing your classes whether you do the work for them or not. it seems like you aren’t even trying. what’s the point?”

“you know, college isn't just about classes,” he tells you, and you cock your head in question. “it’s about the whole experience—making connections, networking, discovering yourself. it’s what i wanted to do from the start. plus, there are plenty of other ways to learn besides sitting in a lecture hall.”

you stare at him in silence. that doesn’t answer your question at all. “okay, but you aren’t learning, period. like lectures apparently go in one ear and out the other,” you say, and rafe only smiles as he looks down at his food, picking at it as he makes his way over to the edge of his bed again.

“i mean isn’t the whole point of college to get an education?” you ask him, your tone skeptical. “seems like a waste of time and money if you're not even going to try to pass all your classes.”

he gives you a knowing look when you mention money, but it’s almost like he doesn’t want to talk about about that. or need to. “to each their own, y/n,” he replies cryptically, and his expression is unreadable. “we all have our reasons for being here.”

a part of you understands where he’s coming from completely, yet another part insists that there’s still a way to balance both. you know he’s capable. he just needs some motivation.

“i think . . . you should have no reason to be failing right now, especially because of your improvement from last time,” you tell him honestly. “you should be making the most out of your already-paid-for classes anyway! you’ve written the work, you’ve been able to pass your exams, you said you needed to study last time i was here, you read a book assigned to the class and were able to debate with me on it. you’re fully capable. you just need a little push maybe.”

he grimaces. “are you gonna spend your time here to teach me how to learn?”

“no.” you shake your head at him, “i’m gonna spend my time here to just motivate you. you’ve spent all your time investing a great amount of energy and effort into your other classes. why not this one? thompson doesn’t need me to tutor you; he just wants me to help you in any way that i can.”

rafe is silent as you spin around in his chair to face him fully.

“we can work on our assignment together if you want,” you offer, but your voice comes out in a mumble, unsure if he’ll take it or feel off about the idea. “i haven’t finished it yet. this way, we can be in each others presence here, but not with me teaching you, but us working together at the same level.”

for once you can see in his face that there’s a little glint in his eyes. and he looks . . . hopeful. he nods. and you feel good about this, in some weird way—just working out things between you and him when for years it’s been nothing but tension. it’s almost like a weight off your back to know that you both are okay with each other enough to be friends. or kind of friends. or tolerate each other.

you twist your body and take his laptop into your hands, then stand from the chair to hand rafe his laptop while simultaneously taking his container from him. you set it down on his desk and cover it up for him.

“prepare for the worst few hours of your life,” you tell him as you pull up your class assignment, and you don’t need to look up to see the smile on rafe’s face. you can tell he’s holding back from it but it’s there. and there’s one on yours too.

after just an hour and a half of discussing, writing, deleting, a lot of questions, yelling, and finally completing all of your english work for the week, you get ready to head back to your dorm. it’s definitely late and rafe mentioned that lorenzo should be coming back soon and will wanna go to sleep right away.

with your ipad tucked underneath your armpit you push rafe’s chair in under his desk, then head for the door. rafe has once again offered you more water like before but this time the offer came with snacks from the whole drawer that rafe had organized in his bedspace. that guy has great taste in snacks.

“thanks for helping me out by the way,” rafe mumbles under his breath as he treads behind you, walking you out. you open the door and look back at him, in which his hand finds the door above your head. “you didn’t have to do it a second time but you did. i really, uh . . . i really appreciate it.”

“literally no problem at all,” you say as he pulls out some cash from his back pocket like he prepared it for you. you raise your eyebrows. “no it’s fine. i didn’t even tutor you today. you can keep it.”

“you still took time out of your day and helped me out so unfortunately it does,” he insists, then slaps the money in your palm.

you roll your eyes, stuffing it in your pocket as you turn around to leave.

“hey wait,” he says, reaching out to stop you but pulling away before he could make contact. he’s a little anxious as he goes to scratch his temple, closing one of his eyes as he thinks about it for a second. you stop and wait patiently, curious. “sorry for being so weird the other day,” he starts to say, but you’re already waving your hand to tell him it’s okay.

“rafe really, it’s oka—”

“it’s not,” he cuts you off, and you’re silenced from the look on his face. he looks almost defeated, or rather disappointed in himself. he can’t even look at you like he’s embarrassed of what he’s said and done.

he takes a moment to build the courage to communicate his thoughts, and eventually he knows exactly what to say.

“i was just having a rough day ‘cause i was just overwhelmed,” he says. you furrow your eyebrows, wondering what he means. it seems personal that you step back inside his room and shut the door behind you.

“then when i saw you here with enzo, it didn’t even cross my mind to think that you were actually here for me. since i wasn’t even in the room, i thought ‘why would she just be here?’ . . . it was just a lot of fresh feelings and everything was setting me off, including that. and i’m . . . i’m sorry, it shouldn’t have happened,”

“and i’m sorry for ignoring you for a week too. i thought we were just back to how things have always been, and to be honest, that made me upset too. ‘cause you’re really cool to be around. i guess.”

you frown at him. “i think you’re pretty cool too,” you tell him. “even though you piss me off. it feels kind of nice being able to talk to you like we’re . . .”

“friends,” he finishes for you, and you nod. he’s smiling. “that whole feud just to become friends after two hours of tutoring huh?”

your smile turns into a laugh as you nod. you had the same thought. “maybe it just means that since we became friends so easily, we were meant to become that in the first place instead of whatever we were,” you suggest, and rafe grins at you. your smile fades slowly as you stare up at him, “so friends?”

“whatever,” he says with his grin still, and he goes to shake your hand on it. you chuckle, pulling away from the handshake to push his chest, and you head for the door again. “i’ll see you?” he asks, following you again.

“i’ll see you,” you say as you walk down toward your dorm. when you take out your key, you look to the side and see rafe’s head peeking out from his door. he’s beaming, his smile open with his tongue pressed to the side. “goodnight,” you say, unlocking your door as you head inside.

“goodnight,” you can hear him respond as you shut the door behind you, and you spot aria sleeping in her bed already.

you place your ipad on your desk and approach your dresser to retrieve some new clothes. you plan on heading to the showers really quick to get ready for bed.

as you collect your clothes, towels, and shower caddy, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket. you slip out of your room to head for the showers, swiping up on your screen to see what’s going on. it’s a message from rafe.

‘ ik u just left like 15 minutes ago but my friends and i wanna go see this new coffee shop tmw and they play live music. just wanted to know if u would wanna come? ’

before you can reply, he sends another message:

‘ totally fine if not idk what our boundaries are ’

‘ u would like elara and lorenzo. they’re really cool ’

‘ i’ll pay for your coffee ’

you jump at the opportunity to reply back instantly.

‘ i’ll see u there !! ’

@svnsetcrve @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @lalalalala33 @darkcolorexpert @babyflockaaaa @lifeofleasaasa @ilyrafe @mkiverd @wxn-drlst

[taesancult]

leehan + fingering

a/n: his hands are pretty. that’s it. that’s all i have to say.

warnings: inexperienced!reader, fem!reader, leehan is slightly inexperienced, fingering ofc, making out/bit of spit, dirty talk, bit of a praise kink, some insecurity/worrying, use of the names baby, pretty girl, my girl, and princess (again i went overboard… this is kinda graphic & way too long)

SMUT UNDER THE CUT. MDNI.

when you first started dating, you told leehan upfront that you hadn’t really explored your sexuality. when you brought up intimacy with him, he also shared that he didn’t have ton of experience either, making your heart calm down a bit. him being him, he was so kind and understanding. he never pressured you, never made you feel like you had to have sex at any point. he was willing to wait for your comfort, telling you that he doesn’t mind at all to be patient and that the ball is in your court. he wanted you to initiate things, so that he knew it was what you really wanted. that whole conversation was basically just him showing off how much of a green flag man he is, and again, you felt that same sense of relief.

to this day, you still haven’t really done anything with him besides making out. you wanted him, of course you did. your heart yearned for him, you wanted to make him feel good. you wanted to see what he looks like when he’s overcome with pleasure. you wanted to hear the sounds he makes caused by your body, your hands, your mouth. your nerves just got in the way of things, until today.

you were riled up all day, not knowing how to handle yourself. you kept thinking about what it would feel like to finally have leehan inside you; the sounds, the sensations, the love that would be shared. you two spent the day together and it seemed like everything he did somehow turned you on. you especially felt like his hands were making you go crazy. your boyfriend had the prettiest hands ever. you wondered what it would feel like to have them inside you, sliding in and out while he watches you, hopefully praising you. god, you knew it would feel so good to get praised by him. have him tell you how pretty you look when you fall apart-

“baby, are you doing okay? you seem like you’ve been out of it?” he asked you as you two sat on the couch together. you completely zoned out while thinking about him. “yeah- i’m fine, just a little bit stressed i think?” you responded, to which he pouted slightly while thinking for a moment. his eyes lit up as if something clicked and he looked at you with a sweet smile before saying, “how about we go on a night drive? we can talk and you can tell me everything that’s on your mind?” you nodded in agreement, but were freaking out on the inside. the thought of being in such a closed space with him made your heart rate go up.

you drove around a bit, before finding a nice parking lot that was pretty much empty. you put the car in park, while keeping it on so you could have some chill music softly playing in the background. you sat there in silence for a moment, before he broke it by asking “wanna get in the back?” you nodded as you both climbed in the back, but you made sure you were sitting as far from him as possible.

“what’s wrong? did i do something?” he asked you as he noticed immediately the distance you put between the two of you. he never misses anything. “no! i promise it’s not you- i’m just stressed.” he looked at you for a bit, noticing how you refused to make eye contact with him, before asking “but why are you so stressed?” you took a big deep breath in, feeling as though you should just be honest about the fact that your body craved him. fuck it, might as well spit it out before he starts to worry that he did something wrong.

“it’s just embarrassing- but… i haven’t been able to stop thinking about you all day.” you admitted as your cheeks started heating up. he smiled at you, “but i’m right here? why would you be thinking about me?” he asked in sincerity. you couldn’t believe he didn’t get the hint at first, maybe he just thought you were so innocent that sex wasn’t really on your mind or something. you sighed in defeat, “leehan, i can’t stop thinking about your hands. i’m curious, i guess? i mean if it’s okay-“ he interrupted you, knowing you were about to go on a tangent, “what? that’s not embarrassing at all. it’s natural to want your lover.” he said in a gentle, but deep voice. god, even his voice was enough to make your pussy leak. “can we… maybe do something?” you asked as you hid behind your hands, feeling your face get even warmer. he scooted over to get closer to you. he moved your hands away so he could see you, and he had a soft smile on his lips as he asked “yes. are you sure, though?” you nodded enthusiastically, feeling like your body was on fire with how much you needed him.

“just relax for me, pretty girl.” he whispered as he got even closer to you, kissing your forehead, closing the space between you two. his soft, full lips melted into yours as he kissed you with such passionate. just the feeling of his lips on yours was enough to have your head spinning and your insides doing somersaults. his tongue made its way into your mouth, playing with your own. his hand pushed back a few strands of your hair behind your ear, then started caressing your cheek. you broke the kiss, both of you out of breath, before you whispered “more” to him. you attacked his own lips with yours; this kiss was much messier and full of desperation. you wrapped your arms around his body, pulling him close to you. he broke the kiss, a bit of saliva still connecting the two of you. “gonna take such good care of you.” he said as he gave you another soft kiss then started kissing your neck, nipping at your soft skin, making you moan out. “leehan, please, i need you” you whined as you felt like if he didn’t touch you, you might combust.

“so needy. what am i gonna do with you?” he laughed lightly as he pulled back to look at you. “you’re so beautiful… can i take care of you?” he asked as he gestured to your bottoms. you quickly nodded your head and even started to take off your bottoms for him, making him chuckle at how eager you were. he gently moved your hands, wanting to do it for you, and he took them off so you were only in your panties. he took a deep breath in as he was able to see the big wet patch. “so wet already, you must have been aching for me, huh?” he questioned, and once again you nodded with a “mhmm” as a response. he brought his hand to your clothed cunt, his index finger just barely traced the wet spot, making you flinch. he barely touched you and your body was already so sensitive. the way you flinched made your body start to heat up, getting embarrassed at how needy you must seem. “s-sorry about that…” you apologized with your head down. he immediately picked your chin up, so you were looking directly at him. “you’re okay, princess, gonna make you feel so good.” he said as he looked at you with a sudden look of concentration. “can i take your panties off?” he asked as he started circling the large wet spot again, and smirked as you immediately let out a breathless “yes.”

he practically ripped your panties off your body, staring at your now fully exposed pussy. he went in for another kiss, then asked “can i touch you?” “i think i’ll die if you don’t” you admitted to him, causing him to laugh. he took his index and middle fingers into his mouth, making sure to coat them well before taking them out. you felt yourself clench around nothing as you watched him do probably the hottest thing you have ever seen someone do, and he must have noticed as he asked you “like what you see?” he raised his eyebrow. you were going to answer before he took his two fingers, gliding them between your folds.

you were so sensitive, you let out a moan as this sensation was completely new to you. just the feeling of his fingers sliding between your soaking folds felt like electricity was coursing through your body. he focused on only using his middle finger, swirling it along your clit. you felt butterflies in your stomach and felt a fire in your tummy as you whined for him to just enter you already. he smirked, making his way down to your entrance, slowly pushing into the opening. he took his time, not pumping his fingers just yet, he wanted you to really feel it. he wanted you to be comfortable. shortly after, he slowly started moving in and out.

you whimpered at the feeling as this was something you had never experienced before, you didn’t want to be too much so you were trying so hard to contain yourself. “you’re so pretty like this, trying so hard to keep it together. i can tell, you know?” he said as he continued easing his middle finger in and out of your soaking cunt. “f-feels good, but is embarrassing” you said, which just motivated him to start going faster. “it’s not, i want you to let go and give me everything.” he said as he started curling his finger up, gently hitting that one extra sensitive spot in your body. you threw your head back, the feeling becoming too much, and gave into his wishes. “f-fuck leehan.” you moaned out. “that’s it, let me hear those pretty moans.” he encouraged you as he kept fucking you with his finger. “want me to add another?” he asked as he thought he could make you feel even better. “mhmm,” you whimpered out as he added a second finger. his pace slowed, making sure you experienced not a single ounce of discomfort, until you grabbed onto his wrist. “don’t- um… don’t go slow…” you told him, getting a look of surprise from him in response, which quickly turned into a grin.

he started picking up the pace, sliding his fingers in and out quickly, but not too quickly. you couldn’t hold back your moans, it was all too much. a wet sound started to fill the entire car and you covered your face with your hands again out of embarrassment. “what’s wrong?” he asked and you just whined out, “sounds so embarrassing.” “i promise, it’s not, here, feel.” he assured you by taking one of your hands and putting it on his hard cock. “it’s making me so hard, seeing my girl like this.” he said as he continued focusing on you, you softly squeezed his cock in his pants, causing him to pause for a split second. he took a sharp breath in and went back to you, this caused you to become curious. you started pawing at his pants, noticing a similar wet spot like the one you had just moments ago. he curled his fingers upwards, hitting that spot again to distract you from his cock. he wanted you to cum before all else and he was more than determined to make that happen.

you clawed at his bicep, clinging onto it as you fell victim to his hand. you felt a weird tingling sensation in your belly, you’ve felt it before when you touch yourself. however, it felt different this time, as if it were 10x more intense. “l-leehan-fuck!” you cried out as his thumb started rubbing at your clit. “close? is my pretty girl going to cum for me?” he said as he continued fucking you with his fingers. “yes! gonna cum so hard for you.” you told him, not even phased anymore as those words left your mouth. “yeah, princess? is your cute little pussy gonna gush for me?” you felt that same electric feeling like your nerves were slowly being set alight one by one. “yes! yes! just keep going, please” you rambled on as you were right there on the edge. he came close to your ear, whispering to you in that heavenly deep voice of his, “i’m so proud of you, my good girl.” that was it, that statement alone caused you to fall apart immediately. your orgasm hitting you so hard you could barely breath. you cried out his name, your back arching as he rode you through the euphoria.

“that’s it, feels good right?” he smiled at you as he watched you come down from the most intense high you’ve ever experienced. you could only nod at him, feeling your eyes become heavy. he slowly took his fingers out, making sure to lick up all your essence with not a drop left behind. the sight caused a shiver to run up your spine. he grabbed your discarded clothes, dressing you with care. “you feel okay?” he said as he kissed your forehead. “do i feel okay? i feel like so good i can’t think right now, that was insane.” you admitted and he went in to kiss you. his lips against yours were much softer as if he was trying to tell you just how much he loved you through it.

once your brain cleared up, you realized he was probably still hard. “can i touch you?” you asked with a pout. “don’t worry about it tonight, baby, we have all the time in the world for that.” he said as he grabbed you in for a hug. “i love you. thank you for letting me make you feel good and trusting me.” he said as he wrapped a secure arm around your body. you felt your heart explode in your chest at his sweet words. “i-i love you too, you’re so special to me.” he smiled at your words, and squeezed you tighter. “so let’s talk about that praise kink of yours-“ “my WHAT?”

you spent the rest of your night in each other’s arms. you talked about anything and everything. it wasn’t awkward after like you expected it to be, in fact, you felt even closer to him. it was such a sweet, but extremely sexy, experience and you were happy you got to have it with him. you went to bed that night in his arms, feeling extra loved and extra satisfied.

[ericshoney]

Quen's sister ~ Chris Sturniolo (Part two)

Summary: After meeting the Sturniolo triplets and getting Chris' number you've been texting non-stop, which your sister notices and makes a plan.

Warnings: possible swearing, nicknames, surprise date, fluff

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Over the past few weeks, you and Chris had been texting non-stop. It had been friendly but also kinda flirty. You had many jokes and sent many memes to each other. You were often found with your head in your phone, but now a massive smile was etched onto your face and soft laughter left your mouth.

Quen noticed this and knew it was Chris. Why? Only because Nick and Matt were experiencing the exact same thing. Chris was found buried in his phone, smiling and laughing as well.

So the three knew they had to make a plan. They had started simple, group hangout. You and Quen would go to their place, they would go to yours or you'd meet somewhere and do something.

As all this happened, your sister, Nick and Matt noticed how close and connected you and Chris were. They also saw how both of you liked each other but wouldn't dare admit it.

"We gotta get them on a date." Quen said.

Her, Nick and Matt were sat in a coffee shop thinking of another plan. Quen had said she went to meet Larray whilst Nick said he had a meeting for Space Camp and needed Matt to drive him. Neither you or Chris suspected a thing.

"What are we going to do, say we're going for dinner but actually only they show up?" Matt asked sarcastically.

"That's fucking genius!" Nick exclaimed.

"Yes! We can book the table and time but they arrive!" Quen shouted.

"I was joking." Matt muttered.

"It's a good idea, joke or not." Nick said, patting Matt's shoulder.

So the three made a plan. They booked a table at a nice restaurant under Chris' name. Quen messaged you to get ready for dinner at six, whilst Nick said the same to Chris and said they would meet you there, but in reality they would just go home.

~~~~~~~~~

A few hours later, you took an Uber to the restaurant, thinking you were meeting for dinner. Not knowing you were about to have a date with Chris.

When you arrived and got out. You sent a message to Quen, but didn't get a reply. You waited a few minutes thinking she must be on her way, when you saw Chris walking over.

"Hey!" He greeted cheerfully.

"Hey, Chris." You responded.

He smiled and gave you a hug. You smiled, feeling the butterflies in your stomach. When he pulled away, you felt slightly cold.

"Are we early?" Chris then asked.

You checked the time and saw it was five fifty. You know the table was booked for six.

"Not really, maybe they are inside?" You suggested.

"Let's go see." He replied.

You both went inside and spoke to the waiter who led you to an empty table. You thanked the waiter and sat down, looking at the menu and texting your siblings you were at the table.

Ten minutes past and no responses from either Quen, Nick or Matt. They didn't show up either. You both ordered some drinks, still waiting for your siblings.

"So, how you been?" Chris asked.

"I've been good, I started posting on TikTok more." You answered.

"I saw." He replied, smiling.

"You follow my TikTok?" You asked.

"Of course! Love the prank ones." He said.

You smiled and continued chatting. You shared some stories of your past week and some funny videos you've both found. The night went on as you ordered food, totally ignoring the fact that Quen, Nick and Matt didn't show until it was time to leave.

Chris paid, which you were grateful for even though you said he didn't have too. He smiled as you went outside about to get an Uber.

"You know, it was fun, just us." Chris said.

"Yeah, I totally forgot it was supposed to be a group thing." You responded.

"Kinda like a date." Chris mumbled.

"Yeah." You whispered.

You looked up at Chris as he looked down at you. Both of you smiled at each other.

"I really like you." Chris blurted out.

"I really like you too." You replied.

"Wanna maybe go on another date?" He suggested.

"I'd love too!" You exclaimed, making him laugh.

"Okay, text you later, sweetheart." He responded, kissing your cheek as he got in an Uber.

You smiled and got in another Uber, heading home, a massive smile on your face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tags:

@lgbtq-girl @mattsfavbigtitties @onelesslonelygirlbieber6 @riowritesitall @sturniolo-fann

[mythicmanuscripts]

Hiiii <3 i absolutely adore your works, I have been SEARCHING for someone who appreciates the sub!hotd boys

I saw that you recently wrote this for Jace, but I've been thinking so so hard about taking care of sub!Aemond when he's not feeling good/sick, the way he would absolutely install all of his trust into his beloved, and completely melt away in their arms! Especially if he has a stomach bug or something like that.

We know how he feels about people in his space, so he definitely doesn't want the maesters or servants near him, so all of his care is basically through his lover 😵‍💫😭

I love this idea! I also think it's very funny how much we all love torturing these characters.

There's nothing NSFW in this answer but the vibes are definitely sub!aemond and also I do make reference to what happened at the brothel when he was 13 so I'm gonna hide it behind a cut just in case.

Firstly, Aemond trust is very VERY hard to get. You are the only person he actually trusts. Sure there are some others he trusts to certain extents, but you are the only one with his full trust. A big part about why you have that level of trust is because of how you protect him and his vulnerabilities? You will never ever let anyone else see him in a vulnerable position. Plenty of people have tried to get you to reveal things about Aemond to them and of course you always tell them to get lost and then tell Aemond about it later. There are no secrets between the two of you, ever.

(And I really do mean ever, not even white lies, not even a lie that sets up a surprise for him, nothing. In fact you go out of your way to always ensure he knows what's going on with you and letting him tell you what's happening with him. It's this constant, open communication that really solidifies the relationship for Aemond. You become his safe space, and he becomes yours)

So when Aemond gets sick, his first reaction is absolutely to find you and ask for support. In fact, he probably doesn't been realise it? He just feels bad and before he knows what's going on he's wondering around the keep trying to find you.

It's because he always feels better when he's in the same space as you? He just feels so much more secure when he's with you, when he knows he has someone who is 100% on his side and have his back.

You know something is wrong the moment you spot him because he doesn't actually come to you and join the conversation you're having, instead he just stands there watching you. He looks even paler than normal. You quickly excuse yourself from the conversation and go to him.

The first thing you do is ask what's wrong and he actually doesn't answer the first time. There are too many people around and he doesn't want anyone else hearing that he's not feeling well. So you take him to your shared chambers and only then does he confess about how bad he feels. You try to convince him to call a maester, but needless to say that doesn't work.

You arent too surprised with that refusal, considering how reserved he is and how much he hates seeming weak in front of others. You're just glad he's come to you. You don't even consider calling a maester anyway. It doesn't matter how sick he is, you won't break his trust like that. He came to you for help.

You help him get undressed and then help him into a wam bath to get him feeling a little better. Only once he's in the bath do you ask if you can remove his eye patch, and part of you think he'll say no because of how clearly vulnerable he is. But he nods and asks you to do it for him. You, of course, gently taking it off him and then help him wash himself. Aemond absolutely ADORES when you wash his hair, so when you make the offer to do that he agrees immediately.

Once he's nice and clean, you help him onto the bed. The moment he's changed into more comfortable clothes he's pulling you into bed with him and turning into your arms. You let him rest against your chest and run your hands through his hair, untangling it with your fingers.

He just lays there for a while, eventually he starts shivering and you pull away to ask what's wrong. That's when you feel his forehead and realise he has a fever. Again you suggest calling a maester and again he refuses, choosing instead to dive back into your chest and cling to you as he shivers.

You wait a little while longer and ask again when you realise he's not getting any better. You then offer to call the maesters but ensure they don't touch him. That's an option he considers, and eventually he agrees. `

You go to fetch the maester on duty, and you give them a very stern talking to because allowing them into the bedroom, making them promise they won't touch Aemond.

Aemond is sitting in the bed when you return, and he immediately holds his hand out to you. You come and sit on the side of bed, taking his hand and then telling the Maester what's going on. The maester tries to say he needs to feel Aemond's forehead, but you stop him mid sentence. Aemond doesn't even need to tell the maester no, you've already stopped him. You can feel how aemond's grip on your hand relaxes when you prevent the maester from touching him.

The maester prescribes some medication and to keep a cool towel on his forehead. You administer his medication and put a damp towel over his forehead as instructed. Aemond doesn't even bother listening to what the Maester said because he knows you would have listened closely and would ensure he follows all instructions.

When aemond is sick is the only time he will actually be openly needy with you. When you try to leave the room he actually whines and begs you to come back. And he's so hostile to anyone else who tries to enter the room, because he mostly just feels so vulnerable and he can't stand the thought of others seeing him that way. You basically have to guard his door for him to be able to relax enough to actually sleep.

Oh and if he made you sick as a result, he'll look after you and lord help anyone who tries to get him to move away from your bedside.

[featherandferns]

orange juice (fic)

jj maybank x fem!reader | inspired by noah kahn's incredible music

content warning: mentions of drinking and drug use; mentions of abuse; mentions of bodily harm (vague, non-graphic); sexual content | feel free to message me with questions of detail if any of this concerns you before reading!

word count: 7.5k

blurb: in the most unlikely of settings, you and JJ reunite after five years apart in radio silence.

“You know, on my way here, I saw a dead rat.”

A cloud of cigarette smoke dispels into the air.

“It was funny, you know? Cause I felt bad that it was dead, even though it was a rat. I mean, I knew nobody was going to miss it, and that it didn’t have any rat family or friends which would mourn it or anything. But still…It looked like it had been hit by a car, and it was only small so it didn’t look very old, and it seemed so harmless lying there. It probably had a million and one diseases, but just laying there, it seemed harmless. And it felt weird to be sad about this thing dying which would have only maybe caused more damage if it had stayed alive – nibbling through electrical wires and all that.”

JJ takes another drag of his cigarette as he digests the anecdote.

“Anyway. This just made me think of that,” you quietly finish before sinking back into the silence.

“Did you just compare my dad’s funeral to a dead rat?”

You clear your throat. JJ watches in his peripheral as you look down at your feet and fidget your fingers.

“Shit, I guess I did.”

His eyes cut ahead the moment yours seem to flick up.

“Can’t believe that’s the first thing I’ve said to you in years.”

JJ inhales and exhales the nicotine of his cigarette. “Well, I can.”

That makes you laugh. Small and sheltered.

“I weren’t sure that you were going to come,” JJ tells you.

“Could say the same thing to you,” you reply.

Sighing, he drops the cigarette and crushes it under the heel of his boot. He probably should have worn smarter shoes. But then, why would he? Waste of money and space in his truck. Not like his dad was going to see them anyway.

“I only decided yesterday. Practically drove all night.” As if reminding himself of the sleep deprivation, JJ lets out a yawn.

“How is it, being back in Kildare?” you wonder.

JJ shrugs. “Weird. But also not weird at all. I guess I just feel old. I was driving through town and everything looks different.”

“I mean, it has been five years.”

“Jesus,” JJ chuckles, shaking his head. Had it really been that long?

He shoves his hands in his pant pockets and finally finds the nerve to take you in. His eyes scan over you like one might survey potential damage to a car after a close call. He never lets them go below your waist though. As if losing nerve, he flicks them back up to your head and meets your eyes.

“You look well.”

“Thanks. Right back at ya,” you smile.

With that smile – sweet and simple – JJ finds himself being hurled back through time to his teen years. The reminiscing of his youth and the memories that your presence stirs up feels like reflecting on a past life. Something that he almost had, and something that he didn’t exactly lose, but something that changed.

Everything had changed, really. The streets that he used to drive down with his friends, running away from security and darting to and from keggers and house parties, they all had new homes, new paint, new families. Old mom-and-pop shops were now trendy smoothie spots and hippie bars. Empty plots of land that were a good spot to share a joint had now been bought and developed into stylish holiday rentals. None of JJ’s family was left here, not even his cousin. None of his friends were here anymore either. Well, except for you. Is that what you were to him? A friend?

“It was a nice service,” you say.

“Was it?”

For someone like Luke Maybank, ‘nice’ is probably a generous term for a funeral service that’s void of cheery anecdotes and tender memories. It’s a shame that all the memories JJ held in high regard of his father – of the moments that they were bonded and close – often came with the overarching theme of alcohol or drugs. He wasn’t sure there was ever a genuine moment shared between the two. Whatever praise and pride he gathered from his dad was short lived and sparse. When his dad left the island on the boat he stole, JJ never heard from him again. And now he never would.

“Did they ask if you wanted to say anything?”

“What’s there to say? He was a guy and he died in a bender. Short and simple, I guess.”

You nod and go silent once more.

JJ knows that his answer evaded the politeness markers of small talk, but it was true. Luke Maybank was a human who lived on this earth with no mark to be left apart from those which he laid on his own child. The only way that he’d be remembered was in the nightmares that still sometimes have JJ waking up in cold sweats and reaching for the box of cigarettes by his bed.

“I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have come,” you say.

“No, it’s not…” JJ shakes his head and offers you a smile, but he knows it looks unnatural. He isn’t sure what he’s feeling right now. Perhaps everything, if that’s even possible. “I’m glad you came. I’m just tired and…well, you know.”

The funeral of my father.

“Right. Of course.”

He watches you tuck your hair behind your ears and glance towards the graves. He remembers how you used to do that when you were both younger. It was funny to him: you’d go through the fuss of trying your hair back in one way or another, but you’d always leave out a couple of strands. “To frame my face” you’d tell him, and then you’d precede to spend the rest of the day tucking your hair behind your ears. He liked it though. When you’d be concentrating on something, like surfing or fixing something up or writing, you’d lean forward and they’d come lose and hang over your pretty features. He’d want to mess with them; tuck them behind your ears for you. Sometimes he did. He remembers when you’d be on top of him, kissing him senseless, and they’d come lose and tickle his face. Somehow it would make the whole thing more sensual, with his laughs and your giggles.

He feels his face flush as the memories of nights like those creep back into his head. He shouldn’t think of you like that, not after all this time. Not with how things turned out. And especially not at his father’s funeral.

JJ had come over to you once his father was safely tucked away in the ground, six feet under. You’d attended the service at the church, hiding near the back, and then the burial, and as everybody else departed to give JJ ‘a moment’ (whatever the hell that meant), he’d turned to find you stood near a bench, lost in thought.

“It was nice of you to come,” JJ thanks.

“I’m surprised none of the others are here.”

“They don’t know. I sort of kept it close to the chest,” JJ admits. “I’m actually impressed by the turnout.”

You go to laugh and JJ sees you stifle it. It helps him ease up, smile a real smile for a second, as wicked as that sounds.

“People have layers, I guess.”

“Not my dad.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

You meet his gaze again. Your eyes make it clear that you haven’t shed a tear and neither had JJ. He wasn’t sure if maybe that would come later, once the so-called shock had worn off. He doubted it though. And yet, there was a haze of sadness about him. Death is weird as a whole. The death of a parent like JJ’s, even weirder. Maybe it wasn’t just the funeral causing the sadness. Maybe it was you.

JJ makes a move to leave but before he can even shift his foot one whole step, you’re talking.

“Do you wanna come back to mine? We could catch up. I’m sure you’ve been doing all sorts since I last saw you. Maybe have a drink or two, for old times’ sake?”

“Oh, I don’t drink anymore.”

“Oh,” you say. A pause for thought, then, “well, I have orange juice.”

It’s a strange thing to offer in place of a bottle of beer or glass of wine. Most people would say a cup of coffee. But no - orange juice: that’s where your mind went. It makes JJ smile. It seems so on-par for you to offer him that.

“Okay. Sure. Orange juice sounds good.”

“Do you need a moment, before we leave?” you ask, glancing back over your shoulder to the gravesite of JJ’s deceased father.

The dirt atop of his plot is fresh and stark brown against the green grass. JJ stares a second. The groundkeeper is dusting some muck off the gravestone. The funeral director had offered him a fine granite with award winning chiselling, after recognising JJ from the articles of El Dorado and assuming some high-placed budget. JJ had opted for a simple thing though. Cheap and likely to be hard to read within half a decade. It’s what Luke deserved. Probably what he would have invested into JJ, if the roles were reversed.

“No, I don’t. We can go,” JJ says, voice vacant. He looks back to you. “I’ll drive.”

You don’t live in your childhood home anymore. The place that you’ve settled in is a small home in a sweet looking neighbourhood. In fact, it seems the only part of Kildare that feels familiar to JJ. The front garden is quaint but well kept, with trimmed grass and flower beds that clearly garner a lot of attention and care. The fence is in need of a lick of paint: the blue fading and peeling. A sticky note is attached to the door frame of the front door and it makes JJ smile. ‘Doorbell’s fucked – shout “ding dong” really loud’.

“This is a step up,” JJ says.

“Nice, right? My neighbour is a dick though. Always complaining that I leave my driveway light on in the middle of the night. As if I can even afford to that.”

JJ chuckles as he follows you inside. There’s an instant warm smell that hits him. JJ can’t seem to describe it in any other way than that it smells like you. The interior is safe and homely. The wallpaper and wooden floors pair nicely with the throw pillows and crystals and plants and flowers. Fairy lights are strung from end to end. A kitchen, open plan, feeds nicely into a sitting room. A dining table is tucked in the corner which seemingly functions more as a desk: books piled atop with sheets of paper strewn out. There’s a small corridor to the right and the walls are lined with framed pictures which JJ can’t make out from where he’s stood. He assumes it must lead to a bathroom and bedroom. It isn’t unlived in though. There’s a small pile of clothes which need ironing; they’re sat in a basket, next to the TV. Near the backdoor is an arts and crafts project of some kind strewn about on the floor in organised chaos, blocking the exit.

It's still early in the afternoon so you don’t bother flicking on a light, instead opting to soak in the last few hours of daylight before dusk. Kie used to compare you to a cat, basking in the sun and chasing the rays until there was none left to follow.

JJ closes the door behind him and leans against it.

“You can take your shoes off, if you want.”

“Alright,” he mumbles. He toes them off and kicks them to the side, amongst a pile of your own. He notices how there’s nobody else’s shoes there: just yours, and now his.

You pour out two glasses of orange juice and turn around, handing one to him. He takes it, lost in thought. It all feels surreal, stood here with you, after a five-year pause. When you go to the sofa to sit, he assumes he should follow. You sit on opposite ends. A part of him wonders why you haven’t stretched out your legs and dumped your feet in his lap. ‘These stink’, JJ jokes, poking your toes. You wiggle his fingers off. ‘Shut up, no they don’t.’ Force of habit: he always seems to get stuck on that past. Instead, you go to pull one of your legs up onto the sofa, and JJ flicks his eyes around the room another time. He sips his juice.

“So…” You start. “Any news?”

“Well, my dad died, so there’s that.”

You kick out your leg, aiming for his thigh. “Come on now. Be serious.”

“I am; you were at the funeral. Thought you might remember that,” JJ jokes.

Rolling your eyes mirthfully, you have a sip of your juice. The sun paints shapes on the coffee table, weaving through the thin curtains that line your window. It makes your skin glow, healthy and happy. He’s torn between staring at your face and remembering every detail of your features and avoiding you completely.

“When did you move in here? It’s nice.”

“About two years ago. Mom and dad are still at the old place. They’ve rented out my room though, for tourists and stuff.”

“That’s nice of them,” JJ snorts. “How’s your brother? Is he doing good?”

“He is. He’s at college actually. Graduates later this year.”

“The fuck? That’s so trippy,” JJ mumbles, almost to himself.

JJ can remember your brother as nothing more than a preteen, sulking around the house and begging for rides to soccer practice. Now he’s nearly got a whole ass degree. His eyes naturally fixate on the dining-table-come-desk in the corner.

“What do you do for work then?”

“I’m a teacher at Kildare high.”

Of course you are. JJ smiles, eyes still fixated on the table. It seems to prompt you to continue.

“It’s kinda weird sometimes cause some of the old farts still work there,” you say.

“Oh shit. Mr Rumble still there?” JJ asks, perking up a little, meeting your gaze.

You laugh. “Mr Rummel does still work there, yeah. Still likes to bring you up to me, actually.”

“Really? In what way?”

“Just likes to add the odd little ‘you remember when your boyfriend used to steal my stapler’ kinda things.”

JJ’s laugh is different this time. The word ‘boyfriend’ coming out of your mouth has his thoughts short circuiting. You glance down at your juice and swirl it around the cup.

“Anyway, it’s a pretty good gig. I like teaching, and I actually think I’m making a difference to some of these kids lives sometimes, which is sort of strange.”

“I bet you are. You were always good at helping people,” JJ tells you. Your smile turns soft.

“Thanks, JayJ.”

The nickname is like another sucker punch to the chest. JJ takes it like a champ. Washes it down with water; pretends there’s vodka in there somewhere.

“How are the others, then?” you ask. “How are they?”

“Good. Happy. John B and Sarah are expecting a kid soon.”

“Fuck off.”

“No joke,” JJ laughs. He leans back into the sofa, reclining in the soft throw pillows. It’s strange how easily relaxed he is in this new setting. “They’re debating between two names. Esmeralda or Eton.”

“No. Please God, tell me you’re joking.”

“I wish,” JJ snorts. “Not that I got much of a leg to stand on.”

“What do you mean?” you frown. You lean over and place your juice down on the coffee table.

“JJ? Kinda dumb name.” JJ has a sip of his own before mirroring your actions.

“Hardly. ‘John James’ is pretty proper sounding to me.”

“Meh.” JJ shrugs and props an arm up on the back of the sofa.

“What about Kie, and Pope?”

“Kie is on her environmentalist shit. Investing in rebuilding the coral and things. Pope is studying like crazy. Got a good job lined up too.”

“Only Pope would get a degree when he has literal gold in his savings,” you chuckle. “Didn’t you buy a shop too, or something?”

“A little surf shop with John B, yeah,” JJ nods, smiling proud. The surf shop is something that he would always take pride in. What felt like a pipedream was now his nine-to-five. “It’s doing real good, actually. We’re thinking about expanding.”

“Well, that’s good,” you say, nodding. The two of you lock eyes. Your smile holds steady. “I’m happy for you, JJ. Really.”

“Thanks,” he says. “I’m glad you’re doing good, too.”

And now the polite small talk is over and the catch-up is done. It’s so bizarre seeing someone again after so long. So many things in life have passed – relationships, jobs, fights, conversations, achievements, ailments – but when you finally come to sum it up, it only takes ten minutes. Going through a heartbreak lasts for months, but then a year later and the relationship is summed up in a sentence or two. Time doesn’t only heal, but it also shrinks. It seems to have shrunk whatever used to exist between yourself and JJ too, as you both sit, searching for things to talk about which avoid the dark and ugly. Things which avoid the obvious.

“Do you think you’ll stick around in Kildare for a bit?”

“I don’t know. I ain't really thought about it,” JJ admits. “I weren't even sure if I was gonna go to the funeral.”

“Where are you staying tonight?” you wonder.

He laughs to himself and shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “I have no idea. Probably just crash in my truck.”

“You’re loaded as fuck and you’re gonna crash in your truck?” you laugh. It isn’t mean when you say it. Just amused.  

“I don’t know. You don’t really get used to having money when you grew up without it. I still feel guilty buying a new pair of boots or something when my old ones ain't coming apart at the soles and shit.”

You nod. “That makes sense. Eminem had a similar thing.”

“Yeah, I’ve always thought me and Eminem were similar,” JJ deadpans.

It seems to strike well with you because you’re cracking up, laughing like he’s just told the best joke you’ve ever heard. He smiles. He always liked making you laugh. You have a horrendous laugh: truly awful. Cats in a bag being bashed against the wall-howling dog parade level of terrible. JJ loved it though. He used to tickle you just to hear it. Watching you now, head titled back, eyes shut and mouth agape, guffawing like a damn hyena…He feels like throwing up.

“Sorry, that…That was good,” you chuckle, wiping your eyes and catching your breath. “You were always good at making me laugh.”

“Fuck knows why,” JJ chuckles.

“Cause you’re funny,” you reply, as if its obvious. “You were always funny.”

It’s strange how the tone of the conversation rises and falls like a mountain range the longer the two of you sit on the sofa.

Your smile turns sombre, like when someone reminisces over a funny memory of their dead pet. Nice at first, amused, and then dampened with the reminder that those times have passed.

“It’s weird, to be honest. You’re so different now but you’re also still JJ.”

“Different how?”

“I don’t know,” you sigh. You glance around the room for a moment, as if you’d find the answer hidden in code on the spine of the books stacked on the windowsill. You look at him again. “Your face looks different.”

“It does?” JJ asks. He lifts a hand and strokes his jaw. He could do with a shave, he supposes. The vanity tries to bite through to ask how, but before he can, you’re talking again.

“You don’t drink,” you add, nodding to the orange juice still sat on the coffee table. “You’re quieter. Less…”

You seem to lose the words and so you gesture with your hands. Explosion.

“Calmer. Sadder, but not sad.”

“I can’t tell if these are good things or not,” JJ says, half-joking.

“You look at me different too.”

That makes him pause. He meets your eyes and holds your gaze, steady. The whole room shifts in a moment, from carefree catch-up to tense confrontation.

“Different?”

“Yeah. You look at me different.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” JJ mutters, going to reach for his drink.

“Yes, you do, JJ.”

Your smile is gone now. He can tell, catching it from his peripheral. Suddenly he doesn’t want to be here. Doesn’t want to be in Kildare, doesn’t want to be in this house, in this room.

“You could at least acknowledge it, you know?”

“I don’t understand—”

“It’s actually more rude to not acknowledge it,” you snip.

“I’m not being rude, I’m just making conversation. You’re the one who’s got me on blast like you’re some God damn therapist,” JJ hits back, meeting your steely stare.

“You feel like you’re on blast?”

“I feel like I’m being observed, that’s for fucking sure.”

“Maybe you are. Maybe you are being observed, JJ,” you return, voice harsh and cutting like how a blade slices through paper. “Because it’s fucking weird having you back.”

“You’re the one that invited me here.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it,” you say.

JJ takes a breath and closes his eyes. The anger never went away, despite what you’ve just told him, he just got older. Got better at hiding it. Got enough money to try therapy. He takes another moment to breathe through it. Push it down his throat and back into his stomach and let it burn out in the acid.

“I’m sorry,” you quietly say. The venom is gone. “I shouldn’t have…I’m sorry.”

He isn’t sure why – can’t pinpoint a perfect reason behind it – but behind his eyelids, JJ feels tears swell. Feels his lips twitch like a child when they hit their funny bone. His next breath in is shaky.

“JJ?”

“Just…”

His voice cracks and he clears it, shaking his head. He wants to open his eyes but he’s scared he’ll start crying, and he’s not doing that, not right now, not today. It’s not even you. You’d seen him cry before. Held him through it and patched him up; made him smile after the sadness. But he refuses to cry today because he can’t give his dad that satisfaction, even if it’s not about him. Opening his eyes, no tears escape. He reaches for the juice and downs it.

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that,” he snaps. Then, softer, “please.”

You nod. There’s a quiet. Then, you move to stand and he closes his eyes again because it’s a struggle for you to stand. It’s a struggle. He rubs a hand over his mouth as if trying to shove the welling emotions back inside. There’s the sound of running water in the background as JJ tries to gather himself. The crack-crack-crack of a gas stove turning on and then the clink of metal on metal. You’ve put the kettle on, boiling water. There’s the tinker of porcelain mugs being taken off a stand. He seems to zone in on the peaceful sounds of you making coffee.

When you pour water into the mugs, he remembers the sound of your voice years back. ‘Did you know humans have the ability to hear the difference between hot and cold water being poured?’ ‘Why the fuck do you know that?’ ‘I don’t know. Just thought it was interesting.’

As the teaspoon repeatedly brushes against the inside of the cup as you stir in the instant coffee and milk, JJ finally feels all the emotions even out. As your footsteps make their way back over to him, you flick on the lamp by the front door. JJ opens his eyes to see you place a steaming cup of Joe in front of him on the coffee table. The mug is cute. It’s peach pink and says “I’m drinking tea instead of committing crimes” on the front in an innocent type-writer print.

“Cute mug.”

“Thanks. Thought of you.”

He silently laughs. You sit closer to him this time and your mug sits next to his. There’s no funny quote written across the paint. Then your hand is on his back, barely rubbing him, and it hits JJ that this is the first time you’ve touched him in five years.

“I shouldn’t have gotten so angry,” you tell him. “It ain’t my place to say any of that. Especially not today.”

“It’s true, though. That’s the kicker, ain’t it? That it’s true,” JJ replies.

He sighs and leans back, sitting upright once more. Your hand falls away and you clasp it in the other in your lap. He glances down and takes in your side profile. That stupid piece of hair has come lose again, fallen in your face. He distracts his twitching fingers by twisting one of his rings.

“I’m okay, you know,” you tell him. You look up and meet his eyes. Yours are damp with emotion, just like his were moments earlier. “I’m really okay.”

“You almost weren’t though.”

“Is that the problem? That I almost wasn’t?”

“It’s not the problem. You were never a problem.”

“I ain't mean it like that,” you tell him. You shake your head and JJ isn’t entirely sure why. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Am I the reason that you left Kildare?”

A bird calls outside and JJ seems to latch onto it like a lifeline. That question makes him feel stranded and scared. He wasn’t ready for it despite being fully prepared.

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?”

“I…It ain't that simple.”

“Can you explain it to me, maybe?” you wonder. There’s no wrath to your tone anymore – no vendetta against him. There’s just curiosity and care, and this wonderful tenderness that JJ always associated with you from day one, when you offered him your cap to keep his hair off his face.

“I didn’t like the person I was in Kildare.”

“Okay,” you quietly say.

“I didn’t like how I acted. I didn’t like how reckless I was, and how I didn’t care who got hurt in the process.”

“Like me?”

JJ swallows. He doesn’t tear his eyes from yours though. “Yeah. Like you.”

“Okay,” you repeat, quieter still, nodding.

“After El Dorado, coming back here, everything felt tainted. I just…I needed to escape it. My dad and my past and…And you. I couldn’t face it. I felt like I’d caused some freak accident and had gotten away, and then I'd come back to face the aftermath and I just couldn’t stomach it. I just ran.”

You nod.

“I just ran,” he hears himself repeat. “And I’m not proud of it. Of any of it.”

“Okay.”

“And I wanted to fix things, but I didn’t know how. Every time I thought of coming back to Kildare, or picking up the phone, or going on Instagram and finding you…I just got so fucking scared, like a stupid shithead kid. I was so scared of becoming the guy I was again.”

And, again, you nod. When he doesn’t continue, you fill the space. “How long have you been sober?”

“The minute I left Kildare.”

“Fuck.”

“Cold turkey. It sucked ass. It still does. You don’t miss it any less. I miss the rage too, sometimes. I miss my dad sometimes, too. Miss him beating on me. How fucked up is that? That I miss him beating on me?”

You don’t seem to know what to say to that. You just look down at the coffee mugs and watch how the steam is slowly but surely going away.

“I am sorry. I know that ain't worth anything, but I am sorry.”

“It is worth something.” You clear your throat, voice coming out stronger when you say, “It’s worth everything.”

Your smile comes back, timid and tiny. You meet eyes for the millionth time that night.

“It feels like I’ve been ready for you to come back, for so long, and now you’re actually here and…I don’t even know where to start.” He watches your tongue dart out and wet your lips. “I wasn’t expecting you to look so good.”

“Disappointed?”

“Massively. I would have got my ass in the gym more if I knew it was a Goddamn competition.”

JJ smiles. “You were always a sore loser.”

“Says you,” you snort.

There’s another peak in the conversation after the long slug of the last dip. It’s so bizarre. So wonderfully bizarre.

“I’m proud of you, for getting sober. Do you feel better for it?”

“Depends.”

“Well, you look better for it,” you say.

“You’re drooling, I think,” JJ teases, reaching a finger out to prod your cheek.

Rolling your eyes, you mirthfully bat his hand away. “You’re hallucinating.”

“Well, withdrawal does crazy things,” he quips back.

You chuckle and shake your head. “I missed you like crazy.”

“I miss you too.”

Your lips part a little with that. Miss. You seem to hesitate to hold his gaze then, like it’s too intense. JJ feels as though he can see every emotion flash across your face in a second, like watching a car crash in slow motion. Surprise, shock, joy, anger, then sadness. It’s that sadness that hammers hard when you speak, voice weak.

“You left without saying anything, JJ. For five years. You just left me.”

“Don’t make it sound like that. Like I abandoned you.”

“But you did,” you whisper. The tears are back. You’ve both fallen from the top of the mountain. “You abandoned me.”

“You don’t get it,” JJ replies, voice suddenly thick.

“I was in it with you.”

“You didn’t see it,” JJ forces out. His tears are falling: they didn’t wait this time. “You didn’t see how it looked – how you looked. You looked so fucking fragile and tiny and small and your leg was so bent and twisted and black – it was black – and I thought you were already dead.”

Your breathing is shaky and broken. The two of you sit on your sofa in the sunset, eyes locked, tears streaming, chests heaving like you’ve run a marathon. The word ‘dead’ hangs in the air and haunts the room.

“I thought you were dead, and I thought it was because of me.”

“Do you hate me for it?”

“Why the fuck would I—”

“Because I didn’t die? Do you hate me for it?”

JJ blinks back his bewilderment. He physically shifts back in his seat, as if you just spat in his face. Horrified, he tells you, “Of course I don’t. Why would you even ask me that?”

“Because I’m still here, JJ. But you acted like I wasn’t for five years. You didn’t even come see me in the hospital. Didn’t sit with me in the ambulance. Hell, you can’t even look at my leg now! You think I didn’t notice? At the graveyard, and now. You think I can’t see it on your face?”

JJ whispers your name in a tearful plea. Stop.

“I’m still here, JJ. And I invited you back here, and I went to the funeral, because I wanted to see you.”

“To show me what I did?” JJ asks, harsher than needed.

You hold his gaze. “To show you I’m okay.”

He shakes his head, insistent. “It was my fault. If I hadn’t been drinking and if I’d been thinking straight, I would have never let you jump off the bike like that. It was fucking reckless and stupid and I would never, ever do it again. It was all my fault.”

“I don’t care who’s fault it was, JJ,” you whisper. Your hand reaches out and traces his cheek and jaw, and he can’t help but lean into your warm touch. There you sit, cradling his face as if he was the victim in this whole thing. It calms him almost immediately. “Nobody forced me on that bike. Nobody forced me to jump, not even you.”

“I shouldn’t have let you.”

“JJ,” you sigh.

He closes his eyes as you shift in your spot, and somehow you end up with your forehead pressed against his. He reaches out one of his hands for the other of yours that rests in your lap and he clenches it, tight. You’re both still crying but they’re silent tears now.

“I forgive you, JJ.”

He shakes his head whilst you nod.

“Yes, I do, I forgive you. I always have. You know why?”

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move.

“Because you were dealt the shitest hand I’ve ever known and look who you are. You’re sober, and you're healthy, and you have loving friends and a steady income and a job which you love, and a boathouse, and so much of your life left. And you didn’t kill anyone. You didn’t kill me, JJ. You didn’t even lose me.”

“I don’t—”

“We’re more than our mistakes.”

When JJ opens his eyes, you pull back enough to let him meet your gaze. As if you know what he’s about to ask, you smile. That smile…JJ feels like he’s coming home.

“You’re more than your mistakes, JJ.”

The moment his lips slot against yours, tentative and hesitant, like a bird exploring new ground for the first time, he’s home. There’s hardly a moment of reluctance, of confusion and mismatch from the time passed, before you’re kissing him back. The softness of your lips against his and the brush of your tongue. The sigh in your voice and the tilt of your head. It’s so seamless and sweet and safe. JJ feels safe here, with you. He feels like all the shit doesn’t matter. He feels like sober might actually be synonymous with happiness, with you. When he lies you down on the sofa, JJ doesn’t want to leave this room, this house, or Kildare. He wants to stay here, worshipping you, breathing you in until you consume all of his senses, because after five years, nothing has made him feel as alive as this. As you.

Everything is a wonderful illusion of being rushed and well-paced all at once. He revels in the way your skin gives gently beneath the scrape of his teeth. When he sucks at your throat, the skin is so delicate, and this close to you JJ can smell nothing but your perfume. He wants to fucking drown in it.

“Fuck, I missed you,” he pants. You’re gasping too. Fingers sliding through his hair, down his sides, along his face.

“I missed you,” you whine.

And that phrase gets repeated over and over like a mantra or a prayer. He hears himself whispering it against your skin with every button he undoes on your blouse. Basks in the sound of your voice, older and mature but still you, as you say it whilst pushing his dress shirt off his shoulder.

There’s a stalling pause when his fingers finish tracing down your stomach to your pants. You seem to notice it. Your hand comes to his face and thumbs at his cheek. They’re still sticky from dried tears.

“JJ,” you whisper, coaxing his attention back to your face. You’re glowing. You’re happy, you’re healthy, and you’re here. “It’s okay.” Nodding, you repeat. “It’s okay.”

Then, he watches your own fingers land on the button of your pants, slowly undoing it. Then the other and the third until they’re lose. He watches you wriggle out of them, pulling them down, struggling somewhat from the tight position on the sofa. Watches the scars emerge, faint but clear, and how they grow and spread like ivy on the side of a house. They merge with the cellulite and stretch marks. With a random bruise you must’ve gotten from hitting your leg on the table the other day. They’re a part of you – plain and simple. At the knee, there’s the connection for your prosthetic right leg. Once your trousers are off, JJ finds himself reaching out to touch it. This thing that he was partly responsible for, this marvel of medicine, the reason you can walk. He loves it and hates it desperately all at once. Glancing back up to your face, you’re watching him just as carefully as he was watching you. But you’re smiling.

“You’re okay,” JJ finds himself saying quietly. Because you are. You’re here, laying almost bare before him, just like you had years before.

“It’s rude to make a girl wait, JJ,” you tease.

With that, JJ’s smile is blossoming back like the returning of spring flowers following a brutal winter. He leans forward and catches himself above you with his arms, kissing you like you’re all the oxygen in the world. Your left leg rubs at his calf, still covered by his trousers, and you giggle against his mouth.

“Fuck, I missed this,” you say. “I missed you.”

“How much?”

“So much,” you say.

“Oh yeah? What’d you miss?” JJ persists, kissing down your neck.

“Your mouth,” you say through a moan. His hands slip behind your back and unclasp your bra. You arch your back enough for him to tug it off.

“My mouth?” he wonders, breathing it against your skin. You’re practically writhing. JJ laughs. “What about my mouth?”

“Don’t be a jackass, JJ,” you mutter.

“You want my mouth?”

“Yes,” you quietly beg.

“You do?” he checks, kissing over your breast, sucking at your nipple. “Where do you want it?”

“You fucking know where,” you sigh, impatience shining through.

He grins at the sudden hitch of your moan as he softly nips at the sensitive skin around your nipple. Then he’s kissing down your stomach until finally his fingers hook into the sides of your panties. He slowly, tauntingly, pulls them down. You kick them off at the ankles, a clear act of frustration, and he bites back his laugh.

“What? Here?” JJ plants a kiss to your hipbone. “You want my mouth here? Or…”

Another kiss, to your pelvic bone.

“Here?”

“Fuck you, Maybank.”

“You wanna?”

“I swear to fucking God,” you huff, laughing through the annoyance.

With that, JJ settles himself between your legs and praises you like you deserve to be. The noises you make are downright evil, considering he can do nothing about it and has to hold it together. You taste so familiar on his tongue.

“Fucking missed you,” he groans against you.

When he sucks on your clit, your hands latch into his hair. Your back is arching and you’re gasping and panting and desperate, and JJ feels like a young God. Pulling back, he slips a finger into your hole and it welcomes him so easily. He cusses at how wet you are.

“Come on baby. Come on, I know you’re close.”

The tells of your body haven’t changed since the last time you two were in this position. The way your mouth hangs open in a silent moan when you fall over the edge is so surreal to see after five years apart. He feels you spasms around him and basks in the scratch of your nails against his scalp as you try to ground yourself. He hardly has time to suck his fingers clean before your pulling his mouth to yours and kissing him stupid.

“Fucking missed you,” you repeat against his mouth, making him laugh. “Nobody fucks me as good as you.”

“Jesus Christ, you can’t say shit like that,” JJ chuckles. “Won’t last.”

“Don’t care,” you say. “Only thing bigger than your ego is your dick.”

JJ can’t help but laugh at that. He loves your giggles in response. And then your hands are shoving at his trousers and the humour is gone, replaced with nothing but raw lust and desperation. There’s nothing performative about it, when the two of you hurry to strip his clothes away as soon as possible. He takes note to get his socks off. You’d always had a weird thing about it, sex in socks, and nothing was going to taint this night. Not after so long.

Being inside you…JJ missed it more than all the alcohol and weed in the world. Nothing compared to the feeling of you clenching around him. The vice of your leg hitched up and over his back as he grips into your thigh, mean and firm, perfecting the angle. The senseless, endless whines falling from your agape mouth, eyes closed tight, lost in the feeling of it. JJ wants nothing to be less than perfect for you, for this. Every stroke, every kiss, every clench of his fingers…it all has to be perfect. He knows when you’re close and he’s more than fucking relieved. It’s taking everything in him not to come. He needs you to fall over the edge first.

“Do the thing,” you whine. “Do the thing, John.”

With that, JJ remembers five years back, to late nights and later mornings spent rolling in bed with you. He bites into his lip, holding back his shit-eating grin as the memories flood back, and he leans forward to your ear. Gently taking the lobe within his teeth, he croons into the shell of your ear.

“That’s my good fucking girl.”

And finally, you fall apart, taking JJ with you like you always would.

When the high finally passes and the endorphins settle down, the two of you are laying on the sofa, only covered by a throw blanket JJ had dragged down from the back of the sofa. You’ve somehow shuffled so you’re laying mostly atop of him. His arms are locked around your damp stomach like a vice, nose nestled into your hair, just behind your ear, breathing you in with every inhale.

“Will you stay in Kildare, just for a short while? For me?”

JJ wants to laugh but he knows how wrong that would be in this moment. The humour doesn’t come from the question, but from the notion that he’d leave after finally having you back in his life, safe and happy, after five long years.

“Anything,” he whispers, pressing a kiss against your hair. Anything for you.

-

“You look like shit by the way,” JJ says.

His hands are warm in his cargo pant pockets. Head tilted down and gaze steady, he sighs.

“Guess you didn’t have chance to clean up though, right?”

Shockingly, the gravestone says nothing back. Well, says nothing asides form Luke Maybank in barely legible font.

It still feels surreal, that his dad is gone. That they’d never remedy anything, or even attempt to fix their relationship. That JJ wouldn’t be able to face him and show him what he’d become. How he’d risen past it all and grown from the pain and the agony. That he’d taken the shitty hand that he was dealt and turned it into nothing but flushes and full houses. That he hadn’t grown into a petty criminal or a tax-evading lowlife, but a strong, good-willed, well-intentioned man. The thought, bittersweet at heart, makes him smile.

“I’m happy dad. I know you probably hate that, being dead and all, but I am.”

As if on cue, there’s the high pitch giggles from afar that catch JJ’s attention. He glances over to spot you and your wonderful mini-you, sitting on your shoulders, waving at him. He waves back, small and short, smiling.

“I’m glad you never met her,” JJ tells his dad, never tearing his eyes away from the pair of you. You ease her off your shoulders and take her hand, pointing to a small bed of daffodils. “I was so scared I’d be bad at this. I was so scared that I’d be like you.”

She’s so fragile as she picks a flower free from the bunch, holding it by the stem, up to you. You nod and presumably smile in approval.

“But I’ll never be like you. She’ll never know what it feels like to live in fear,” JJ states, firmly. He looks back down to the grave. “I’m not your mistakes, and I’m not mine.”

He lowers to a squat and wipes some of the dirt off the stone, revealing the dates. “Happy birthday, dad. You suck, and I hope you’re finally at peace.”

“Daddy, daddy…”

There’s an insistent tug at his jacket sleeve. JJ smiles and looks down at the best mistake he ever made. Mistake is a strong word. ‘Oops, I think is better’, you’d said when you first showed him the pregnancy test.

“What’s up, bub?”

“I found this flower. Can I give it to papa?”

JJ takes the daffodil and glances to the grave. A brief moment of anger passes over him like the breeze of winter. He doesn’t deserve this. He isn’t your papa. I’m glad he’s dead. But he closes his eyes and breathes. Your hand squeezing gently at his shoulder tells him you’re there. It helps ground him.

“Yeah, bub. I think that’d be nice,” he smiles, handing it back.

She giggles as she puts it on the grass just before the stone. Her laughter is brighter and louder still when JJ scoops her up as he stands, looping her around him until she’s a backpack.

“You wanna get ice cream?”

“Hell yeah,” you whoop.

“Hell yeah!” mini-you copies. JJ laughs.

“Alrighty, lets go.”

As the three of you make the small walk back to the car, you intertwine your fingers with JJ’s, holding his hand tight and secure. JJ takes one last glance back at the gravestone. It all began here, in a way, the re-introduction to a life he thought he’d lost. Perhaps the nicest thing JJ’s dad ever did, the kindest act he ever performed, was dying. Perhaps that was his way of paying him back for all the crap he gave.

“Hey.”

JJ glances down at you.

“You okay?”

He smiles. Then, he nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

Everything is going to be okay.

[fairyhaos]

⌑ damned chivalrous captain // lee chan

knight!dino x knight!gn!reader, 1.5k words

tags: medieval fantasy au, both yn and chan are knights teehee, kinda rivals to lovers, only one bed trope,,, gone wrong

notes: ib the idea chan is wayyy too nice for the only one bed trope to work bc he is wont impede on ur personal space if you made it clear that you'd be uncomfortable with that. get urself a man who respects ur boundaries like knight!lee chan

“I’m sorry,” the innkeeper says, her face apologetic, “But we only have a one-bedroom room left.”

You kind of want to fall to your knees in exasperation right then and there.

It’s been a long, tiring day of riding with the rest of the King’s knights and having a long, tiring, magical fight with a gaggle of evil wizards (which would have been a lot easier if they’d listened to you and brought the Court Sorcerer along too) and you really, really want to just go to sleep. In a bed. By yourself.

But of course, the Three Fates hate you, so you’re going to have to share a room with the man next to you as you both anxiously talk to the owner of this inn.

You’re just contemplating whether you have enough energy to grab the woman by her collar and threaten her into getting you separate rooms when the man next to you places a hand on your shoulder, placating.

“We’ll take the room,” he says, and now you’re contemplating whether you should grab him by the collar instead. “Thank you for allowing us to stay.”

Lee Chan smiles, as gracious as ever, and his fingers dig into your arm slightly, warning you to be civil. You roll your eyes, grit out a ‘thank you’ to the innkeeper as Chan pays, and he directs a small smile towards you, as if pleased with your show of manners.

Lee Chan.

Captain of the King’s Order of Knights, the Crown Prince’s most trusted friend, two-time dragon slayer and an all-round incredible, kind, chivalrous guy.

God, you hate him.

“If you could have just let me threaten her a little bit,” you complain some minutes later, the two of you seated around the small table in the room you’ll be sleeping in. “I could have gotten us a deal. Two separate rooms. Or at least, a room with two beds.”

Chan just smiles thinly, and he looks more exhausted than you’ve ever seen him. “Maybe,” he says. “But what about the people who were originally in those rooms that you’d be kicking them out of?”

“Yes, well—”

You huff, crossing your arms. It’s one of his many irritating traits. Always being so good.

“This room is so small,” you say instead, looking around the room. There’s a small window on the farthest wall, overlooking the starry landscape of rolling hills. The curtains aren’t drawn, and the light from the fireplace is dim enough that you can see both your reflection and the darkness of the world outside.

You’re an awful long way away from court. It’s the reason that you’ve all lodged at an inn for the night, the fight with the wizards having drawn the knights further into the rural areas than originally intended, and everyone far too exhausted to bear making the three-day ride back home whilst setting up small camps in the middle of nowhere. 

Because of this, you were initially overjoyed when Chan suggested that the knights take refuge in an inn that was on the way back. Now, however, you’re reconsidering that joy, given the fact that you have to sleep in the same room as him.

A room which is awfully small, with an awfully small bed.

“You don’t have to share a room with me if you don’t want to, Lieutenant,” Chan says, raising an eyebrow as he stands up to take off his heavy cloak. “If you’d like, I could send you back down to the stables with the rest of the nights. I just thought that, as Lieutenant, you’d prefer to be treated with a little more respect.”

You wince, and uncross your arms. “No, sir,” you say dutifully. “And I'm very grateful for your esteemed kindness.” 

He smiles, lips twitching upwards at your exaggeratedly formal tone, eyes dancing with mirth in the flickering warmth of the fireplace light. It makes you smile too, despite yourself, before you turn to look back at the bed and frown. 

“However, I'll obviously be the one sleeping on the floor,” you say matter-of-factly, and look over at him again. “You can take the bed.”

That makes Chan raise an eyebrow, and he begins to unbuckle the metal arm braces of his armour. 

“No, you’re not. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“What? No. I will.” 

The wooden floor is covered by coarse fur rugs, but they’re all a little too threadbare for comfort, and sleeping on them would give Chan backache for days. You are, if anything, an excellent Lieutenant, so there’s no way you’re subjecting your Captain to something that painful, even if him and his perfectly kind gentlemanliness always get on your nerves.

Chan waves away your words. “I paid for the room, so I get to choose. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you scoff. “Like I’ll let you do that.”

He tilts his head. “It wasn’t something to be debated. You’re taking the bed.” He sets the pieces of armour into the table, and jabs a finger in your direction. “And that’s certainly not a way to talk to your superior.”

“Captain,” you emphasise, annoyedly. “I’m not letting you do that.”

“Lieutenant,” he says back, mocking your tone with a smile. “I’m not letting you do that.”

You frown. “Fine. Let’s both sleep on the floor.”

There’s a short pause, as you both survey the floor. The bed is pushed up against the wall, and with the tiny size of the room, if you both sleep on the floor, you’ll probably end up lying as close together as if you’d both taken the bed.

“Nevermind, I don’t want to be that close to y—”

“No, it’ll hurt your back—”

You blink at his statement, but Chan doesn’t even bat an eye.

“I can't have my best knight getting back pain from sleeping on the floor when there's a perfectly good bed,” he argues, and then gestures to the offending piece of furniture that you've been bickering over. “I, on the other hand, will be fine on the floor. Come on, Lieutenant. Have the bed.”

There's a part of you that still wants to protest, weirdly annoyed that the Captain is making such sacrifices for you. “But you're the superior officer. Surely you should take it.”

Chan just smiles, seemingly at ease even though you're fighting him so insistently over such a small little thing. Any shorter tempered captain would have blown up at you right now.

“Just take the bed, Lieutenant. And that's an order. I know how tired you get during long quests like this,” he adds, gentler, and the tone makes you blink. 

Sure, you know that Lee Chan is kind, but it's surprising to hear him be so… soft. Caring. Especially towards you, seeing how your relationship has, up until this point, been one mostly consisting of constant bickering and eye rolls and snarky smirks in an attempt to rile each other up.

A Captain and his Lieutenant were fierce allies, of course, and you would stay loyally by his side during any battle at all, but that didn’t mean you were exactly friends.

Right now, though, as he smiles at you, hair gently tousled and jawline turned soft in the firelight, you can’t help but admit that he’s, well. He’s something. He’s something enough to make your heart squeeze weirdly in your chest as you concede with a sigh.

“Since it’s an official order, I suppose I have to take the bed,” you say, in the most long-suffering voice you can muster, and Chan laughs.

It takes you a while to register his next words, your pulse thrumming far too loud in your own ears at hearing his laugh.

(Why is your heart acting up like this?)

“Glad to see that you’re able to follow orders as well as ever,” he says drily, but there’s a warmth in his voice as he takes off his cloak, and places it down on the fur rugs on the floor. “Now get some sleep. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

You watch as he settles down on the floor, and you can immediately tell from his face that it is not comfortable in the slightest. Before you can even think of protesting, however, he shoots a pointed look at the bed, and the message Get into that bed before I make you is clear in his eyes, so you grudgingly comply.

Damned chivalrous captain, you grumble to yourself, settling under the covers. He can’t even let you feel irritated at having to follow his words. You pull the covers up over your cheeks, as if that will help you hide their warm flush from yourself.

“Um… Capt—I mean, Chan?”

It feels weird, to address Chan by his first name, but you’re making your next statement as his… well, his kind-of friend, not as his Lieutenant. And thankfully, despite your awkwardness, Chan’s voice is still as kind as ever as he replies.

“Yes, Y/N?”

“Thank you,” you say, the words carrying softly through the small room. “You know. For just being nice, all the time.”

Above the peaceful crackling of the fire, his responding laugh is quiet but, oddly, fond. 

“For you? Always.”

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @bunnyiix @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @doublasting @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @jeonride @kellesvt @sakufilms @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @starshuas @raevyng @isabellah29 @hrts4hanniehae @mcu-incorrect @dokyeomkyeom @suraandsugar @melodicrabbit @kikohao