#Tropical Phone Case | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nanamis-bigtie · 1 month ago

Text

pina colada

↬ gojo x afab!reader | lucid love ↬ lucid love masterlist // jjk masterlist // ao3 version

cw: smut, reader has a vagina (no excessive body descriptions), piv sex, aphrodisiacs, unrealistic sex, creampie (like...a lot of it), belly bulge, reader is implied to be much smaller than gojo, dumbification if you squint, slight degradation (reader is called a slut), a little of breeding talk (in a very feral meaning of it), gojo is a little fucked up (was he ever normal tho), top & dom gojo summary: this was supposed to be a chill leave but satoru wouldn't be himself, if he didn't make things…complicated. and horny. word count: 1.6k a/n: i won against anxiety! this text is...not exactly what i aimed for when preparing the prompt but i'm pretty satisfied with the result. feral gojo my beloved tag list: @thesacredfanfics

You've imagined your first retirement trip quite...different.

Taking it easy was the motto you both intended to uphold. You deserved it after the absolute hell of the last two years and an additional few months of convincing Satoru that he really needed to step down and leave everything to others. His body and soul and your relationship needed a breather, nothing but sweet laziness in a luxury hotel on Bali, away from Japan, away from sorcery, away from Gojo clan relentlessly rushing you two to settle down and marry, as if the old schemes still had any meaning in the new world.

No, his phone got turned off right on Tokyo Narita and hidden in your pocket, you left your laptops behind and locked away, your number was entrusted only to a handful of people and instructed to be used in case of an extreme emergency. You agreed for it together, this peculiar isolation from the world the only way you could properly rest through the month to come. For the whole of October, you belonged only to each other, to tropical beaches, local cuisine, parties in expensive clubs, and your spacious bedroom with a sinfully comfortable California king sized bed, just perfect to finally sate your libido.

But Satoru wouldn't be himself if he hadn't stepped into an affair right on the first day anyway, even before you managed to unpack all the bags. He made a local curse user run for their life, more bored than anything, and returned with a small bottle of...something he confiscated.

You still taste its flavor at the back of your throat, sweet and tart at the same time, like pina colada made by an unskilled bartender with a little too much cheap rum. It was thick and rather hard to swallow, its consistency nothing like any other drink you had tried so far, and it pricked your tongue with that characteristic tinge of cursed energy. This aphrodisiac was surely infused with some kind of cursed object, maybe a product of someone's cursed technique, and as under any other circumstance you wouldn't be eager to try it just like that, when Satoru already swallowed his half, you just followed suit.

The party mood was definitely to blame, music was still buzzing in your blood as you were grinding against his lap and chasing his lips. The bottle was in his pocket, and you were the one who pulled it out, its shape climbing into your thigh uncomfortably. Satoru had already forgotten about its existence, but he immediately recognized his trophy and uncorked it before you could say anything.

And since then, the matters escalated...quickly.

Thighs flush to his hips, you ride him without cease. You've lost feeling in your calves a long time ago and your knees scream for mercy—yet, you don't stop, fearing that the flame burning deep in your cunt would swallow you whole as soon as you take a breather. Up and down, you swallow him over and over again, his cum pouring out of your abused hole and pooling at the base of his cock. You've lost count of how many times he's finished in you already, yet of your own orgasms, but you know you've reached every physical limit of your body. Aphrodisiac running in your veins has you pushing them relentlessly, somehow forcing exhaustion and pain out of your comprehension. There's only lust and warmth of his length, filling you to the brim and, somehow, still pressing deeper and deeper, seeking new crevices to be filled with his seed.

Satoru underneath is a mess too, sweaty, shaking and whining. His skin is flushed, be it fever of the moment or the sunset soaking you both in pink light, exposing scars scattered all over his torso, arms, and face. Moisture slips his blindfold down; beadily blue gaze runs you through as it skims along your body bouncing on top of his. He's lost the famous Six Eyes, a sacrifice made by a binding vow to let him survive, but at that very moment you feel as if it's never been gone. You recognize this intensity, your body and mind respond to it instinctively—the absolute submission and trust only Satoru has ever been able to elicit from you.

"Kiss me," he demands, voice breaking in need, and fills you up yet again as soon as your lips brush his. His hot seed flows inside you, you can feel its pressure against your cervix and another ounce of older loads slipping out of your hole. It's such a waste but you can't help it, you can hold inside only as much, and he's still determined to somehow overflow you from the entrance to your womb.

You've never experienced sex with this intensity. Aphrodisiac sharpens your senses thoroughly, you're feeling him with parts of your body you've never thought that they're capable of ever feeling. Every twitch of his length thumps through your body, every new spasm of incoming high has your cunt clench tight around him, trying to desperately swallow everything he's offering, maybe this time it can be savored whole, maybe this time you can expand your limits and let him breed you straight into your core.

Lustful poison wants you to continue beyond breaking but your body starts giving up, your legs too jelly to handle your weight any more. Your rhythm starts faltering, you lean forwards in a desperate attempt to help yourself with your arms, your hands only slipping off his sweaty chest.

"I can't," you sob, yourself not sure if in exhaustion or immense need for more.

"Yes, you can." Heels digging in the mattress, Satoru lifts his hips and bounces you himself. "C'mon, pretty thing, just one more time? I know you want it badly ."

His fingers sink in your skin, bruise your hips yet again as he's rutting into you without a break. He has you creaming around his cock again, gushing your juices and his cum alike. Eyes fixed on your fluttering lips, he tries to shake the sweat-soaked blindfold of his face. You want to help, only to lose fragile balance and to almost slip off him and his greedy embrace.

"Hey," he groans, his voice dropping so low it doesn't sound like his anymore. "Hey, hey, hey, where do you think you're going?"

Satoru rocks himself forwards, having you on your back just for a moment enough to slip out of you and turn you around, face shoved into pillows and your hips yanked up. He gathers the mess leaking out of you with the tip of his cock, then finds your entrance with one, rough thrust.

The sound you make doesn't sound human anymore. He's reached the depth he has never before, maybe even indeed somehow pushed himself past your cervix. Without the help of the aphrodisiac, you could have been in immense pain—but now, you're only clawing sheets and trying to meet his moves halfway, craving every inch of his thick cock drilling into you. You want more , you want to be bred until even your womb is filled to the brim and bulging your tum.

One hand pressed tight to your abdomen, undeniably trying to feel himself moving in you, Satoru keeps holding you down by neck. With a corner of your eye, you can spot his reflection in the mirror on the opposite wall, his face on the brink of losing his humanity, too. There's nothing left of tenderness he's always had reserved when looking at you; there's only lust and blind chase for release and sadistic satisfaction wincing his expression whenever your mewls grow more hoarse and desperate.

His thrusts relentlessly push you towards the edge of bed; you're not able to hold yourself against them and his hold is not enough to keep you in place. Satoru's hand sneaks from the nape of your neck to your throat and pulls you towards him, until you're kneeling, your back flush to his torso. The mirror is filled with you both now, the sight of the size difference between you two alone almost having you cream on his cock again. He's watching too, his gaze fixed once on your face, once on your union and your belly really bulging in the shape of his cock, his moves calming down just enough to focus on dragging new views and reactions out of you.

"You look like a slut." He laughs, the sound suiting more a demon than your caring and always a little pathetic partner, and slides his long fingers into your mouth. You're drooling around them, choking, your own fingers scratching his wrist, yourself not sure if to pull him out—or quite contrary, make him torture you even more.

You're both losing your sanity with each passing second, the poison in your veins only growing stronger the more you succumb to the lust.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head and you cum again, the spasm of your cunt almost painful, and your legs give in, your body now limp in his hold. Satoru clicks his tongue, lets you melt just enough to hook arms under your knees and yank you up. His hands are at the back of your neck again, eventually locking you in a full nelson hold, absolutely helpless and left on his mercy.

When you regain your sight, you're staring straight at your body wide open, your cunt stretched by his twitching cock and gushing his cum.

"C'mon, pretty thing, don't pass out on me here." He sinks teeth in your neck, hard, as if trying to tear a piece of flesh out of you. "It's not even dark yet."

281 notes · View notes

vienssunshine · 1 year ago

Text

Come Over for a Swim, Darling

pairing: Nanami Kento x fem reader nsfw word count: 4.9k author's note: This was the winner from the poll! It was supposed to be bite-sized but the story got away from me. Parts are inspired by our queen lana del rey. description: You take your neighbor up on the offer of his pool on a hot summer day.

He’s such a gentleman, isn’t he?

It’s been an unforgivably hot July this year, so it was perfect when the man next door offered his pool for whenever you needed to escape the relentless heat.

“Anytime you need, even if I’m not home, you’re welcome to come over for a swim,” your neighbor Nanami had told you at the annual block party.

So as you’re packing a pool bag, fighting through the hot, humid air your busted AC does little to improve, the only emotion you feel is immense gratitude.

You cross the street to his house, noting that his car is still parked in the driveway. Maybe you should knock on the door? Let him know you’re here?

No, that would probably bother him. He could be busy with things around the house and, since he’s doing you such a huge favor, you want to be as little of a nuisance as possible.

You have his number—he gave it to you at the block party in case there’s ‘anything you might need’—so you pull out your phone and type out a text to him:

“Hey! Thanks again for letting me use your pool, I just wanted to let you know I’ll be there this afternoon.”

After sending the message, you let yourself into his backyard through the gate in the white fencing.

Your neighbor never talked much about his work, but it’s clear that it pays well. The backyard is spacious and well taken care of with mowed, bright green grass covering the area, only broken up by the cement surrounding the large tropical blue pool just behind his house. Lawn chairs line the near side of the pool and there’s a garden with a large tree that droops over the water on the far side.

You place your bag down on one of the lawn chairs and stretch out, enjoying the warmth of the sun on your skin, though you’re quick to favor the coolness of the pool when you crouch down and swipe your fingers through the water.

Your phone buzzes. It’s a text from your neighbor:

“Of course. Let me know if I can get you anything.”

You smile, he’s so kind to you. A girl could get the wrong idea. It doesn’t help that he’s tall, built, and handsome. Somehow, he’s unclaimed; you’ve only ever seen one car in his driveway.

After pulling off your cover-up to reveal your white bikini, you wade into the pool. The cool water welcomes you, and you lower yourself down to sit on the steps, submerging your poor, overheated body up to your shoulders. It’s refreshing to a cellular level and exactly what you need after a long, scorching summer. You lean back, arms behind you on the stairs and sunglasses resting on the bridge of your nose.

Your gaze floats around your surroundings, noting that you wouldn’t mind living like this, able to enjoy the luxurious backyard whenever you please, until you catch a small movement in the corner of your eye. You follow it to see your neighbor peering down at you through his upstairs window.

He must be checking up on you, how sweet of him. You push your sunglasses down, eyes locked on his, and bring your hand up to give him a little wave.

Nanami returns the gesture and softly smiles. You expect him to close the curtain and return to whatever he was doing, but he doesn’t, seemingly having a hard time pulling his eyes from the sight of you enjoying his pool.

How interesting.

You sit up, water dripping off your chest and leaving behind little droplets that make your skin glitter in the sunshine. His eyes flick down to your bikini top, only for one, shameful second, but you still notice. It sends a rush through your veins; you like his attention, and he doesn’t appear interested in taking it away. This could be fun.

His stern eyes follow your hand as you run it up from your stomach, to your collarbone, and finally to one of the white, thin straps of your top. You enjoy how Nanami, whom you’ve deemed a stoic man, appears impacted by your roaming touch, eyes slightly widening as your delicate fingers push the strap off your shoulder.

You move further into the pool, turning around in the water so your back faces the window, and watch Nanami’s face, determined to soak up any micro-expression the man was willing to concede as you drop the other strap from your shoulder.

His big hand comes up to the collar of his button-up, pulling the patterned tie around his neck loose. The man’s waning restraint makes you giggle, simply delighted by how your teases are affecting him.

You submerge further into the pool so the water is level with your collarbone, and the man’s gaze is unwavering as your hands come around your back to unclasp your bikini top. You turn and toss it onto the cement surrounding the pool, but when you look back to the window to see the spectator’s reaction, you find it empty.

The back door slides open. Nanami’s tall body consumes the doorway as he stands in the threshold, tempted but still hesitant, like he’s wavering between worlds and just a step away from fully giving in to you.

He greets you calmly as if the situation he’s in—having his topless neighbor in his pool—isn’t notable or unwelcome in any way. “Hello.”

You smile at him, coquettish and daring, “Hi.”

“How are you enjoying the pool?” He leans against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest with a smirk on his face you can only find if you look for.

“I like it a lot,” you respond, moving to the pool’s edge and leaning on it, the water the only thing keeping you modest. “I’d like it a lot more if you joined me.”

“I think I’d feel the same.”

“Okay, go put on your suit,” you giggle. He’s still wearing his work clothes, long pants and a button-up—attire that’s unacceptable for such a hot day.

“That will take too long,” he says, “I’m fine in this.”

He walks to the pool's edge and stops, looking down at you. Though you don't know it, with his line of work, it’s always best to approach unfamiliar situations with a level of caution, and something like this has never happened to him.

Only when you call to him, voice silken and sweet like a siren’s, his sorcerer mindset of constant suspicion is forgotten. “Come into the water, Kento,” you say, and it ensures there’s no way Nanami can refuse your request. Compelled, he removes his leather shoes and joins you in the pool, sitting down on the submerged steps and paying no mind to how the water soaks his expensive work clothes.

You glide over to him and settle down on a step below his so you can keep the veil of water over your chest. He brings a big hand to your cheek, drinking in every feature of your face as his thumb strokes your warm skin.

“So nice to me,” you hum, leaning into his rough palm, “letting me use your pool.” You rest your arm on his clothed thigh and smirk. “Did you expect this to happen?”

“I didn’t,” he confesses, “But I’m glad you took up my offer.”

“Me too,” you say, dipping your chin down and looking up at him with your pretty eyes, “Can I show you how grateful I am?”

He's breathless when he responds, "You may, dear."

Then you're climbing up his built body, water falling off of you, so you can lean forward and press your lips to his. When he processes what’s happening—that the neighbor he hasn’t been able to shake from his mind is kissing him—he melts into it, a big arm wrapping around your waist and the other coming up your bare back, his hand cradling your head and pushing you into him.

You smile against his mouth, elated by the win of seducing your hot next-door neighbor, and he notices, of course, but just feeling your soft body against him is enough to decide to be as sweet as you are being to him.

The hand on the back of your head gently tugs at your hair, pulling a gentle sigh from your lips which he uses as an opening to deepen the kiss. Though he’s pushing you into him, with his tongue rolling over yours, you can tell he’s tempering himself. There’s flashes of impatience and desperation, with the way he nips your lips or roughly squeezes the softness of your sides, but they’re actions he quickly suppresses. It makes you wonder if he’s holding back for a reason, if he wouldn’t be able to stop if he were to fully indulge in you.

“Pretty girl,” he whispers into your mouth in a momentary pause, and the low notes of his gruff voice send the thoughts out of your head and heat rushing to your cheeks.

Then he pulls you from his side into his lap, your wet body—and bare chest—now pressed against his as you straddle his soaked pants. His shoulders are underneath your palms, and you tighten your fingers around them, squeezing the thick, sturdy muscle the wet fabric sticks to; he feels stronger than he looks.

“I appreciate”—he kisses your jaw—“how you express”—then your ear—“your gratitude.” His last kiss is placed on your neck, and you gasp—you’re so sensitive there—and cant your hips into nothing.

“So needy,” he remarks with a low chuckle, hands traveling down to your sides, conducting electricity through your nerves as they move, “At first, I thought you just needed my pool, but now I think you need more.”

“Need you,” you tell him, almost whining, pulling at the tie loose around his neck, “Now.”

“You need to be taken care of,” he agrees, thumbs rubbing slow circles on your hips. He places a soft kiss on your cheek. “Let me make you dinner, sweet thing. Why don’t you come inside?”

His suggestion, one you’d normally appreciate, seems unreasonable with the painful ache pulsing through you. You lean forward, pressing a wet kiss on his neck that pulls a groan from him. “Kento, that sounds nice, but I want you, not dinner.”

His hands land on your shoulders, rendering you still. “I know, darling, but I can’t take care of you how I want in the pool. Please, let me dry you off and feed you first.”

You huff, which he finds amusing, but give in to his request, allowing him to help you out of the pool, wrap a warm, fuzzy towel around you, and lead you inside.

Your body is frustrated with you, wanting release so badly, but he’s right, a pool isn’t the most pleasant setting for sex, and you should eat something as you haven’t eaten since this morning, too distracted with trying to fix your AC.

Nanami steps away for a moment and it gives you some time to check out his living room. The interior of his house is as impressive as the exterior: spacious, clean, and decorated in a way that invites you in. Interestingly, there aren’t any picture frames around the house, rather, the shelves are filled with books, all academic-looking and on niche topics regarding the supernatural.

Nanami returns dressed in dry slacks and a short-sleeve button-up. He has a change of clothes for you, a big t-shirt and sweatpants, presumably his own.

It’s still hot–and you feel like testing him–so you tell Nanami that: “Just the shirt is fine.” You put it on, though it’s more of a dress with the way it covers the first few inches of your thighs, and then pull your bathing suit bottom down and step out of it, leaving nothing underneath the shirt-dress. Nanami stares at you, eyes wide.

“Can’t stay in my wet bikini,” you say, unsticking the long shirt from your wet thighs.

“Right,” he says, regaining his composure and taking the bottoms from you, “I’ll hang it up with your top.”

For dinner, he makes you a pasta dish, and it’s delicious, but what you enjoy more is teasing him as he cooks, never letting him forget what you really want from him. You make multiple attempts at convincing him to forgo the dinner plans and head to his room, just so distracted by how his hands move and forearms flex as he prepares the food, but make little headway.

After the meal and patiently dealing with your quips that were only exacerbated by your glass of red wine, he leads you up a tall staircase to his bedroom. The lighting from the lamps on either side of his bed is soft and warm, and a glance at the dark window tells you that the night has been much longer than you realized.

He shuts the door behind you.

“Finally,” you sigh, leaning up to kiss him, but his rough hand on your shoulder stops you, bringing a confused frown to your face.

He takes his hand from your shoulder and uses it to tilt your chin up, his eyes darker than before. “You’ve been teasing me all night and expect me to reward that behavior?”

“You’re saying that like you didn’t enjoy it,” you respond, because if this is the game he wants to play, you’ll play it.

“However I felt does not change the fact that you were trying to work me up.”

You smirk up at him, guilty as charged.

Nanami puts his hand on the small of your back, guiding you to the foot of the bed. Then he waits, staring at you expectantly, so you sit down on the edge of the mattress, making sure the hem of his big t-shirt just barely covers the glistening mess between your legs. His eyes flick down to the tease and his jaw clenches.

“So you’re going to punish me then?” you wonder, thrilled by how riled up you’ve gotten your poor neighbor.

“I’ll see if it’s possible for a brat like you to behave first,” he says, parting your thighs. The breath he lets out at the sight of you is shaky. “Look at that,” he says, thumbing your wet folds.

You’ve been left wanting for his touch for too long, so your head falls back at the sensation of his hands against your plump lips, “I like feeling you there,” you admit, your voice breathy.

He hums, pleased, and continues to stroke you, fingers dipping in and out of your wetness, before he removes them and sinks down to his knees so his face is level with your cunt.

You allow your legs to fall open further, and he places his rough palms on the insides of your thighs to ensure they’ll stay that way. His hot breath fans against your folds, making you quiver with anticipation. When he leans forward and starts to eat you out, the only coherent thought you can think is: he knows what he’s doing.

It’s embarrassing, how you were talking so much talk, trying to woo your handsome neighbor with your honeyed words, and now the only thing coming out of your mouth is a series of whines and gasps as he glides his tongue along your folds. You bring your hand down, knotting it into Nanami’s golden hair, but he’s quick to remove it.

He tsks, “None of that. You’re going to be quiet and sit still like a good girl.”

Be quiet and sit still? When he’s making you feel so good? Does he know he’s asking the impossible?

You begin to whine before he interrupts you, “Do you want me to keep going?”

Wanting him so badly for the entire night and getting only a taste of the pleasure he can give you, it’s making the space between your legs hurt. Truthfully, you’ve been aching for him this whole time, and you just want to feel better.

He’s watching you, sharp eyes evaluating what you’ll say next, even though he knows the truthful answer to his question.

Defeated, you nod. He smiles. “Good girl. Now, stay still for me.”

He returns to his spot nestled between your thighs and pushes his tongue through your folds once more. The action would have earned a delighted sigh from you if you weren’t trying so hard to keep it in. Your teases must have really gotten to him if his retaliation is this cruel.

It becomes harder to pretend you’re unaffected by his touch when his tongue begins to close in on your clit, all swollen and sensitive. He’s been circling around the area, never making direct contact until now, when he gently flicks his tongue against it. Your body seizes and your mouth opens wide in a silent gasp.

He waits a moment, seeing if you’ll crack, but you don’t.

“So good,” he purrs, and warmth flows into your lower stomach.

His hands squeeze the flesh of your thighs as he encourages the tornado of heat twisting in your stomach with the gentle licks of his tongue on your clit. You should be given an award for how well you’re holding up, fighting to keep still and letting the man pleasure you how he wants all without allowing the noises your body needs to make escape your lips, which are now swollen from biting into them.

“Alright, I think you’ve proven you can be good when asked to be,” he says, kissing your clit, “So you don’t have to restrain yourself anymore.”

You should have learned your lesson by now, it wasn’t easy to stay quiet when all you wanted to do was moan Nanami’s name, but, even so, you're eager to push your neighbor’s buttons a little more. So you lie, saying that it “wasn’t even that hard to sit still.”

He pauses, which strikes both fear and excitement into your thundering heart, as he assesses your statement, disapproval etched into his sharp features.

“I didn’t want it to be too much for you the first time,” he says, “But if you want to continue to act like a brat, I’ll just have to deal with you like one.”

Then, with ruthless candor, he locks your legs in place by circling his big arms underneath them and clasping his hands together just above your lower stomach. His strong forearms are pressing down on your hips, rendering you pinned to the mattress beneath you.

“Kento, uh-wait–ah”

His mouth is on your heated core again, nuzzling the flesh before taking his clit into your mouth and sucking, hard. You buck your hips up, instinctively trying to escape the intense sensation, but his iron grip makes your effort all for naught.

Then his tongue rolls over your clit in his mouth, whiting out your vision. Your lips gasp his name, and then repeat it in a far more strained and strangled manner. He’s being so rough, tugging at you like a loose string in a sweater and unraveling you faster than you can take.

“I thought it wasn’t hard to keep quiet?” Nanami mocks, “I think I’ve heard my name two times just now.” It’s less than a second after he speaks for his mouth to resume the merciless stimulation to your clit.

“No, not–ah–not hard at all,” you say, pretending like you don’t have to rack your brain to be able to respond to him.

“Is that so? Tell me more.”

He’s asking too much and he knows it; you can’t focus with him touching you like this, each lap of his tongue washing away the start of every coherent thought. You moan as a response, hoping he will let you get away with it.

He doesn’t. “Darling,” he states. He wants the truth.

It all comes out like a waterfall, with your resolve eroded away by the waves of pleasure hitting your body. “Okay–okay–it–was–hard–to–be–quiet–and–I–I–just–need–you–to–keep–going–please–Kento–I–need–it.”

He presses a soft kiss to your clit as a reward. “That’s a good girl.” Then, he continues to tend to the growing want splitting apart your body with calculated licks and sucks along your ridges.

Much to Nanami’s satisfaction, you allow the whimpers and whines your body wants to make flow out of you, finally finished with being so difficult. He likes how needy and pliant you've become, especially since he’s been waiting to have you like this for a while. Dirty thoughts have been plaguing his mind since the block party when you were wearing a sundress that hugged every delectable curve and dip of your body. He remembers the exact color and pattern of the dress, because he's the type to be observant, which also means he's the type to know when he's getting you close.

“Fuck, Kento,” you gasp.

The way you're squeezing your legs together and quickening your breath tells him to keep his movements consistent, and in doing so, his tongue takes you to your climax in an embarrassingly quick amount of time. A final lap of his tongue unleashes a white-hot river of pleasure that twists around your core, making you gasp Nanami’s name as if he could do anything about it. Your body locks up: hands squeezing his forearms with your fingernails digging into his skin and your head falling back onto the mattress as you endure the sensation.

He crawls up next to you on the bed, talking you through it as you writhe. “That’s it, pretty girl,” he croons, watching your eyes flutter and listening to the sweet sounds of your pleasure-drunk babbling. “You’re doing so good.”

When your endless moans settle back down to panting, he cradles your cheek, asking you, “Are you alright, sweet thing? Was it too much?” His other hand is stroking your thigh in soothing patterns, delivering gentle pushes of pleasure as the disorienting buzz vibrating through your body fades away.

Catching your breath, you lean into his rough palm, “M’okay.” He smiles softly as he swipes his thumb along your cheekbone in gentle caresses, a stark contrast to the hard erection pressed to your thigh. It’s funny, how he’s pretending it isn’t even there, but you feel it, warm and throbbing against your leg.

He’s gotten his way, so it’s only fair that you get a turn, too.

Your eyes flick up to his face and your fingers play with the collar of his shirt when you say, “Now I wanna take care of you.” Your hand, still a little shaky from the impact of your orgasm, travels down his warm chest to the bulge in his pants. When you begin to stroke him over the fabric, he hisses and you smile up at him. “Seems like you need some attention, Kento.”

God, you’re such a tease, even after making you cum so hard you couldn’t see. If anything, it spurred you on.

He tries to say something, but you squeeze his erection and he’s unable to get his thoughts straight. Taking advantage of his weakness, you push his shoulder back, laying him down on the space on the mattress beside you. Then, you settle on top of him, sitting on his big legs with your hands near the notable outline pressing through his pants.��

“It’s been such a long night,” you coo, unbuttoning his shirt so you can run your palms up and down the planes of his abs, careful to not get too close to his waistband. He watches your fingers as they skim his hot skin, a gentle and unconscious thrust of his hips pressing the clothed aching into nothing.

“Let me help you,” you offer, eyes lidded. He can’t take much more of this anymore, not after being teased all night and then seeing the face you made when you came on his tongue.

“Alright,” he concedes, breath uneven as your fingers approach his waistband, a pleased smile spread across your face.

You unzip his pants and pull down his briefs, freeing his throbbing erection and quickly taking it in your hands, running your fingers up and down his length in a loose fist. It twitches underneath your palm.

“Poor Kento,” you say as you stroke him, “So pent-up and needing to be taken care of.”

“You did this to me,” he responds through his teeth.

“Then I’ll make it up to you.” You lean forward, your lack of underwear allowing you to align your dripping hole and his cock with ease. And when you sink down on him, taking him deep inside of your warmth and bearing the delightfully painful stretch the movement comes with, Nanami sees heaven itself.

His hands clamp down on your hips as you begin to ride him, stabilizing yourself with his shoulders. The tight hug of your walls squeezes around him as you bounce up and down and make such sweet noises that compound the pleasure tearing through him.

“Fuck, darling,” Nanami says, eyebrows pressed together, “You feel so good.”

You smirk, leaning further forward, and capturing him in a messy kiss. The new angle has your clit brushing against the base of his dick as you grind, reinvigorating flames that lick the insides of your stomach. You’re moaning again, now into Nanami’s open mouth as he bucks his hips into you, chasing the release your warm walls are teasing him with. He’s been so disciplined this whole time, waiting to make sure he’s taken care of you before he got to fuck you, and now that he has, he isn’t holding back.

His thrusts are messy, quite unlike the thoughtful flicks of his tongue when he pleasured you. He can’t think straight when you feel this good.

“Seems that you like this,” you laugh, voice breathy and coated with arousal.

“Of course I do, dear,” he says, fingers squeezing at the flesh of your hips, “You’re—fuck—worth the wait.”

Your grin is victorious as you watch how he falls apart beneath you, chest heaving and a light pink glow spread across his nose and cheekbones. Nanami, who’s been watching your face—it’s his favorite place to look when being intimate—notices your delight.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asks, but it’s not accusatory, rather, amused.

If ‘this’ is referencing you having your hot next-door neighbor beneath you eagerly meeting your grinding hips and filling you up with his cock like it’s his life purpose, then yes, this is exactly what you wanted.

“It–ah”—his thrusts have gotten harder—“it is.”

“Is that so?” he asks, and then his hands wrap around your wrists, taking them from his shoulders and holding them by your sides, pulling you down so he can thrust harder and deeper into your cunt. “Let’s see if you can take it then.”

The wetness and cum from your orgasm have slicked your insides copiously, so it’s the pressure of having him so deep, kissing your cervix, that you’re having trouble adjusting to. Your mouth is gaping in silent gasps, the words fucked out of you, and your eyes are rolled back as he pistons himself in and out, his pace unforgiving. And there’s nothing you can do about it, with your arms pinned to your sides, you’re at his complete mercy as he slams his hips into your wet cunt.

“So f-fast, Kento,” you manage to say, “fuck.”

“I said I would treat you like the brat you are,” he responds.

Maybe this will teach you to not push him so far.

Or maybe it won’t, because having him so rough with you, pushing you to your limit, fucking you like he’s punishing you, it’s what’s stirring up a second orgasm deep in your stomach.

“K-Kento, feels s’good, my god–”

“That’s what I thought, dear,” he groans, “Figured you liked it rough. Can feel you clenching around me.”

He doesn’t sound like the gentleman you thought he was when he talks like this, but you love it.

You throw your head back, forcefully nearing your breaking point as he pulls you into him. His grip crushing your wrists, but the sensation is unfelt when you finally cum all over him.

An unbridled whine rips through your throat as your fingers curl into fists, your body shaking but unable to move due to Nanami’s hold. So all you’re able to do is stay upright as Nanami pulls you down into his dick once more, the contraction and spasms of your walls throwing him over the edge, and empties his load deep in you. His face is contorted in pleasure and he groans as your canal grants him the release you’ve teased him with all night.

The moment his grip on your wrist relaxes, you double over, falling down into the safety of his warm, broad chest. His dick is still inside you, but the sensation is not unwelcome; it feels nice to be connected to him as you cuddle.

You trace the lines of definition on his chest, his slowing heartbeat calming you. Nanami’s hand snakes underneath the oversized shirt to rub slow circles on your back. “How are you doing?” he asks, soft and sincere.

You nuzzle your head into his chest. “I’m good, a little tired though.”

“You’re welcome to spend the night.”

A warm, fuzzy feeling buzzes around your heart.

“But first, please, allow me to run you a bath. I can’t have you sleeping uncared for.”

You suppose you’ll have to get used to this kind of treatment.

“Okay,” you smile.

#kento nanami #jjk smut #nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #kento nanami x reader #nanami smut #jjk nanami x reader #jjk x reader #nanami kento smut #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x y/n #nanami x reader #nanami x you #kento nanami smut #kento nanami x you

866 notes · View notes

rafescorazon · 1 day ago

Text

DIVA KOOK READER

݂ ⟢ ˚ 🌺 ࣭ ✦‎ ˙ 𝑅

diva kook reader 𝜗℘ who is a diva through and through — she’s spoiled by everyone in her life. the absolute apple of her parents eyes, her boyfriend’s most prized possession, and her friends greatest treasure. she’s known around all of kildare for not only her incredible fashion sense but for her overwhelming confidence. she’s most often paired with rafe cameron!

diva kook reader 𝜗℘ she’s undoubtedly the richest and most desired woman on all of figure eight. men flock to her naturally, drawn in by not only her beauty but her unattainable personality. while every man wants her, every woman envies her and she most definitely is the type to use it to her advantage when necessary.

diva kook reader 𝜗℘ who’s known as being pretty difficult to impress — she’s not one to fall for cheesy pick up lines or a low effort romance. if you want her attention, she’s obviously going to make you work for it because hello, why wouldn’t you have to? she’s also the type to have no problem telling you when she’s uninterested, she’ll look you straight in the eye and tell you to get lost.

diva kook reader 𝜗℘ who’s always seen out wearing the lastest designer stables and hottest heels. and you’ll never catch her without a matching handbag, she has so many that even she’s lost count by now! always is seen with some form of jewelry, whether it be a stack of bangles on her wrist, dainty anklet on her leg, rings on her fingers, she’s never leaves home without at least one piece of something! also most definitely has a staple necklace of her first initial that she rarely ever removes - one that was bought by her lovely boyfriend of course.

diva kook reader 𝜗℘ who’s known for smelling like summer, very tropical, fruity with a hint of that coconut scented sunscreen — it’s her staple! she tends to spend most of her days either shopping all around town or pampering herself with her girls. always has her nails and toes done. and of course, she never leaves the house without looking her absolute best!

diva kook reader 𝜗℘ despite having a bit of an attitude, she can be very sweet — to those who she feels like being to that is! most definitely a girls girl but is also the type to put another girl in her place if the time comes. super passionate and possessive over the one’s she cares deeply for, especially her boyfriend.

diva kook reader 𝜗℘ definitely has cute little charms on her bag — most likely either a flower or cherries! always carries a small photo of herself and rafe inside of her phone case, half for the reason to show off what’s hers but also because she misses him whenever he’s not around her.

diva kook reader 𝜗℘ who has the best music taste out of all of her girlfriends which means she’s put on aux anytime they’re in the car together. never is seen without an emergency essential pouch in her purse, carrying all the necessary things — her lip combo, pressed powder and a roll on perfume.

diva kook reader 𝜗℘ who all of rafe’s friends drool over whenever she’s out anywhere with him — and of course they pull him aside and question him on what she’s like since she doesn’t bother to waste her time getting to know them! definitely not a party girl but that doesn’t mean she has fun! she’s fun but not sloppy!

✦‎۟ ࣭ HER LINKS

• social media feed ，one

#𓂃 𝑅𝐴𝐹𝐸𝑆𝐶𝑂𝑅𝐴𝑍𝑂́𝑁⠀⠀˚ ⊹ ꣑ৎ‎#𓂃 𝑑𝑖𝑣𝑎 𝑘𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 ݂ ⟢ ˚#rafe cameron #outer banks #diva kook reader x rafe #rafe cameron smut #outerbanks rafe #rafe outer banks #rafe x you #rafe fanfiction #rafe smut #rafe x reader #rafe imagine #rafe fic #rafe obx #outer banks rafe

131 notes · View notes

rfxiii · 11 months ago

Note

Hi, i enjoy your headcanons and writing! I was wondering if you could write about Franklin, trevor and Michael with an S/O who is cold easily :)? I'm anemic and the winter weather is kicking my ass in that regard rn, lmao

(I’ve always had such bad anemia, so I totally feel you! It doesn’t get too cold here, but winter is literally the worst! Anyways! Tysm for the request, I’m sorry it took so long!)

TW: None

Franklin, Trevor, and Michael with a S/O who gets cold easily:

Franklin Clinton:

Over protective vibes are activated. If you get too cold, you could get sick. And he’s not letting anything happen to you!

He brings a spare jacket everywhere in case you need it, he cranks up the heat in the car/house, he buys a bunch of blankets. He’d even take his own shirt and jacket off to give to you if it looked like you needed it.

He’s not a great cook, but he’ll buy you tons of canned soup, hot teas, make you coffee- anything to keep you warm and comfortable.

He likes lighting his fireplace at night and sitting on the couch with you, in a big nest of blankets, while he holds you and fights off the chill of the night with your shared body heat.

He keeps track of the weather on his phone throughout the day to make sure you won’t need more layers and so he can update you on the temperature when you get ready in the morning. He’d even come to your work, or someplace in the city, to bring you an extra jacket if you’re out without him.

Trevor Philips:

“Did ya know gettin’ naked together under the blankets creates body heat?” He’s using any excuse he can to get you as close as he can. Luckily, he runs pretty hot, and it doesn’t get too cold out in Sandy Shores except at night.

He’s from Canada, he’s used to the cold. So, he may not be as sensitive to your needs as he should be. He’s a very “It’s not cold to me. Why’re you bitchin’?” kinda guy. He may pick on you a bit until he sees you shivering. He’ll give you his old, never-been-washed, denim jacket to keep you warm, after that. He really does care about your comfort, he’s just not super perceptive about that kind of stuff.

He’ll offer to make you soup/stew to keep you warm. Do not eat it! His heart is in the right place, but the last thing you want is to be freezing and have food poisoning. If you gently decline his offer, he’ll make Wade or Ron go somewhere and buy you something pre-made, and safe to eat.

Cranks up the heat in his trailer to almost unlivable degrees. It’s awful, it’s hard to breathe, he’s sweating everywhere- but his heart was in the right place and it is a sweet gesture.

Michael De Santa:

Are you cold? Well, now the most expensive, well insulated, name brand jacket is now yours. Congratulations!

He’s offering to take you on a tropical vacation every winter. It doesn’t get too bad cold in Los Santos during the winter, thankfully. But he’d do anything to keep you comfortable.

He shows up to see you with expensive coffee/tea everytime he sees you. And buys you tons of expensive, handmade wool blankets to keep you warm.

He offers to buy you a car with heated seats/heated steering wheel, etc. He’s all about keeping you warm and comfortable.

Secretly kind of likes that you get cold so easily, so he can pull the cheesy, romantic move of pulling off his own jacket and draping it around your shoulders when he notices you shivering.

#gta v #grand theft auto v #gta 5 #grand theft auto 5 #trevor philips #michael de santa #franklin clinton #gta x reader #x reader #/reader #franklin clinton x reader #franklin clinton/reader #trevor philips x reader #trevor philips/reader #michael de santa/reader #michael de santa x reader

280 notes · View notes

charmedaccents · 27 days ago

Text

Phone Cases - Fruit Botanical Design

Product features - Extremely strong and impact resistant Lexan plastic material - Lay-flat bezel for screen protection - Flexible rubber liner for shock absorption - Glossy finish for a decorative touch - UV protected for long-lasting durability

2 notes · View notes

blissfullyecho · 2 years ago

Text

some spring deep cleaning ideas for your apartment 🤍

today i’m focusing on deep cleaning my apartment because i completely forgot spring started on monday lol. my advice: always give your space a good deep clean at least 2-4x a month (or more, who cares) and always deep clean every season.

clean blinds

clean windows

sweep balconies

clean mirrors

organize under the sink (kitchen + bathroom)

clean inside drawers

move furniture and sweep/vacuum/mop underneath

strip wash your pillows

repaint over scratched walls + patch up holes

organize closet

mop inside the closet

laundry + fold and put away

change ac filter

change water filter (refrigerator)

pest control (i have it included in my rent but because i live in a semi-tropical environment, i do have crawlies come in sometimes so i buy my own pest control and make sure i place it inside and outside)

deep clean litter box

disinfect doorknobs and handles

clean makeup brushes

clean garbage cans and trash cans

wash bedding

dust ceiling fans

clean base of plant pots

wash/clean your sneakers

put your backpack in the laundry

throw away expired food

organize important papers

get rid of wasp nests outside

dishes

oven cleaning

clean garbage disposal

new air fresheners

fresh air from keeping windows open (turn cleaning fans on so the air can circulate)

wipe off computer, phone, tablet, and tv screens

scrub toilets and bathtubs/showers

put things back where they belong

spray and wipe off washer and dryer

sweep floors, then vacuum (i have hardwood all over my apartment and i still vacuum because it’s easier), then i mop (pine sol is amazing— i love the scent).

put in maintenance requests if needed

clean dryer vents

wash sofa cushions and pillow cases (even on throw pillows)

wash mildew off shower liner

get hair unclogged from drain

clean out your car

refill anything like pens, water bottles, etc.

steam clean carpets

have a professional come and clean rugs

clean welcome mat

replace lightbulbs if needed

toss, donate, and keep clothes in your closet and dressers

happy spring

941 notes · View notes

starstruckunknown-princess · 6 months ago

Text

Snowdrop - Bruce Wayne x Reader (Aka Snapdragon Pt 2)

Snowdrop (Galanthus) - Meaning: Consolation, Hope

Summary: Following your accusation of cheating, Bruce shares his biggest secret with you. Read Part 1 Here (but can be read on its own)

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x F!Reader

Word Count: 2450

Warnings: Angsty, mix of Nolan/2022 The Batman universes, kisses, lots of lingering touches but Bruce is nervous as hell, Alfred being a bit of a mother hen, mentions of Bruce's parents' death, mentions of danger

So this is my apology for cutting my 30 days down to 25 and leaving y'all hanging. I got sick and started a new job at the end of April so I've been busy! I'm thinking this might turn into a mini series or a bunch of headcanons because I just watched The Batman again and I want to love all over this sad, wet cat.

In Bloom Masterlist

Likes, Comments, and Reblogs are SUPER appreciated! <3

The private car pulled up outside Wayne Manor, Bruce having sent it to your office. You thanked the driver — noticeably not Alfred, much to your dismay — when he opened your door and helped you out.

You looked up at the Gothic mansion. The weather perfectly complimented the sharp finials and fanciful turrets, dark clouds threatening rain looming behind it.

You couldn’t help but feel it was an omen of some kind.

‘We need to talk.’

Bruce’s text from that morning (five thirty to be precise, who even gets up that early?) had your stomach in knots all day while you obsessed over the meaning behind his vagueness. Would it be a Good Talk? The kind that meant he was surprising you with a two-week-no-phones trip to a private tropical island so you could reconnect with each other? Part apology trip, part reassurance.

Or was this a Bad Talk? He was stunned last night when you’d asked if he was cheating but he never actually answered the question. Maybe tonight he would explain that yes, he was cheating but not because he didn’t love you — he was just not cut out for monogamy. In which case you would be okay, but you’d definitely need to talk about boundaries and expectations. Or maybe he was so rankled by your accusation he would sulk all through dinner, then hand you a bag of all the things you’d left at his place and send you on your way.

Due to the earliness of the text, you’d had all day to prepare for the worst case scenario. Squaring your shoulders, you walked up the stone steps to the front door. Before you could knock, Alfred had whipped the tall wooden doors open and ushered you inside.

“Come in, come in, Miss! Don’t want to get caught in the rain, do we?” He took your coat and work bag, tucking them over his arm. “Master Wayne is waiting for you in the study while I finish up dinner. You can go on up, third door on the left, remember?”

“Thanks, Alfred,” you replied, the butler disappearing as you mounted the massive main staircase. In no particular rush, you sauntered down the long spacious corridor, lined on both sides by paintings that cost more than you made in five years. The value of this hallway alone was more money than you’d probably ever see in your lifetime. Just outside the study, you paused in front of one of your favorites.

A 19th-century piece by Turner, it depicted a ship lost in a storm. Thick swaths of violent black and blue, a shocking splash of amber in the center around the only recognizable part of the ship — the mast — which dipped at a dangerous angle. You felt like that boat right now. Tossed and turned about, a helpless casualty to an apathetic universe.

But calm seas never did make skilled sailors, and a skilled sailor knew that the only way out was through. With a steadying breath, you continued your way toward the study and entered.

An Ella Fitzgerald song played lowly on the speakers, the fire was lit and cast a warm, comforting glow on the dark furniture. Across from you, silhouetted in the giant picture window, Bruce stood with his back to you. The urge to go over and wrap your arms around his waist, hug him from behind and bury your face between his shoulders was almost overwhelming until you remembered why you were there.

“Bruce,” you said by way of announcing yourself. He turned then, blue eyes finding you instantaneously and he set down the whiskey glass he’d been holding. He looked tense, broad shoulders rigid atop a ramrod-straight spine, his gaze unwavering and unreadable.

“I haven’t been cheating on you,” he said, glancing away before continuing, “but I haven’t been honest with you either.

“Oh,” you breathed, unsure of what to do. This was strange — he was acting strange. He hadn’t offered you a drink, hadn’t greeted you, hadn’t even said your name. Your hands fidgeted restlessly — should you demand an explanation or keep your cool, wait for him to tell you?

Bruce answered your unasked question for you.

“Before I tell you I need you to know some things. First and foremost, I love you. I know my reputation as a playboy, but that’s…never really been me. And I know the press thinks we’re mismatched but they couldn’t be more wrong, okay? You are incredible and I wake up more and more in love with you. Even if —” he paused, gathered himself, “even if after I tell you, you never want to see me again. I will always love you.”

Your knees shook — your entire body felt like jello. What he was going to tell you must be really, really bad. “I-I love you too, Bruce.”

He approached you then, apparently noticing the tremor in your voice. You let him take your trembling hand and lead you to the long leather couch by the fireplace. He looked so unlike himself — humbled and insecure where he was always calm and confident. Whatever he had to tell you, it was life-changing big.

The silver lining was that he wasn’t cheating on you.

“Secondly,” he said, his tone quieter now that you sat side-by-side, him angling to face you, “is that this secret is…it’s dangerous. It could potentially put a target on your back if it ever came to light, so I’m giving you a choice. I will tell you if you want to know, or we can forget about it and move on. Pretend this never happened.”

What could be so dangerous? You wracked your brain for an answer. Was he a drug kingpin? A mob boss? Mercenary? You doubted all those options given how much money he donated to GCPD and legal advocacy groups — but what if that was just a smoke screen to cover his heinous crimes?

On the other hand, this was Bruce. Thoughtful, kind, generous Bruce who held you so gently when you lay in bed at night, who pulled out chairs and opened doors and walked on the street side of you wherever you went. The man who loved you so fiercely he’d made you believe in the concept again.

You couldn’t languish in the storm any longer. You had to know.

“Tell me, Bruce,” you said, trying to keep your voice from shaking. “I want to know.”

He nodded solemnly, some of his hair falling into his face. He led you off the couch and toward a corner of the library where he gently tilted a nondescript leatherbound book off the shelf, which opened a hidden door. “It’s easier if I show you first.”

When he’d first brought you to the Manor, you’d asked if he had any secret doors or hidden passages, to which he said no. You’d then teased him about it, expressing your disappointment. “How do you not? Isn’t that the point of a house like this? Damn, rich people are so bad at being rich!”

If you weren’t currently trying to keep your insides from completely liquefying, you would’ve rubbed his face in the fact that you’d been right after all.

An old-fashioned cage elevator opened, and Bruce gestured you inside. He followed and pushed a lever down. The door creaked shut and you began your descent. Into what or where, you had no idea.

Sensing your trepidation, Bruce rested a hand on your lower back.

You relaxed a little at his touch, leaning back into it but still needing to break the taut line of tension between you. “Oh god, this isn’t the secret entrance to your illegal blood diamond mine, is it?”

Bruce chuckled mirthlessly, “No, it’s not an illegal blood diamond mine.”

“Hm,” you replied, “Would’ve explained the boatloads of cash.”

By the time you finished your comment, you’d arrived at the bottom of the elevator shaft. The door opened with a whine, and you stepped into a place you never thought you’d see. A place you hadn’t really thought about existing but made sense.

The space around you was cavernous — literally. Craggy walls with stalactites hanging down forty feet above your heads. The fluttering of some sort of winged creature echoed off of every surface. The setting was completely incongruous to all the high tech monitors, gadgets, and surveillance gear strewn about the numerous surfaces.

Directly in front of you, a mannequin wearing a black suit of armor that any Gothamite would recognize stared at you.

Batman.

You wandered closer to the suit, seeing it up close for the first time, utterly gobsmacked. You couldn’t ignore the numerous scars that littered Bruce’s torso, a few of the larger ones lined up with areas in the suit that had been repaired. Moving further into the room, you let your eyes travel over the various in-progress projects, folders with papers and news articles spilling out of them, a stack of journals. The top of which was labeled with the current month and year on the front. Organized chaos — you were surprised Alfred let this mess stand.

You looked back over your shoulder, searching for confirmation from Bruce who hadn’t moved out of the elevator. Giving you time to roam, explore, take it all in.

“You’re Batman,” you said. The look on Bruce’s face said it all and slowly, certain things began to make sense. Late night texts, oddly placed scars and bruises with vague or strange explanations, how good he was at not waking you when he left your apartment. How Batman had all the cool criminal-catching tech and gadgets that the Gotham police couldn’t afford. The nigh-on-impossible-to-scale walls Bruce had built around himself, his playboy persona, all of it.

He wasn’t kidding when he’d told you this secret was dangerous. How easily all of this could unravel.

You didn’t know what to say. So many questions buzzed through your mind it made you dizzy.

“Are you…okay? What do you think?” he asked, taking a few cautious steps out of the elevator toward you.

“I’m okay,” you said, fixing your eyes on a batarang on the table beside you, absentmindedly tracing the sharp edge with one finger. “It’s a lot to take in. I mean, I almost wish you had been cheating. At least that way I could be mad, but this?” You gestured around the cave. “I don’t know how to react. I’m…shocked, obviously, but it makes so much sense and explains so much more that I’m overwhelmed by it.”

You didn’t know when the tears started, but Bruce was in front of you, wiping them away with his thumbs before gently tilting your face up to his.

“Do you want to go back upstairs? Alfred’s probably got dinner all set, you can have some time to process, ask questions…” he trailed off.

You nodded, “Yeah, upstairs sounds good.”

The ride back up to the manor was silent except for the creaking and groaning of the elevator. Bruce’s arm was around your shoulder, providing warmth and comfort to your increasingly numb body and mind.

You had no idea what to feel. What to think. What to say. Maybe Bruce was right and you needed to process — yeah, that felt right, process.

Process the fact that the man you love went around Gotham at night beating the snot out of evildoers. Spent the nights he wasn’t with you hunting down corrupt cops and serial killers and masked madmen who only wanted to watch the city — your city — burn itself to ashes.

The lengths men will go to to avoid therapy.

Bruce led you through the study and down the hall to the dining room, where Alfred had set up a romantic candlelight dinner for two at the far end of the extravagantly long table.

Like the gentleman he was raised to be, Bruce pulled out your chair and pushed it in as you sat, leaning forward to place a tender kiss at the crown of your head before taking his seat.

Hope flickered in his eyes as he looked at you, and you looked away.

Alfred entered the room pushing a cart of silver-domed trays. One by one he pulled the domes off to reveal all of your favorite comfort foods. No doubt this was Bruce’s idea. He was thoughtful like that; figuring that you would want comfort food after learning his secret.

That hopeful flicker lingered over every bite you took as you dug in. You hadn’t realized how famished you were, having skipped lunch due to the unease caused by his cryptic text.

While you ate, your mind kept mulling over the information you’d learned. With how intelligent and thoughtful he was, you knew Bruce had gone over every possible outcome of tonight, which is why you suspected he left the choice up to you on whether you wanted to know or not. He had laid his cards on the table, trusted you with his most life-shattering secret, and the next move was up to you. He wouldn’t force a reaction or response and would respect and accept whatever you decided to do.

But really, what was there to do? You loved him, possibly more so after this incredible display of trust. Vulnerability like this wasn’t easy for either of you, so really your reaction was already determined.

When you finished eating, you put your napkin on your plate and stood up. You crossed to Bruce’s seat and curled yourself on his lap. Automatically, his arms encircled you and you rested your head on his chest, noting how quickly his heart beat.

“Thank you for telling me,” you said, burrowing a little further into his well-worn t-shirt. “I’m not going anywhere, though. I love you too much to let you keep doing this alone.”

You could feel the tension you’d noticed earlier leave his body even as his arms tightened around you, pulling you somehow closer.

“You realize the risk you’re putting yourself in, right? I…if anything happened to you because of—”

You pulled your head up and looked him square in the eye. “I know the risk. You’re worth the risk. And if anything happens to me, I’ll just haunt the batcave and the manor so it’ll be like I never left.” You were half-joking, smiling at him as you ran a hand through his long raven locks. He leaned into your touch, eyes closed.

“I just can’t lose you like I lost…” My parents.

It was unsaid, but the meaning was there. In that moment it was impossible not to see him as a young boy, newly orphaned, wandering this enormous house alone, looking for his mother and father.

You pulled his head toward yours and rested your forehead on his temple while you continued to stroke his hair.

“You’ll never lose me, Bruce,” you vowed.

#fanfiction #angst #fluff #batman fic #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne fic #in bloom #writing challenge #bruce wayne #the batman 2022 #nolanverse #alfred pennyworth

62 notes · View notes

separatist-apologist · 8 months ago

Text

Traitors Never Win

Summary: When Feyre Archeron's father promises she'll marry notorious crime boss Rhysand Moreno, Feyre will do anything to get out of the arrangement…including framing him for murder.

Rhysand isn't about to let her go so easily.

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Now I get to write nessian

Rhys knew he was on borrowed time.

Never more so than when Cassian and Azriel crossed into Wisconsin to track down the newly reunited Nesta and Elain. The sisters were officially out of custody and it was only a matter of time before someone went to check on Feyre. Rhys was no closer to making her his wife that morning than he had been when he met her.

It occurred to him that he could force her. Drag her home, tie her up, gag her, and call someone willing to overlook her distress. He wanted a more auspicious start for them rather than repeat his own mothers marriage. She’d never been happy with his father despite his fathers obsession with her.

Rhys rolled to his side where Feyre lay, her back facing him. Gently, he ran his finger over the soft ridges over her spine and considered his next move. He needed her—and refused to give her back. He was out of options, though.

For the two of them, it was now or it was never. If he told her, though, Feyre would dig her heels in. Stubborn to a fault, Rhys believed she’d refuse to marry him on principle, even if she wanted him. It had to be a conclusion she came to on her own, even if he manipulated her into thinking she wanted it.

Staring at his phone, Rhys reread the message Cassian sent that morning.

Get home if you can. Koschei is on our trail and if he’s found us, he’ll find you.

Oh, no doubt he was sending one of his little soldiers out to Rhys. It was fucked up and he knew it…but maybe a little danger was what Feyre needed. Just enough adrenaline to see him clearly, make a decision she wouldn’t normally, and see it finalized before she could change her mind. Rhys could keep her distracted with his body if she agreed, trapped in a rose colored haze for the next few weeks.

And then it would be too late. There was no divorce for them.

Besides, if that didn’t work he could always just get her pregnant, assuming she wasn’t already. He’d been too nervous to ask if she was using birth control, unwilling to admit any part of his fucked up plans. He’d been poking around her cabinet looking for them—but maybe she used an insert.

Maybe he ought to stop obsessing over her body, he reminded himself. Everything was fine—case and point, Feyre was naked in his bed and he hadn’t had to force her to do it. And while she had kicked him in the stomach once, she’d also flipped herself onto her stomach and raised her ass in the air when she felt his cock pressed against her tailbone.

And he’d take it.

“Hey, pretty baby,” he whispered, brushing his lips against the back of her neck. It was fun to see goosebumps rise on her shoulders, to feel her stir against the morning light pouring through the windows. “Are you hungry?”

Feyre was always hungry—if Rhys didn’t know what she wanted, he could always start with food.

“Do you ever sleep in?” she mumbled.

“Would you like to?” he questioned. Rhys loved to be up early, with a cup of coffee in one hand while he sat outside and watched the sun rise. It reminded him that he was alive and Rhys knew too well how much a gift that was. Especially for someone like him, forever hunted. Even then, Rhys could feel Koschei getting closer and closer.

Not the man himself, of course. He’d let people like Hybern do the work for him, venturing out only if everyone around him failed. If he hadn’t been so focused on Feyre, Rhys would have been working on drawing them out and setting his little traps.

Maybe he still could.

“Yes,” Feyre interrupted, unaware of the slant of his thoughts. “Until at least noon, but maybe all day.

“A whole day in bed?” Rhys practically purred, trying to imagine it. In his daydreams, they were somewhere tropical and isolated, surrounded by warm water and open skies.

Feyre rolled onto her back, making him painfully aware of her perky breasts staring up at him. “Yeah, Rhys. You never spend a day just rotting in bed?”

“No,” he admitted. He got up, he went to the gym, and he went to work—always in that order. Even when he was sick, Rhys thought it was better to get up and power through than to stay in bed doing nothing.

Still, if Feyre was in his bed, the thought of nothing suddenly seemed exceptionally appealing.

“Never?” she questioned, blue eyes focused on his face.

“I could be tempted,” he told her, trying—and failing—not to look at her naked breasts.

“Today?”

This was what he needed—Feyre, inviting him to stay in bed with her where the activities were fairly limited and he was positive she’d have sex with him at least once.

“Why not,” Rhys agreed, sliding his phone onto the table next to the bed.

Feyre settled among the pillows once she’d reached over the edge of the bed for his shirt—he was letting her wear them despite losing access to her body, if only because he liked the sight of her in his too big shirt.

She wore it like a dress, drenched in his scent. There was something primal about it, he decided. Rhys liked the way she looked in his clothes, his bed, his everything.

“What now?” Rhys questioned, hoping she was going to let him slip beneath the blanket and have his wicked way with her.

Feyre considered his question. “Now we just…lay here. We could watch something, or—” “Or we could talk,” he suggested. Feyre raised her brows.

“Is that a euphemism?”

“No. I like the sound of your voice,” Rhys admitted. “Tell me about your life.”

“What part?” she questioned.

“All of it,” Rhys said, greedy as ever. “Tell me all of it.”

Feyre balked a little—did he want to know about being a baby, she wondered? Yes, he’d declared. Start from the beginning, tell him everything. And Feyre, for her part, did. It wasn’t linear, but she told him stories about her life while Rhys listened, absorbing it all. He did get up to make breakfast, throwing on a pair of sweatpants and nothing else while Feyre trailed after him.

She was less prickly that morning, answering his questions when he asked. And Rhys had a thousand questions—a million, really—that he wanted answered. He brought the food into the bedroom, tempted to feed her fruit from his fingers though he abstained. No need to ruin what was turning into a perfect day.

“Why did you kill him?” Rhys heard himself asking later in the day. She’d danced around her father, omitting him from most of her stories.

Feyre drew her knees to her chest, back resting against the wooden headboard. “I was angry,” she admitted. “I’d been angry for a long time.”

“Why?”

She grew silent for a moment, contemplating her feelings. “I guess…after our mom died, he just became something of a shell. He was spending money recklessly, he was making decisions without telling anyone…”

That explained her anger about their engagement, he supposed.

“All he wanted to do was hole up in his office. He left everything else to me and my sisters and we just…we weren’t accustomed to taking care of his household. Elain was taking care of him and Nesta was just so mad all the time which caused us to fight…I was just tired. And when he came home and he informed me he’d decided to marry me off, I guess I just snapped.”

“You know, I was at home when I heard the news he was dead,” Rhys told her, wondering if she cared about him at all. Feyre looked over, eyes bright again.

“Were you angry when they told you what I said?”

Rhys smiled. “No. I had a good laugh about it, though. If I was going to kill your father, I would have done a far neater job.”

“Were you? Going to kill him, I mean?”

“No. His debts would have killed him eventually without any help from me. I was merely a bandaid for his bigger problems. If you wanted him dead, you should have come to me.”

“And what? You would have done it? Just like that?” she asked skeptically, snapping her fingers to illustrate her point.

“Just like that,” Rhys agreed easily.

“Why me? Why not Nesta or Elain?”

Rhys couldn’t even remember what they looked like. He just shrugged. “Would you hate me if I told you that you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen?”

“No,” she replied with the pinkest cheeks he’d ever seen. “I’m starting to think its not possible to hate you.”

“I’m growing on you,” he said with a grin.

“Like a fungus,” she agreed. “You should hate me, you know.”

He shrugged. “I don’t see why. If I were in your position, I might have done the same.”

“I don’t think I’d be so forgiving,” she informed him, looking over to drink him in. “I don’t know if your face is that tempting.”

“What about the rest of me?” Rhys questioned, running a hand down his bare torso. “Maybe I should have sent you a picture of my cock—”

“That would not have helped!”

“You don’t know that,” he replied good naturedly. “It’s a nice cock.”

She didn’t argue, and Rhys didn’t push her. He knew the truth and besides, there was no point in ruining what was shaping into being a perfect day. She was in his bed, telling him about her life and for once they weren’t arguing or snapping. It was a little peek into the life he wanted—domesticated Feyre purring in his lap like a house cat.

“I didn’t plan it,” she finally said, eyes glazed with memory. “It just happened.”

“I don’t judge you for it,” Rhys told her, unwilling to admit that he couldn’t remember everyone he’d killed.

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t. I wasn’t thinking about you at the time. I planned to turn myself in—”

“Foolish,” Rhys hissed, immediately frustrated by the thought. Even with all his money and influence, Rhys didn’t think he could have kept her from prison.

Feyre offered him a small smile. “You sound like my sister.”

“You did the right thing,” he praised, not wanting her to feel an ounce of guilt on his behalf. “They’ll never tie me to it.”

“I said you did it,” Feyre reminded him.

Rhys tapped her nose with the tip of his finger. “You didn’t see me, little love. And just as soon as Azriel gets back, there will be no evidence tying you or me to that death.”

“Why do you say that?” Feyre asked, her face paling.

“Don’t worry about that,” he said quietly. “The less you know, the better.”

“I thought we were equals—”

“We would be if you were my wife,” Rhys shot back before he could stop himself. Feyre crossed her arms over her chest, eyes narrowing.

“Why? So I can’t testify against you—”

“So I don’t have to testify against you,” he snarled, suddenly furious. “You committed the crime, Feyre—not me. And one of these days some overzealous agent looking for a promotion is going to reexamine the scene, the evidence, and who was standing in that house that day and they’re going to realize what you’ve done.”

She took a breath. “They won’t.”

“They will,” Rhys replied. “Trust me—putting away a mobster is the dream of every cop. They write your names in books for that kind of take down. They’ll be looking for me…but they’ll find you. And then they’ll send some nervous, sweaty asshole to my door offering to look the other way if I tell them what happened when I tracked you down. That’s a tempting offer, Feyre.”

“Are you blackmailing me?”

Rhys didn’t think about it. “If I have to. Though, I’d prefer you willing.”

Feyre stood abruptly, her face unreadable. “I need a minute.”

“Take your time,” he replied, climbing out of bed himself. He let her walk toward the back of the cabin, assuming she was going to his office to think. Let her think about the day she’d sat on his cock while he worked, he thought sullenly. Rhys went to the living room so he could stare moodily out the window.

Nothing ever went the way he imagined. It was hard to celebrate fucking her when she didn’t like him or trust him. Would he blackmail her into being his wife? Rhys wanted to be the kind of man who would say not…but he knew he would. He knew if he couldn’t get her to agree in the next two days, he’d be tying her up again and threatening to turn her in.

“Rhys?” Feyre’s voice asked from behind him. He twisted to look at her, stepping to the left to keep balance.

“Ye—”

The glass behind him shattered and something threw him forcefully to the ground as Feyre screamed, arms up over her head.

“Get down!” he roared, terrified another bullet would silence her. He’d been shot, he realized—though rather than hitting him dead center, he’d been shot through the shoulder. It wasn’t ideal, but it was workable.

Someone was coming—Rhys could hear boots crunching against snow. Twisting, he turned to make his way to Feyre only to find she was gone. Fuck. Now he had two problems—a killer at his front door and a runaway wife out the back. He didn’t have time to grab a gun before the door kicked open.

He knew the bitch standing in front of him. He’d recognize that bottled red hair from space—Amarantha.

“Rhys,” she said, flashing him a vicious smile. “You’re getting sloppy.”

He forced himself to his feet, refusing to die on his knees. “Your aim is as good as it's always been.”

Amarantha shrugged, gloved hands holding her rifle firmly. “You know, I usually love our banter but today I just don’t have time. You’ll forgive my—”

A shot fired, sending Amarantha flying to the ground like a doll who’s strings had just been cut. Rhys looked up to find Feyre, barefoot and pantless, standing in the doorway holding a gun. He expected to see fear—or maybe shock—but all he found on that beautiful face of hers was grim determination.

“A friend of yours?” Feyre questioned, dancing back into the house in an attempt to avoid the snow.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Rhys replied. Feyre came to him, stepping over Amarantha’s body like it didn’t exist.

“You’re hurt,” she said, reaching out to touch the blood before pulling back.

“I’ll survive,” he replied, grateful adrenaline was keeping the pain at bay. This was what he’d wanted, right? A little danger to soften her? Maybe not like this—Rhys had assumed they’d have more of a warning and less bullets coming at them.

Still.

“We need to go,” Rhys told her, steering Feyre toward the bedroom. He’d kept her clothes from that first night specifically for this reason. He couldn’t drag her naked across the country, afterall. Rhys pulled out the jeans, t-shirt, and jacket before tossing it to the bed.

“What about your arm?” Feyre asked, gun still in hand. “Shouldn’t we dig it out?”

“You’re a doctor now?” Rhys asked, hating that he needed her to do this for him. Feyre shrugged.

“I’ve done it before. For my dad, I mean.”

“You’re a good girl, Feyre,” he murmured, wishing he had the time to bend her over the bed. Rhys could still fuck her, injured or not. In fact, he thought the sight of his blood smeared over her tits would send him into a frenzy. “My good girl.”

“I thought she killed you,” Feyre whispered as Rhys sat on the edge of the tub. “I thought…”

“I’m fine,” he told her, heart thudding in his throat. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Yeah,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Rhys couldn’t take his eyes off her while she worked, swallowing his pain so he didn’t upset her. Maybe, in another life, Feyre would have been a doctor—she certainly had a soft touch. She managed to get the bullet out in one go while he was lucky it hadn’t shattered into a million little pieces.

His arm burned by the time Feyre got to suturing, and all he wanted to do was lay down. Dried blood coated his upper half and stained his shorts, the towel beneath his feet, and likely the white tile, too.

“Can you stand?” Feyre whispered, brushing her fingers against his jaw.

“Of course,” he lied. “Go get dressed.” But he couldn’t. Rhys wobbled the moment he tried, flinging out his hand to hold the wall so he didn’t fall backward. His whole body trembled from the dull, throbbing pain from his wound that seemed to echo in his skull.

He didn’t know how long he stood there. Only that Feyre returned, more blur than woman, and led him out.

“You can go,” Rhys whispered as he collapsed to the bed, too heavy to move. His eye lids were iron, unwilling to open once they’d shut. “You should go.”

The blackness ate away at him before he heard what she said in response.

And then he was lost.

FEYRE:

Rhys was a big man.

She’d never really thought about it before he’d collapsed onto the bed, shirtless and bloody. A dull roaring filled Feyre’s ears as panic threatened to consume her. They couldn’t stay—someone else might be coming. So Feyre forced herself to swallow her fear so she could dress him in a pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt. She packed him a few things, unsure what he’d want to wear when he woke, and then began the arduous task of dragging his muscular body out to the car.

She did it, though. She put him in the back, her guns in the front, and then herself in the car. “We did it,” she said with a grin, turning toward the road with unrestrained glee. His car had a navigation system and after she thought she was far enough from the cabin, Feyre quickly typed in her destination.

And then she drove. It was strange to be in a car again—for the last five years, Feyre had biked everywhere she went. Tamlin had kept her isolated, perhaps to her benefit at the time. Now, though, Feyre finally felt uncaged. Free, somehow.

Feyre drove through the night without stopping, terrified that she was being tracked at first. After she was certain she wasn’t, Feyre worried about leaving Rhys’s unconscious body in the back of her car. The last thing she needed were the cops pulling them over and realizing who they were.

Sheer will alone would keep Rhys from dying.

He was a predictable man. Rhys woke with a start just before the sun began to rise, peering first out the window before looking between the seats at her.

“You’re still here,” he rasped. Feyre smothered her smile.

“Did you think I’d leave you to die?”

“Expected it, actually,” Rhys replied with a grimace. “Where are we?”

“Nevada,” Feyre replied with a grin.

Rhys blinked. “Why?”

“Oh, are you coy now?” Feyre half teased. “Why else would I be here?”

“Feyre—”

“I realized something,” she interrupted, uninterested in his attempts at nobility. It was too late now. “When you were down and I thought you were dead, it occurred to me that I didn’t want you dead. I want to keep talking to you, Rhys. And I know this whole situation is a mess, but I think I might be falling in love with you.”

“Oh, thank God,” he panted, resting his chin on the seat of her chair.

“Plus, I figured this was the only way you’d agree to take me home.”

“You know me so well, darling.”

“Now it's your turn,” Feyre murmured, needing a distraction from the decision she was about to make. “Tell me about your life.”

Rhys settled back against the seat with a soft groan and began to talk. Feyre half listened, mind occasionally wandering to her sisters. She could bring them all back together…though what would they say when they realized the last five years had been for nothing? She trusted them not to betray her, but didn’t trust they wouldn’t shun her.

Nesta, at least.

“What happened after your sister died?” Feyre questioned, wincing at the story of how she’d been shot in the back after his mother had been executed by a rival family.

“Dad went berserk,” Rhys murmured, eyes dark. “He wanted revenge which made him reckless. He died to a bullet, to…and I took over.”

“That must have been hard.”

Rhys shrugged. “Not as hard as you’re imagining. I miss my family, but I was groomed for this. Work is easy.”

“The last five years have been easy?” she questioned.

Rhys smiled. “Frustrating, I suppose…but I found you, didn’t I? Was it all worth it, Feyre?”

“Yeah,” she replied, unsure if that was true or not. There was no reason to give him the satisfaction of being right. “I’d do it all over again.”

Rhys liked that answer, murmuring something about foreplay. It was the perfect time to stop, get a marriage license, and then have a quick, quiet courthouse wedding. Rhys swore up and down he didn’t want anything flashy or big which suited Feyre more than fine. She hated to be the center of attention.

“I want to fly home,” Feyre whispered to him later that night when they were alone, pretending like neither one of them wanted to peel the other out of their clothes. “And I want you to tell your friends to let my sisters come home.”

“What else do you want?” Rhys asked her, fingers laced with hers as he kissed her fingertips.

“If you ever step out of this marriage, I’ll have your balls.”

Rhys chuckled. “I think that’s reasonable.”

There was no question if he needed to issue the same threat. Feyre wondered if Rhys was merely willing to tolerate her indiscretions or if he merely assumed she never would. Feyre knew Rhys well enough to assume if he ever caught her, he’d execute the unlucky man without sparing a second thought.

It should have bothered her and yet it didn’t. Maybe, she thought, she was just as messed up as he was. Maybe worse, because Feyre found herself rolling over to look at him.

“How is your shoulder?” she questioned.

“Fine,” he lied, eyes sharp with hunger.

“Oh? I guess you don’t need me to take care of you, then?” she asked, sliding her leg over his waist. Rhys swallowed.

“You ah…could check,” he said. Feyre straddled him, pushing the hem of his shirt upward over his chest before gently pulling it over his head. She was careful with his injured shoulder, removing that sleeve last so he didn’t have to raise it over his head.

Rhys merely watched, eyes wide while he waited to see what was about to happen. Perhaps this was the moment Feyre would pull out her knife and kill him. Feyre didn’t have a knife on her and the guns she’d stolen were hidden in the hotel room they were staying in, far out of reach.

She merely kissed the wound.

“You can be sweet when you want to be,” Rhys breathed, his good hand resting on her hip.

“Don’t get used to it.”

“Why not?” he replied, arching her neck as she pressed a kiss against the hollow of his throat.

“I want to see you live to old age, which means keeping you sharp.”

Rhys sucked in a shuddering breath, relaxing as she crawled down his body. It felt good not to pretend anymore—to just give in to the life that had always been waiting for her. Maybe she’d regret this in another five years.

But maybe not.

She didn’t right then, as she licked a path down his stomach toward the erection she knew was waiting for her. Rhys seemed to be perpetually aroused and today was no exception.

“Feyre,” he breathed as she pulled his cock from his shorts. “Come back here—”

“Stop talking,” she ordered, just before licking a stripe up his shaft. Rhys moaned, lifting his hips in the air. It was tempting to stop and ask him how often he’d fantasized about this. She didn’t. He’d tell her when they finished, if only because Rhys loved to talk more than he loved anything else. He told her his every thought, sometimes as he was thinking them.

Feyre liked that about him.

“Is this what you want?” she whispered, teasing the blunt head with her tongue.

“Yes,” he all but pleaded.

Feyre took him in her mouth like she’d done the first time, though she wasn’t hanging upside down. Stretching her jaw to accommodate him, Feyre watched through half lidded eyes to gauge his pleasure. In turn, Rhys watched her. He gathered her hair up in his hands, wincing from his wound. It clearly wasn’t painful enough to stop him and Feyre wasn’t going to demand it of him, either.

She wanted to make him feel good, easing her own mind after the day she’d had. She hadn’t told him how she’d had to drag him out to the car, assuming he understood how he’d gotten there. It didn’t make the experience any less harrowing.

Feyre worked on taking him deeper, until his cock was lodged in her throat as she softly gagged around him. Rhys swept his thumb over her jaw before moving his hand to her throat as she took him again, feeling himself through her skin.

“Fuck,” he whispered, keeping his hand loosely wrapped around her. He should have let her continue given how much he was obviously enjoying himself, but he didn't. Rhys tugged her, pulling her mouth off his cock so abruptly that strings of saliva came with her.

“Rhys,” she protested as he lifted his hips, trying to line himself up with her own body.

“Please,” he said in response, finding his target. Rhys slid into her with a fluid motion, both hands on her hips to guide her. “Take off your shirt.”

It was all she was wearing. Feyre had become used to wearing Rhys’s shirts and rather liked it, though she’d never admit it. In that moment, Feyre was happy to comply. She tossed her shirt to the floor as Rhys’s hands slid up her body to cup her breasts.

“You’re so fucking pretty, baby. Do you know that?”

Feyre only moaned, rocking her hips against him. While Rhys tried to touch her everywhere all at once, Feyre merely dug her nails into his broad chest and continued moving against him. Every time Feyre and Rhys met, her clit brushed against his skin causing her to tighten around him.

“You feel so good,” Rhys whined, arching his back. “This is my pussy now.”

It was an absurd thing to say and only a man like Rhys could pull it off. Rising up so Feyre was fully in his lap, Rhys pressed them chest to chest.

“You’re my wife,” he whispered against her neck. “Tell me you love me.”

“Rhys—”

His teeth grazed her throat. “Say it.”

“I love you,” she gasped after a particularly brutal thrust that left her brainless. Rhys kissed her, hands bracing her ass so he was doing most of the work. Somewhere in the very back of her mind, Feyre knew his arm must have been killing him.

Gripping the back of his hair, Feyre pulled Rhys back just enough to force him to look at her. “Now you.” He moaned, “I love you.”

That was enough to send them both careening over the edge, gasping and kissing long after her orgasm had faded. If they had neighbors on either side, they had surely heard everything…and would hear more as they night went on. Who needed sleep, anyway?

Who needed anything at all, beyond the man in front of her.

“Rhys?” she murmured, chin resting on his uninjured shoulder. “Will you do something for me?”

“Anything. Just name it.”

“Take me home.”

Rhys smiled, face pressed to her hair. “You got it, baby.”

#feysand #i literally finished this so i could start working on nessian seriously #also warning for egregious use of the word baby #and for rhys saying something i had to look away from as i typed #it embarrassed me hahaha

61 notes · View notes

vitaminseetarot · 1 year ago

Text

PAC: 11/11 Self-Care Messages 🍊🌚🦂

Hey y'all. I'm here to take a brief break from NaNoWriMo (I've been making big progress, I swear!). I've heard from some astrologers that this new moon is going to be rather strong, similar to the energy of the full moon.

After some scouring through the web to find horoscopes that weren't all doom and gloom, I figured now would be a good time to draw some cards for a few wellness messages. This was done to check current mood and energy and suggest healing or wellness methods mainly for stress relief.

I emphasize that if you have a real medical issue, best to take it to a doctor, even if you're thinking it's possibly a psychic thing.

Please choose your pile based on palette color below:

Pile 1 - Tropics Pile 2 - Pinkadelic Pile 3 - Mysterious Night Pile 4 - Solar Energy

Take care~☼

Pile 1: Tropics

The World, Peace, Surrender, Salt Bath, Receive, King of Cups, Knight of Swords, Seven of Coins

So you've done it, or it's been done. You've checked the items off your list. You've asked others if there was more to do only to be met with shaking heads saying "no, but thanks." So what to do now? It's easy to get used to this position of needing to be the big helper all the time. A king of cups taking on the world wants to solve every problem and won't rest until everyone is satisfied. But what would all of that take? Is it worth draining your cup, especially when others are learning to rely on it so much?

Your cards are suggesting a much needed rest time. If it's not a salt bath, then try just resting in bed, a brief sunbath, or a massage therapy session. It's not just resting your body, but your mind. You got two color cards which fell out. Surrender the mind for peace within the body. They're linked in this case. Knight of Swords says whatever happens to one will quickly affect the other. Recovery may take some time so please give yourself space to breathe.

This could be a specific message for some out there. I felt a brief pang in my chest that went away as soon as your reading was finished. I don't usually interpret this Salt Bath card in such a literal way, but… please watch your salt intake, more or less, make sure you're getting iodized salt. Some of you may be worried about doctor's visits? Just make sure you're drinking enough water in between salty meals. Keep your stress levels down, above all.

Take care of your heart health and try not to run yourself ragged with too many assignments and crisis alerts going off (what the heck there's a random phone alarm going off in my house now JUST as I'm typing this! And then it stopped as soon as I got up! Crazy). The message is to not respond to every single call and alarm that goes off okay! You definitely need time to rest, and boundaries for said rest. I mean deeply rest and clear your mind, let yourself suspend from the schedule with some suds. You can't get away to paradise forever, but you can create for yourself a moment in time.

Pile 2: Pinkadelic

Five of Coins, Trust, Bodega Cat, Acceptance, VI The Lovers, XVII Star, Ace of Cups

Tick tock, you've been waiting a while for this to come around in your life. I feel this is strongly a love related reading but let's see. If it's not a romantic partner you're attracting, it's a fresh start at life or spiritual awakening, the feeling of falling in love again with life. You've likely been waiting for a while, stuck in a limbo state, learning how to remain comfortable or at least steady in the unknown. Yet you're eager for that "more" or "other" kind of experience. The type of manifestation that makes life feel magical and new.

You need a quick pep talk. I might get a little cheesy with the message, but here goes: For anyone who has yet to meet you, you are that magic spark in their life. You're radiating the energy of wish making and affection and that has an effect on others around you. You're already on the way to attracting the one who will properly recognize that for you. I'm picking up on a lot of artists in this pile. Your magic seeps through to your art, your aura or energy rubs off onto what you make, and somebody special will see the talent in your work. You have way more talent in the arts than you think.

With that said, the Bodega Cat is a lucky cat here to remind you of your independence. You ultimately don't need anyone to come along and remind you of how amazing your work is. Once you see it for yourself, they will come. Once you see it as done, they will show. Perhaps more than it may seem right now. Just like the cat can be itself and people will show up to pet it and take pictures, whatever you bring forth will carry that same unique charm naturally.

You may be in the mood to go on a shopping spree. Treat yourself to something small and nice, like candy or a new t-shirt, it doesn't have to be extravagant. I recommend affirmations specifically on self-love for you, pile 2. Take a mirror marker and write nice things on your mirror. Pet a lucky cat when one stops by, as well! Sweeten your water with some fresh fruit for a sensual touch. Trust and believe. All of this beautiful magical energy is bursting outwards from you! Accept the wish that's there out in front of you.

Pile 3: Mysterious Night

Three of Swords, Growth, Dandelion, Perspective, XII Hanged Man, King of Swords, X Wheel of Fortune

I can tell that whatever has happened in the last few months, you've taken on a hurdle of challenges to get to where you are now. You've had to learn some harsh lessons, some of which may have felt like they were coming out of nowhere. The word 'Disappointment' was clear and capitalized. It seemed like you took many chances or opportunities on, only to be spun around and left in the dark to figure things out on your own. This last cycle was a particular struggle to build resilience while maintaining the motivation to keep moving toward your goals.

But look, you got both the Growth and Dandelion card in your reading! This is truly signifying how much you've really fought back and continued to nurture yourself in spite of the circumstances thrown in your face over and over. There's a spirit of not giving up even when you let yourself have the chance to process the feeling otherwise. Determination isn't about pretending to be happy in spite of comebacks. Disappointments happen; it's a chance to cry it out before smiling again, it's an umbrella and rain coat to let the day rain from time to time instead of expecting the skies to always stay clear.

You've weathered so much and gained an abundance of wisdom this past season, it's like at this point you're gearing up to be ready for whatever comes next. I don't know if you are necessarily expecting good things to come your way, however. Those might be the very things to sweep you off your feet. Or you may still be too on guard to notice the good luck. It's like the dandelion has gotten acclimated to the cracks, but is it ready for the wheel to turn and for the water to flow in between?

I feel like this whole reading is about being ready for a level up. If you need 999 XP to do so, then right now you're at 900. You're getting to the finish line. But instead of getting too worked up about the end result, however, you've mastered the art of hanging back and waiting for when the time is right. Your new perspective allows you to lay back and take a breather between these strong growth spurts. Remember to stay grounded to your toughened roots, pile 3. Try out grounding exercises and meditations. Spend time out in nature when considering the next moves you're going to make in life. No need to rush this kind of growth.

Pile 4: Solar Energy

Two of Swords, Fear, What You Seek is Seeking You, Change, XV The Devil, Ten of Swords, Seven of Pentacles, Six of Pentacles

I always forget how terrifying the devil card is in this deck lol! In fact I'm seeing and sensing a LOT of fear and anxiety in this pile which is why I went and added an extra tarot card. Six is pentacles on top of the deck is good as it shows help is on the way soon. Remember to stay centered and calm at this time, your chance to heal is coming for you, but you may need to yield some of the resistance behind allowing the change necessary to make way for that healing to occur.

It seems as though your pile conjures images of wanting to see daylight at the end of the tunnel. You feel that change is coming very soon and you're not sure if you're able to handle the next cycle after the one that you've been through. Quite the wringer you've been in for some time… I think a lot of y'all have done some shadow work recently, and it has not been the easiest. It's not always about meditating and journaling. Sometimes it's about seeing how simple, basic fears that are universal to humankind can get distorted and become something much more twisted. When you work past the scary parts, you can see the fear for what it really is. 10 of Swords is Sun in Gemini, learning that sometimes overthinking isn't going to solve the problem, especially when the worst is already past you.

A lot of good things seem to be underway for you even if they're not present at the moment. You've done a fair share of rummaging in the attic and going through all the old, little things. You're going through an extensive clearing out phase. Give yourself the opportunity to put the swords of caution down and accept a gentle wave of positive changes to restructure your life piece by piece.

I'm also getting that this pile may be particularly affected by seasonal affective disorder. Make sure to go out and get some sunlight outside, through windows, or UV lamps. I don't know for sure how Vitamin D supplements would help and you'll want to be careful with St John's Wort if you're on medication, but John's Wort is a good supplement I use for my tea to combat the winter blues. If you sense that your mental state may be getting triggered by lack of sunlight, please look into it.

This reading has not been evaluated by the FDA to diagnose, prevent, treat, or cure any disease or infection. Please ask your physician before going online.

2023, @VitaminseeTarot ™

95 notes · View notes

makingqueerhistory · 1 year ago

Text

Queer Woman-led Contemporary Fiction

There are some affiliate links below in case you want to support MQH.

The Subtweet

Vivek Shraya

Indie musician Neela Devaki has built a career writing the songs she wants to hear but nobody else is singing. When one of Neela's songs is covered by internet artist RUK-MINI and becomes a viral sensation, the two musicians meet and a transformative friendship begins. But before long, the systemic pressures that pit women against one another begin to bear down on Neela and RUK-MINI, stirring up self-doubt and jealousy. With a single tweet, their friendship implodes, a career is destroyed, and the two women find themselves at the centre of an internet firestorm.

Sadie

Courtney Summers

When popular radio personality West McCray receives a desperate phone call from a stranger imploring him to find nineteen-year-old runaway Sadie Hunter, he's not convinced there's a story there; girls go missing all the time. But when it's revealed that Sadie fled home after the brutal murder of her little sister, Mattie, West travels to the small town of Cold Creek, Colorado, to uncover what happened. Sadie has no idea that her journey to avenge her sister will soon become the subject of a blockbuster podcast. Armed with a switchblade, Sadie follows meager clues hoping they'll lead to the man who took Mattie's life, because she's determined to make him pay with his own. But as West traces her path to the darkest, most dangerous corners of big cities and small towns, a deeply unsettling mystery begins to unfold- one bigger than them both. Can he find Sadie before it's too late?

Ghost Wall

Sarah Moss

In the north of England, far from the intrusions of cities but not far from civilization, Silvie and her family are living as if they are ancient Britons, surviving by the tools and knowledge of the Iron Age. For two weeks, the length of her father's vacation, they join an anthropology course set to reenact life in simpler times. They are surrounded by forests of birch and rowan; they make stew from foraged roots and hunted rabbit. The students are fulfilling their coursework; Silvie's father is fulfilling his lifelong obsession. He has raised her on stories of early man, taken her to witness rare artifacts, recounted time and again their rituals and beliefs--particularly their sacrifices to the bog. Mixing with the students, Silvie begins to see, hear, and imagine another kind of life, one that might include going to university, traveling beyond England, choosing her own clothes and food, speaking her mind. The ancient Britons built ghost walls to ward off enemy invaders, rude barricades of stakes topped with ancestral skulls. When the group builds one of their own, they find a spiritual connection to the past. What comes next but human sacrifice?

You Made a Fool of Death with Your Beauty

Akwaeke Emezi

Feyi Adekola wants to learn how to be alive again. It's been five years since the accident that killed the love of her life and she's almost a new person now--an artist with her own studio and sharing a brownstone apartment with her ride-or-die best friend, Joy, who insists it's time for Feyi to ease back into the dating scene. Feyi isn't ready for anything serious, but a steamy encounter at a rooftop party cascades into a whirlwind summer she could have never imagined: a luxury trip to a tropical island, decadent meals in the glamorous home of a celebrity chef, and a major curator who wants to launch her art career. She's even started dating the perfect guy, but their new relationship might be sabotaged before it has a chance by the overwhelming desire Feyi feels every time she locks eyes with the one person in the house who is most definitely off-limits--his father. This new life she asked for just got a lot more complicated, and Feyi must begin her search for real answers.

#queer #lgbt #transgender #queer books #lgbt books #ghost wall #sadie #you made a fool of death with your beauty #the subtweet

105 notes · View notes

pippytmi · 8 months ago

Note

Hey there! I absolutely loved your Kacy Post Breakup AU stories. I was wondering if you could write "Cop AU where I've been undercover for years" or the one with the ring. It would make my day, but seriously, no pressure at all!

(this is. 100% an excuse for me to write a kacy + fast & furious au)

///////

The first time Kate gets a breakthrough while undercover, it’s in the form of a cryptic text which only reads: meet me at the bar. 2 PM.

Jane Tennant’s bar is the worst-kept secret of the street racing community, and though Kate has been there dozens of times already, being invited is a game-changer. And being invited by Jane Tennant herself? It might as well be a neon sign—Kate is in. This could be the invitation that can crack the whole case wide open.

But with every push, there’s the demanding pull from the universe which demands equilibrium, because when Kate walks into the bar none other than Lucy Tara is the one behind the counter.

Their eyes inevitably meet. Kate tries to smile; Lucy only stares back, expression carefully blank, and Kate’s smile falls.

“Hey, Whistler.” Ernie—Lucy’s best friend—is the only other patron in the bar, and he makes no attempt to hide his obvious surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“Tennant asked me to come,” Kate says, uncomfortably placing her hands in her pockets as she walks over. “Is she here?”

“She’s in the back,” Lucy answers for Ernie. “You can wait for her here.” It’s not a suggestion, so Kate slowly takes a seat. Without asking, Lucy pours her a club soda, and Kate accepts it gingerly.

“Thank you,” she says, but Lucy makes no indication that she’s heard, just turns and continues talking to Ernie about whatever they had been discussing before Kate arrived. Kate only catches a few words here and there, something about slashed tires and mangled gear shifts, before she tunes them out and starts scrolling through her phone instead.

That is, until Ernie says, “Wow, you went on an actual date?” and just like that, Kate’s stomach twists into itself. “Let me see. Hello Skylar…” He starts swiping through Lucy’s phone, which Lucy only makes one halfhearted attempt to steal back. “Points for the can’t wait to see you again text. I like that there’s a heart emoji, too. Carla is always saying something about heart emojis and kind auras.”

Lucy shakes her head. “I call bullshit,” she says.

“I might be paraphrasing a little. But you get the point.” Ernie lets Lucy snag her phone back, and she’s laughing as she cradles it to her chest, face alit with such joy that Kate’s stomach twists for a whole new reason.

All Kate can do is drink in the sight of that joy, utterly helpless—helpless to the way Lucy’s eyes crinkle at the corners, the softness of her smile, the genuine mirth that makes her whole body shake when she laughs. Suddenly, Kate wishes her drink was something stronger.

Thankfully, Jane pushes her way into the front from the mysterious back door, and Kate welcomes the chance to redirect her attention. “Thanks for coming on such short notice, Whistler,” Jane says, leaning over the side of the bar next to Lucy. “Can I get you a beer?”

“No, thank you. I’m fine with soda,” Kate declines.

Jane smiles in an unnerving way, like she knows something Kate doesn’t. “I heard about the race yesterday.” She tilts her head towards Ernie and Lucy, effortlessly inviting them to join the conversation. “Ernie wouldn’t stop talking about it, actually.”

“It was glorious,” Ernie says, nodding vigorously towards Kate. “Kai’s still sulking about it, but hey. All’s fair in love and…automobiles…”

Lucy winces. “Oh, you need to workshop that one.”

“I know,” Ernie sighs, dejectedly sipping from his little straw in whatever tropical mixed drink he’s been nursing.

Jane pointedly clears her throat and they both shut up. Kate would be in awe of how Jane commands a room like that under any other circumstances, but then Jane is surveying Kate again, one eyebrow quirked but the rest of her face inscrutable. “I’m not trying to poach you from Curtis, but I do want to make you an offer.”

Kate nearly holds her breath. “What kind of offer?”

“Work for me when you’re not working at Curtis’s,” Jane says simply. “I can always use a fast driver on my team. We make deliveries from time to time—special cases. The pay per run is guaranteed to be more than whatever Curtis is paying you.”

“Deliveries for the bar?” Kate asks, and Tennant gives her that secret smile all over again.

“Among other things,” she says. “Are you in?”

For a single, fleeting moment, Kate glances at Lucy. She doesn’t know what she’s looking for—not even sure what reaction she wants. When Lucy gazes impassively back, though, Kate gets a sinking feeling in her stomach which she can’t possibly rationalize.

“Definitely,” Kate answers at last, trying to feign as much enthusiasm as she can.

Jane doesn't seem to notice the pause. Or at least, she doesn't question it. “You’re family now, Whistler,” she says, sealing the deal with a firm handshake. “Lucy will give you all the details about the next job.”

“Me?” Lucy blurts out, panicked, before she quickly tries again with: “Boss, I’m sure Kai or Jesse could do a much better job.”

“Your shift’s over, isn't it?” Jane asks.

“Yeah…?” Lucy trails off like she isn't sure what the right answer is.

“Then it works out, you're already here,” Jane says. “I’m sure Kate can give you a ride home. You can discuss everything on the way.” There it is again: the unquestionable authority in her voice, the kind that means Lucy doesn’t try to argue.

So that's how Kate and Lucy end up alone—sitting in the flashy red sports car which was previously seized at a crime scene—in complete silence. Kate doesn’t start the car, and Lucy doesn’t ask her to. Through the window, Kate sees Kai and Jesse pull up in a blue pickup truck, but Lucy doesn’t even comment on that.

Kate clears her throat, finally. “If you want one of the guys to take you home, you can go.”

“One of the guys?” Lucy repeats, shakes her head disbelievingly. “Wow. Already jumping right in, aren’t you?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean.” Lucy won’t face her, just keeps her eyes firmly on the window. “This is your dream, huh? All this time, I never guessed.”

“My dream?” For a brief, sickening moment, Kate thinks her cover is blown.

“Oh, come on, Kate.” Finally Lucy whirls around to glare her down, and she’s so openly furious that Kate does a double-take. “You wanted to be part of this team all along. That’s why you walked into the bar the first time, isn’t it? That’s why you kept following me around like a lost puppy?”

Lucy’s words sting, and Kate swallows thickly—hears the anger, but also hears the quiver of Lucy’s voice and knows what it means. “It’s not what you think.”

“People always say that in the movies and it is, it is exactly what they think!” Lucy exhales sharply. “You used me.”

“That’s not what happened,” Kate says desperately. She has an explanation on the tip of her tongue. Hell, she has the entire confession just waiting to explode. That she has been in deep cover in pursuit of Jane Tennant and her team for almost a year—that she met Lucy by accident, and didn't know she was part of said team—that the reason Kate broke up with Lucy at all was because she knew it was the right thing to do, and not because she wanted to. But it would be worse than just self-sabotaging to tell the truth; it could ruin countless lives. So Kate can't say anything.

“How else would you describe it?” Lucy demands. “You’re the one who kept chatting me up, asking about the bar and the races. So what is it you want? Money? Protection?”

“Lucy—”

“No, tell me! Tell me what was worth stringing me along for? What was worth giving me some dumbass excuse to wait for you while you ‘figured things out’?” Lucy’s voice sounds choked now. “Did you figure it out, Kate? Huh? Did you get what you wanted?”

“I want you!” The first sharp prick of tears aren’t a surprise, but Kate still tries not to let them fall. “But I can't—I— “

Lucy’s expression softens, just a tad, like a thought is occurring to her she hasn't considered. “Are you in trouble?”

The question is unexpected, and Kate discreetly wipes at her eyes. “What?”

“You could've told me,” Lucy continues, “if you were in trouble. You didn't have to—” She doesn't finish her thought, but Kate can fill in the blanks. “I could've helped you.”

Kate knows, logically, that the “help” Lucy is referring to would likely be of the not-so-legal kind. But the fact that Lucy is willing to offer it? It makes Kate’s heart hammer in her chest like a lovesick teenager and she just doesn't understand. How on Earth is she supposed to betray Lucy Tara?

“It's complicated,” Kate says at last, which is true. “I can't talk about it.” Also true.

Lucy sighs. “Well, whatever you’re into,” she says. “It’s not going to get back to Jane, is it?”

Kate sucks in a shaky breath. “It won't,” she lies.

“Good. Because I can totally kick your ass if I have to.” Lucy drums her fingertips against the car door like she wants to say something else, but doesn’t. “Can we go now?”

“Yes, of course,” Kate says quickly, starting up the engine. “Do you want to just tell me where to go?” Though she still remembers where Lucy lives, she also doesn't want to be presumptuous and start driving there either.

Lucy seems to begrudgingly accept this turn of events, in any case. She goes through the motions of giving directions, but the entire drive over she still does not broach the specifics of the next job like Jane asked her to.

Kate has the sense not to push. She dutifully parks at Lucy's apartment complex when they arrive and just waits—lets Lucy take the lead on where to go next.

“We're doing a delivery to a warehouse on the south side next Friday,” Lucy finally says. “We go in pairs. I'll pick you up at eight.”

“What kind of delivery?”

“Nothing to worry about,” Lucy says. “Jane won't say it, but this is a test run. No details until she’s sure that you're trustworthy.” She turns to make sure Kate is looking at her, then asks, “Are you?”

Faced with the rawness of Lucy’s voice—of the guarded frown on her mouth—Kate can only nod ever-so-slightly. “You can trust me, Lucy,” she says softly, and wishes more than anything that she could mean it.

She wishes a lot of things, actually. Selfishly, for the chance to reach across the center console and hold Lucy’s hand, press a kiss to her knuckles like she used to, because it would make Lucy smile. (And also make Lucy try to push her luck at every red light back to Kate’s place). But she mostly wishes that she could go back in time and fix everything.

“Then I’ll see you on Friday,” Lucy says. “Are you still crashing in Curtis’s back room?”

“Yeah,” Kate says, thinking wistfully of days where Lucy used to squeeze into the makeshift bed along with her. “Do I have to meet you anywhere, or—”

“I'll pick you up,” Lucy says, but pauses just before she reaches for the door handle. “Is your phone number the same?”

“Since three months ago?”

“Don’t—try to be cute,” Lucy huffs. “I’ll text you when I’m on my way.”

Kate feels the burgeoning twist of a smile try to form, unbidden, and she has to bite it back. “Okay,” she says. “Um, goodnight,” she adds, so as to not say something stupid like I still love you.

“Night,” Lucy mutters, throwing open the door without so much as a glance back.

Kate watches her leave, and only when she is sure Lucy is safely inside does she allow herself to look away, down at her phone where Lucy’s smiling face is still her screensaver. She thinks about it once or twice, but ultimately gives in and calls Curtis. “Hey, it’s me,” she tells his voicemail. “I’m joining Jane’s team for something next Friday. Can you get everyone together tomorrow? I’m going for a drive tonight, don’t wait up for me.”

And she does exactly that: puts her windows down, lets her music blast loud, drives and drives and drives until her fingers are numb against the wheel in an attempt to make her inner turmoil go away.

(It doesn’t).

#this one feels more like an AU setup not quite as angsty as i wanted but! i hope you liked it & thank you for ur kind words <3 #kate x lucy #kacy #ncis hawaii #i need a fic tag #mangeur-detoiles

43 notes · View notes