#and he thought he needed to be a provider?

[harmonyrae]

Merging Territories

Synopsis: You just need a little more time with him, you don’t want him to go. Sylus once said actions are more sincere. It’s time to act, no more games.

AN: This is my interpretation of Sylus’s Night of Secrecy memory.

Content Warnings: Fingering, oral (f receiving), handjob, praise kink, implied unprotected sex, PiV, squirting, cream pie, 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 4.6k

“I won.”

You couldn’t hide your smirk as you slid the final part into place on the gun. You shift on the carpet and turn to face Sylus, pressing the muzzle under Sylus’s chin. His eyes narrow and raises his hands in defeat. He lets out a breathy chuckle, tilting his chin to look at you.

“And I lost. Go ahead. Ask your question.”

You’re suddenly aware of how warm the room is. The fireplace crackles and pops, providing the only light in the large sitting room. Sylus’s features are shrouded in shadow, his skin looks warm and soft. You weren’t exactly sure what you wanted to do, you just wanted to spend more time with him. You weren’t ready for him to go. Just a little more time. 

As you stare into Sylus’s eyes, you feel your stomach tighten. You decided to trust your instincts, not entirely sure if it was a good idea or not. You lower the gun, check the safety is on and place it on the floor before locking eyes with him again.

“I’m sleepy.”

“Uh…”

His confusion mirrors your own. You felt your cheeks burn and you hope he can’t tell in the low lighting. The past few months have flown by, you remember meeting Sylus and how much you initially hated him. But over time, you’d seen a side of him that made your heart pound and butterflies flutter in your stomach. You knew what you wanted. Sylus’s words echo in your mind.

I believe sincerity is not having to beat around the bush or play any games.

You had played your game and now, you felt guilty. You swallow your anxiety and square your shoulders.

“Can you… tuck me in?”

Sylus raises a brow and leans forward. His eyes scan your face, like he’s trying to figure something out.

“I thought a certain relentless hunter would ask about my destination.”

You cross your arms and pout dramatically.

“I care more about the present than an answer I can’t get. So… Are you doing it or not?”

“Of course, kitten.”

That damn smirk is back and you can’t stop staring at his mouth. He stands before leaning down to pick you up. You wrap your arms around his neck as he tucks an arm under your legs. He swiftly picks up your heels, which were discarded next to the couch. He looks down at you as he makes his way out of the sitting room and towards the stairs.

“This request is way more powerful than that little gun.”

You feel your heart pounding in your chest, your brain feels fuzzy. You try to keep your hands still and not give in to the temptation to drag your hand down his exposed chest. He had undone his tie and unbuttoned his shirt shortly after getting home, intending to change but you challenged him to your little game. It was like you were being punished for messing with him. He had just sat there, his torso on display for you. 

You kept your eyes on his face, trying to ignore the delicious firmness of his abdomen against your hip. He looks down at you, his eyes look… gentle? The smirk from downstairs was gone, replaced with a soft smile. You hear a clatter and glance over his shoulder to see your shoes discarded on the floor. His arm circling around your waist, his hand resting on your hip.

He enters the bedroom and strides to the couch next to the window. The snow was building up rather quickly, a thin sheet of white covering the lawn outside. He stops at the couch and waits for you to let go so he can set you down. But that all too familiar twinge of panic settles over you, keep him close.  “If you don’t want to lie down, I can keep holding you until I leave.”

Another memory flashes in your mind. The small yurt in the grasslands, the bed you shared with him, his strong arms wrapped around you keeping you warm.

Sincerity really is the best.

“What if I don’t want you to leave…?”

Sylus holds your gaze. You move your hand slowly and rest your palm against the side of his neck. His heart beat is rapid and his skin feels warmer than before.

“Then.. we better make the most of our time before dawn.”

He leans down, forcing you to set your feet on the floor. He stands before you, you barely realize your hand is still resting on his chest. God, you want this. You don’t want to lose your nerve.

You push him down onto the couch, he grunts, a brief expression of surprise gracing his face. You settle your knee between his legs. You press your hand against his chest again, your fingers itching to explore. He tilts his head forward and looks at you, his eyes urging you to continue. 

Actions do speak louder than words. And more sincere.

He’s right. You’ve tried to find the right words for the past three days and they always get lost between your brain and your mouth. It’s time to stop thinking so damn much. 

You caress his face, slipping your hand behind his neck. His reaction to your touch tells you everything you need to know. His shaky breath and the corner of his mouth curling upwards - his excitement palpable. You pull him to you and the moment your lips touch, your mind clears. His kiss is exactly like you imagined it to be. The kiss is needy and rapid, he moves like he is intoxicated. You wrap your arm around his neck, feeling his chest graze yours sets your skin ablaze again.

You bring your other knee down and straddle his leg, inching yourself closer to him. He places a hand on the back of your thigh and pulls you to him. Your bodies collide, your knee finally presses against his groin and your breath catches. He was so fucking hard. His hand trails up to your ass and he holds you close.

He pulls back for only a moment, his breathing unsteady and his eyes hazy. 

“You really don’t want me to leave?”

He leans forward once again to capture your lips. His hands start to explore your back, his fingers sending chills over your exposed skin. You roll your hips, desperate for more. He moans into your mouth, his tongue finally tracing your lips requesting entrance - you immediately oblige. His hands drift down to your waist and he lifts you, allowing you to shift and properly straddle him. 

You hold his shoulders in an attempt to steady yourself, but your thighs are already burning and you just want to sit down. But if you do that, he will undoubtedly feel how wet you are. Your panties soaked and your lace shorts wouldn’t serve as much of a barrier. You needed to change positions, you wanted to feel his body on top of you. You mumble into his mouth, your words lost amongst the messy kisses. Sylus opens his eyes and meets yours.

“Sylus, over there…”

Your head tilts towards the bed. He tucks his hands under your ass and lifts you up, your legs wrapping around him in an instant. His leg hits the bed and he sinks his knee into the mattress, slowly lowering you down onto your back, his lips never leaving yours.

As you settle on the bed, he pulls back to look at you. His cheeks flushed and his lips puffy. You reach up to lock your fingers behind his neck to pull him down. He holds back and that smug smile returns. His fingers caress your cheek and for a moment it’s like you are meeting him for the first time. But instead of cowering, you are holding on for dear life, never wanting to let go.

“Looks like we’re on the same page when it comes to not wanting to waste time.”

You try to control your breathing, but staring at him doesn’t help. You try to look away, but his hand catches your chin. He takes hold of your face, keeping you in place. 

“Stay focused, kitten.”

He covers your eyes with his other hand. 

“Don’t look.”

With your eyes covered, your other senses buzz to life. He starts kissing you again, his open mouth kisses leaving you even more breathless. He lets his tongue dip out and trace your lips before placing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. You finally allow yourself to moan, softly at first to test the waters. You feel his hips lower and he grinds against you. His response was more than you could have hoped for. Just the thought of him being so turned on by the sounds you make is almost enough to send you over the edge. 

All you can hear are your combined breathy moans and the pounding of your heart in your ears. He glides his hand down your arm and threads his fingers with yours. His thumb gently rubbing your palm.

When he finally removes his hand from over your eyes, you want to giggle at his love drunk expression. You’re not even sure he can still see you through the haze. You reach up and touch his cheek, his warmth seeping into your fingertips.

“Am I being too greedy… if I ask you to keep your eyes only on me?”

As you pull away, he grabs your hand. 

“You always had that right.”

He places a chaste kiss on your wrist.

“Which means…”

He leans down and places kisses along your neck and collarbone. You feel his lips drag across your skin and you clench your fists, grabbing a fistful of the comforter beneath you. Your moans are much louder now. His lips are so soft, and every time they make contact you feel your clit throb.

“You can be even greedier.”

He hovers just over your breast, he lets his lips press down gently, kissing your nipple through your top. You feel a burst of pleasure. You wanted nothing more than for his lips to explore every inch of your body.

He rises, reaching down to lift your leg beside him. His hand strokes your thigh before he bends to place a kiss on your knee. When his eyes meet yours again, the intensity behind his gaze overwhelms your senses.

“Do you want it, kitten?”

You take a moment and let your eyes roam. His silver necklace dangles from his neck, sweat has started to drip down his chest, his abs look tight - like he is tensing, awaiting your answer. And then you see how his pants have become much too tight, his erection threatening to break through the confines at any moment. There was only one answer to his question and you didn’t have to think.

“Yes.”

His smile vanishes as he leans in, hungry for more. The answer is yes, but you didn’t want him to think you could be tossed around like a ragdoll. Well, you wouldn’t mind that, but you didn’t want to feel powerless. You know what you like and what you want him to do to you. And what you want to do to him. 

You reach your hand up and place it firmly against his chest stopping him in his tracks. He grunts, his brows knit together and his eyes light up with panic. He regains his composure and  slowly lowers his hand under your knee, pulling you downwards. You feel your tits bounce at the sudden movement. 

“You haven’t changed your mind, have you?” 

He bends your knee once more, bringing your thigh up to his mouth. He kisses your inner thigh right by your knee. The thought of his kisses trailing down your thigh until he sinks his face into your soaked pussy…

“You just said ‘yes’?” 

His voice is needy and broken with his gasps for air.

“I’m hoping yes is still your answer because…”

He releases your thigh and slowly lowers himself on top of you. Your thighs spread open and he presses his erection against your center. He lowers to his elbows, tucks a hand under your waist and holds your face with the other.

“I just can’t hold back anymore.”

He traces your lips with his thumb before diving back in. His kisses seem more desperate now, he doesn’t wait for either of you to catch your breath. He nips at your lower lip and his intensity grows with every shift of your hips or moan echoing from your throat.

You start to feel dizzy. And not the fun kind of dizzy, the “I might pass out” kind.

“Sylus… I can’t breathe…”

You finally push Sylus away and try to catch your breath. You feel a strand of hair fall against your forehead, you try to blow it away, but it stays put. Sylus brushes it aside, tucking it behind your ear. 

He holds your chin, forcing you to look at him. He looks down at you and, while you’re completely clothed, you feel exposed. He can feel your body shiver, your nipples hard and needy beneath your blouse. He’s reading you like a book. He nuzzles his face into your neck. He sinks his teeth into the tender flesh above your collarbone. He’s fucking biting you. And god, it felt incredible. You can’t suppress a moan, but quickly clear your throat and try to be angry. 

“Hey, no biting here.”

He sighs.

“First you want it rough, now you want it soft… You’re a tough one to please tonight, kitten.”

He slides a hand behind your neck and soothes the sensitive skin with tender kisses. He pulls back, lifting his chest away from yours and looks down at you, his eyes glowing in the dim light.

“What do you really want? Won’t you be honest and tell me like you just did?”

You let your hands glide down his chest, digging your nails in as you pass over his nipples and down to his abs. You feel him shudder, here’s your chance.

“... I’m not falling for your tricks.”

You push his shoulder hard, he tips and you hook your leg, rolling him over. The change in positions allows you to finally take a deep breath. You plant your hands on his chest as you take in his shocked expression. You rarely catch him off guard, it’s a treat really. 

“I told you that a hunter doesn’t like being passive.”

His eyes narrow and he nods slowly. His hands wrap around your waist and he traces the zipper of your top. He tugs gently at the zipper tab, just enough to send the message.

“So, you want control.” His voice was raspy and so damn sexy.

Your new position was supposed to help you get more air, but with Sylus fiddling with your top, your chest heaves. You close your eyes and run your hands down his chest again, feeling the goosebumps rise across his skin under your fingertips.  

“Unfortunately, I can’t give it to you. Not yet, at least.”

He finally pulls the tab further down, the buzz of the teeth separating fills the room. Your top loosens and you feel his hand press against your newly exposed skin. He hesitates, giving you a moment to stop him. Instead, you pull the straps down and pull your top away, tossing it to the floor behind you. 

His hands slide up your back unhindered before gliding his hand around to cup your breast. The feeling of his palm on the underside of your tit makes you shiver. His thumb flicks over your nipple and you moan, throwing your head back. 

Your body is on fire as his hands explore your breasts, squeezing and tugging until you grab his wrists. He tucks his hands under your ass and lifts you, he sits up against the headboard. He wraps an arm around your waist while his other hand squeezes your breast, lifting it to his mouth. He rolls his tongue over the hardened peak before closing his lips around it. He holds your nipple between his teeth, not biting, but the pressure is enough to make you rock your hips against him. 

He releases your breast, his mouth moving to the other as he sinks his hand down the back of your shorts. He squeezes your ass while he suckles your breast, he’s painfully slow in his movements.

You try to lean back, the teasing becoming torturous. 

“... Don’t run.”

“You’re… so annoying…” Your voice barely above a whisper.

“I won’t deny it. I guess you can say I lied. Tonight, you’re not the only one feeling greedy…”

He picks you up, his hands under your thighs and you reach around his neck instinctively. He leans forward quickly and your back meets the bed again. His head dips down and he places kisses down your chest, kissing each nipple before continuing down your stomach.

“And I won’t be leaving until this greed is completely satisfied.” 

He reaches the waistband of your shorts and traces it with his finger. He hesitates. “Ah, I misspoke.”

You look down at him and watch him crawl over you until you’re face-to-face. 

“What…?”

He stares into your eyes, lifting a hand to gently hold your cheek.

“Greed can never be satisfied…”

He picks up your hand and places it against his chest. You feel his rapid heart beat. 

“But you can temporarily soothe it.”

His voice is calm, but the storm behind his eyes tugs at your heartstrings. He needs to know that you want him as much as he wants you.

“Say it again. Do you want it?”

You run your fingers through his damp hair. He closes his eyes and leans into your touch. You reach up and lock your fingers behind his neck, pulling him to you. You kiss him sweetly. He lets out a breath, as if he’d been holding it this whole time. You press your forehead to his.

“This is my answer.”

Sylus doesn’t hesitate to capture your lips once more. His hands move urgently to knead your breasts. You grab hold of his shirt and push it over his shoulders, he tugs the shirt loose and tosses it aside. Your hands explore his body, the definition of his abs, the curve of his chest, the deep V leading to the waistband of his pants.

He hooks his fingers and tugs your shorts and underwear down in one motion. The sudden burst of air against your core makes you moan loudly. You felt his fingers slide across your pussy, stopping at your clit to pinch and tug. You arch your back off the bed and cry out.

“Sy…!”

You hear a deep chuckle as the bed dips and you feel your legs being pushed apart. You look down in time to see his face dig into you. His nose rubs against your clit while his tongue presses into your entrance. He works slowly, reveling in your body reacting to every flick of his tongue. 

He shifts his mouth and sucks in your clit. You feel your hips twitch and you grind against his face. A deep moan of approval vibrates against your clit and your hands fly down to grip Sylus’s hair. Your tugs only earn you more groans and vibrations leaving you shaking. His finger circles your entrance and you buck your hips again.

“Sylus fuck…!”

You can feel him smile against your pussy. He wastes no time and presses in two fingers until his palm is flat against you. He curls them slowly and he strokes a spot that makes you see stars almost immediately. 

You’re shamelessly riding his hand now, your hips bucking every time he hits that spot. You feel tears pool and spill over. Your orgasm builds rapidly. You tug on Sylus’s hair once more, harder this time. He groans and pulls back just enough, his words muffled.

“Come for me, beautiful.” 

You hold your breath, calling on your remaining willpower to make this request.

“No, Sylus… I want… I need –”

His movements slow and he lifts his head to look at you, his fingers still pumping in and out slowly. You wiggle your hips away from his agile fingers, but Sylus grabs your hip, pressing you into the mattress to keep you still. 

“Tell me what you desire.” His voice is smooth as silk.

“I want you… inside me... Please Sylus...”

Sylus smiles, your arousal coats his chin and he licks his lips savoring your taste. He leans down to kiss you, slowly and purposefully. You taste yourself and whimper. He removes his fingers and runs his hands up your thighs.

“So direct.”

He reaches down to pull at his belt. You reach down to help him and he chuckles, placing his hand back on the bed to let you handle it. He rests his forehead against yours.

“I’ll give you anything you want, sweetie. Everything I have is yours.”

You unbutton his pants and slide down the zipper, your hands shaking as your mind reels from his words. You meet his gaze as your hand slides down the front of his boxers. You wrap your hand around the base of his cock and firmly drift your hand up and down. His mouth falls open and he gasps quietly.

“All I want is you.”

You feel lighter, like this secret you’d been keeping was weighing you down. And for what? You had finally let your guard down, you didn’t need it when you were with him. Not anymore. He was what you wanted, he made you feel safe, seen, beautiful, happy. 

Hearing your words stirred something in him. He looks down at you, his eyes glistening. The smile on his face is radiant and you trace it with your thumb, wanting to always remember this moment. 

He pulls your hand from his boxers before standing briefly to remove his pants and boxers completely. How he felt didn’t do him justice, he was going to fill you and then some. He chuckles, he must have seen your eyes widen. He crawls back onto the bed and hovers over you, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

“Don’t be afraid, kitten. I have you. I won’t hurt you.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down, his chest presses against you and you sigh at how perfect his skin feels against yours. One of his hands dips down and starts tracing languid circles around your clit. You kiss him hard, feeling his presence everywhere. 

He rolls you over to your side and guides your leg over his hip. His arm under you wrapping around your shoulder to keep you close. You hold his cheek before raking your fingers through his hair. 

You finally feel the head of his cock press against your entrance and you shudder. He reaches down, angles himself and then tucks his hand under your knee, lifting your leg higher. He starts to press into you and you have to break the kiss to groan in response. He takes his time, letting you adjust and stretch. He waits for you to push your hips forward, begging for more of him, before he continues. You grab a fistful of his hair and dig your nails into his back. 

“Are you ready? Tell me…”

His muffled words bring you back. You let out a breathy laugh and bury your face in his neck.

“Yes, Sy… all of you.”

He bucks his hips one last time and buries himself fully. You scream his name, completely overwhelmed. He strokes your hip and cradles your head. He kisses you slowly as he pulls out and rams back into you. You moan into his mouth, incoherent words tumble from your lips.

“You’re so… perfect, so… so beautiful…” 

His words are broken, his pace quickening with every syllable. You start to match his movements, feeling him deeper and deeper with every thrust. He rolls you on your back once more and you wrap your legs around his waist, locking your heels. His lips trail down your neck to your chest, his pace never faltering. 

“Feels so – ngh – you feel so good Sy… oh god…”

His moans start to sound like whimpers as he takes in your praises. You want to hear him and feel him and hold him, always. Your muscles clench and you feel the pressure building, Sylus can feel it too, your walls fluttering around him bringing him close to the brink as well. He starts to thrust faster, his hands finding your breasts again to pinch and tug at your swollen nipples. 

Your thighs burn from how tightly you’re holding onto him and pulling yourself upwards. Every nerve is on fire and your lungs burn with how hard you are breathing. His pace starts to become erratic, his hips stuttering. 

“Come for me, Sy. Come in me…”

He holds his breath, trying to slow down and hold off, but you’re not letting him. You realize he wanted control, but really he never had it. Not completely. His pleasure is directly linked to your own. And he wants to give you everything you desire. Right now, all you desire is feeling his release deep inside you. He’s already made his way into your heart and now… 

That’s when it hits you. You place kisses along his jaw and down his neck. You sink your teeth into his skin and the way he moans your name sends you right over the edge. You release his neck and throw your head back, chanting his name louder and louder. Your climax gushes across his abdomen and thighs, soaking the sheets beneath you. 

“Fuck fuck fuck…”

Sylus tries to continue his movements, but once he sees the intensity of your release he can’t hold back. You feel the warmth of his cum and nearly cry out with how full you feel. His cock buried deep inside you, his cum filling you to the brim, his voice singing your name, his lips peppering your face and neck with open mouth kisses. 

He slowly pulls out and you unhook your legs, you fall to the bed and your legs tremble. Sylus rubs your hips, massaging them carefully. Your breathing steadies and you force your eyes open. Sylus hovers above you, he looks at you with so much admiration and joy, his hair slicked back with sweat, his neck bearing the mark you left. You reach up to hold his face, stroking his cheeks softly. 

“My beloved…” You whisper.

Sylus collapses on top of you, burying his face in your neck, smothering you with a thousand kisses. You wrap your arms around him and hold him close. You’ve never felt so at peace. 

You desperately want more, but your mind is drifting. Sylus senses your exhaustion, he rolls off of you, sits up to grab the blanket from the bottom of the bed, covers you both and drapes an arm over your waist. You roll on your side and lean back, letting him pull you to him until your back is flat against his chest. You lift your head and Sylus slips his arm under, letting you use his arm as a pillow. You let out a deep contented sigh. 

With Sylus holding you close, his steady breaths fanning your ear, his heart beat putting you at ease, it doesn’t take long for you to fall into a dreamless sleep. You wonder if you’ll ever dream again? What’s left to dream of? You have everything you could possibly dream of right here.

AN (part 2): I want to note a few things real quick. Even with their dialogue about control, I feel like it was less about who dominates and more about love making. I also FIRMLY believe MC has a TON of control. In my opinion, Sylus enjoys dominance in the act, but not necessarily in the relationship. He will do anything she desires. Thank you for reading!! :)

Tag List (comment if you wanna be added!): @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human @kitsunetori @babyx91 @libriomancer @lilyadora @crowskitten22

[rottenfyre]

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ 𓇼 ࣪ BOUND BY BLOOD 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒⠀

☆⁠ PAIRING : Yandere Batboys x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : Ranking Them From Worst To Best As A Father.

☆⁠ CHARACTERS : Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, 90s Tim Drake, Damian Wayne.

☆⁠ NOTE : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

⎯ 1. DAMIAN WAYNE

Damian would be the absolute worst father as a yandere. To him, the child is not a beautiful product of your love but an unwanted distraction. Your attention belongs solely to him, and the baby becomes his rival from the moment they’re born. He’d tolerate the child for a while, but if your affection leaned even slightly toward the baby more than him? Damian’s jealousy would fester. He emotionally neglect the child and even harbor disturbing thoughts about getting rid of the "threat" to restore your focus to him. If the child cried too much or interrupted his time with you, Damian’s cold, sharp temper would flare. You’d have to constantly shield your baby from his wrath. "You should be with me," Damian snaps, his voice cutting as he watches you rock your baby to sleep. His eyes narrow. "You’ve been ignoring me all day because of... that."

⎯ 2. JASON TODD

Jason’s relationship with the child is complicated. On one hand, he sees them as a part of you—someone to protect and cherish. On the other, his deep insecurities could make him jealous of the attention the baby takes away from him. He’s unlikely to harm the child, but his temper could lead to emotionally volatile moments. Jason might unintentionally make the child feel like they’re competing for your love. He would struggle to find balance, often pulling you away to spend time with him instead of parenting. His own trauma colors his ability to be a stable father, even though he genuinely loves both you and the child. "I’m not saying I don’t care about the kid," Jason mutters, running a hand through his hair. His eyes meet yours, frustrated and vulnerable. "I just need you, okay? I need you more."

⎯ 3. 90s TIM DRAKE

Tim is more detached as a father, not because he doesn’t care but because he overanalyzes everything. He sees the child as a tool to keep you close—an anchor to bind you to him forever. While he wouldn’t intentionally harm or neglect the child, his obsession with you overrides his parental instincts. Tim might use the child to manipulate you subtly, ensuring you don’t leave him. He’s not overtly cruel, but his priorities are clear: you come first. The child’s needs are secondary to keeping you within his grasp. "We’re a family now," Tim says softly, his hand brushing over yours. His eyes gleam with determination. "And families don’t leave each other. Ever."

⎯ 4. BRUCE WAYNE

Bruce’s obsession with control means he would take his role as a father seriously, even in a yandere context. However, his need to micromanage everything could lead to him treating the child more like a future Wayne heir than a person. While he wouldn’t harm or neglect the child, his emotionally distant nature might make him seem cold and unapproachable as a father. He would still provide everything the child needs materially and intellectually, but emotionally, his obsession with you takes precedence. "He will grow up strong," Bruce assures you, his tone pragmatic. "But only if we guide him together. You’ll stay, won’t you? For them?"

⎯ 5. DICK GRAYSON

Surprisingly, Dick would be the best father among the Batboys, even in a yandere scenario. His obsession with you doesn’t diminish his natural warmth and love for his child. He genuinely wants a happy family and sees the baby as a beautiful extension of your love. Dick is attentive, nurturing, and emotionally present. He might occasionally feel jealous if the baby takes up too much of your attention, but he wouldn’t let it affect his treatment of the child. His focus would be on creating a harmonious family where everyone feels loved—especially you. "She got your eyes," Dick says with a soft smile, cradling your baby in his arms. He glances at you, his voice thick with emotion. "I didn’t think I could love anyone more than I love you... but I do."

FINAL RANKING : Worst to Best

1. Damian Wayne – Jealous and potentially dangerous.

2. Jason Todd – Overwhelmed by insecurities and prone to jealousy.

3. Tim Drake – Calculated and emotionally distant.

4. Bruce Wayne – Dutiful but prioritizes control over connection.

5. Dick Grayson – The most nurturing and balanced, even as a yandere.

ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ: ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ.

[kaissatou]

Namgyu hcs namgyu hcss, there's almost nothing about him😭😭😭 and I got such a love-hate relationship with this guy so it would be cool something like love-hate related? Maybe headcanons or whatever you like where namgyu and reader aren't even a couple but it's like a hot and cold thing, teasing each other all the time..? IDK HOW TO EXPLAIN IT LMAOOO But yk yk, let your mind flow, it can be nsfw too, however you see fitting!

sorry if this isn’t quite what you wanted lovely, thank you for requesting ♡ afab!reader. not yet proofread!!

fwb!namgyu who never fails to get on your last nerve. He also never fails to milk your gooey little pussy dry. He isn’t your friend- he also isn’t your enemy, but he certainly isn’t your lover.

fwb!namgyu who (lightly) smacks the back of your head whenever he’s behind you purely to annoy you, and totally not to feel the softness of your hands on his chest as you push him away, muttering curses. He hopes you don’t seem to notice the hearts in his eyes, his soft irises suddenly enlarging. You don’t need to see his small grin as he walks off, either.

Constantly going back and forth with fwb!namgyu until he’s pushing you against the wall before you can clock it, his soft lips massaging your own in a sloppy spell, like he’s trying to claim you as his own. Fuck it. You slip a hand into his hair, tangling your fingers between loose strands with a delicious pull that has him- was that a moan? Fuck it. Once can’t hurt.

fwb!namgyu whose got you bent on your bed, back arching in a position that you didn’t know was even possible for you until now. Hips smacking into your own roughly, animalistic grunts filling your ears. A firm hand wrapped around your hair, the pulls adorning your whines as he caresses and cradles that messy sweet spot as he’s balls deep within you. Your face pressed onto the sheets, your overstimulated tears rolling onto the pillow.

It was never just once. After that fateful night it was practically impossible to keep your hands off of each other. Soft touches in the hallway and if you blinked you would’ve missed it, to more obvious things like a loud, breathy kiss the second you open the door and let him in, his limbs intertwining with your own.

fwb!namgyu who used to send you up? messages to you in the middle of the night (hinting that he’s down to fuck) before getting an ounce of dignity. Now, it’s can i come see u?

fwb!namgyu who knows he’s fucked when his mind can’t even imagine teasing you anymore. fwb!namgyu who stays up late at night with your pretty grin wngrained into his mind, the way your eyes curl as he makes you laugh. And then he’s imagining the way your lip curled into a small that one time, and he’s disgusted with himself that he ever let that pretty smile fade. He rolls over to emerge himself into the covers, in hopes of silencing thoughts of you.

fwb!namgyu whose heart drops when you phone him in the middle of one night, the crackle of your shitty network not failing to hide the heart wrenching sobs of yours that had his stomach twisting uncomfortably, his hands itching uncontrollably.

And instantly he’s driving to you before he can stop it, before you can say anything else, his hands gripping the wheel oh so tight, but he can’t even feel it, he can’t even think of anything but you. He’s never done this for a girl before. He’s never done this for you. fwb!namgyu, who’s pretty brown eyes are filled with worry as you let him in, instantly engulfing your sorrow filled frame in a tight embrace.

fwb!namgyu whose heart lets you cry in his arms and whispers pretty words of reassurance to you, a different Namgyu that you knew. A Namgyu that you could grow to…love?

fwb!namgyu who doesn’t seem to annoy you anymore. The same Namgyu whose presence you learn to yearn for. fwb!namgyu who never fails to provide you with flowers whenever he visits. Namgyu who doesn’t visit only for sex anymore, but for movie nights, dinner dates, and things he once deemed before as all too romantic. fwb!namgyu who wants it all, with you.

boyfriend!namgyu whos fucking making love to you so delicately, so softly, so in love, so different from how it was before. boyfriend!namgyu whose got you in missionary, his hair tickling against your neck, his face coming down to your neck, his pretty pink lips adorning your neck. So loving.

Boyfriend!namgyu whose making you take him deeeeep, peppering your face with kisses and shushing your whimpers and whines and moans with i know, I know, shh… His pretty cock filling you to the brim, like the puzzle peice you’ve being missing your whole life.

Boyfriend!namgyu who wakes you up with the smell of coffee and orange juice, your naked body cascaded and hidden like a prize under the soft silk of your duvet, a fullfilled smile hanging lazily on your lips, and the remnant of his kisses. He’ll just have to replace those memories with new ones.

[avonsdrabbles]

You know, I wanna add to this.

My parents… tried. They tried to come to my everything. They taped what they could so we could always have it on disk. My childhood was spent rewatching videos of my major events, none of which feel major now as a 27 year old. But they were major then. And with how much therapy I’ve gone through, I finally can recognize — can finally remember — how good that felt.

And how horrible it felt when that wasn’t the case.

Later in my life, before cutting them off, my dad lamented about how he had never been there for me. How he had work often when I was a child, so he missed a lot of my developmental ages. He tried to make up for this later in life; he built me toys and games, talked with me about various topics he thought would appeal.

They all fell flat. There was always some aspect of it that was missing. The air hockey table he built (which I appreciated, genuinely, especially since it was based on the joy I had with my sister, playing a makeshift one in my room) was in the garage where he smoked, and my asthma wouldn’t allow for playing. Every conversation we had that I was passionate about resulted in an argument as passions flared, and it became easier not to talk at all.

He would tout this failure of his to connect to me as a child as the reason I came out to mom, first. In some degrees, I think he’s right. I think it was a factor, at least.

But the biggest thing I can recognize as an adult is… I get it. He couldn’t be there as much. Just… physically. My father is disabled, was making the most money in the household, and we needed that income to continue with our way of life. My parents worked their asses off to provide for my sister and I, and we had a very comfortable lifestyle because of it. But that work came at the cost of connection.

I guess what I’m saying is… I can recognize, now, how necessary it was. But I wasn’t an idiot then. I could’ve understood, had anyone just explained it properly.

“Dad couldn’t come; he had work.”

To a 5 year old, that’s not an excuse. Can’t you just take off work? Can’t you just come? What sort of world do we live in where work is more important than (checks) my fifth grade play where I’ll screech at the top of my lungs??

“Dad had a headache.”

To a 5 year old, fuck that. I’ve had headaches at school before. Nevermind that my father had an aneurysm, I don’t know that word.

If you can’t make it, please, fucking explain to your child why, in ways they can understand!!! And do it BEFORE you miss, whenever possible.

“Hey honey; I want to come, but my boss is evil and won’t give me time off. If I don’t go to my job, I can’t afford your magic tree house books. I know this recital means a lot for you, but I know those books matter a lot too. Is it okay for me to miss this one, if I promise to see you on the camera later?”

Just give that reassurance.

Help your child through the grief of not seeing you there. Prepare them for it.

my parents never came to anything I did.

I have so many memories about this, but one in particular: when I was away at camp with 89 other teenagers, and at the one-month mark the post was collected distributed to all the dorms. 89 other children tore open their boxes and, shovelling handfuls of sweets their parents had sent them into their mouths, read pages-long letters and handed around photos of their brothers and sisters.

I didn't. I didn't get anything, I sat on my empty bed watching them. The teachers had to call my parents and ask if perhaps the post had gone missing...? but my parents were surprised they were required to interact with me while I was away.

Well, today, my 3-year-old daughter had a fun-run. The childcare centre invited parents to come but stressed that if we weren't able to, it was alright. There was no fucking way I wasn't going. My daughter wasn't going to be the only child there without a parent watching.

I got time off work and stood there in the beating sun and plastered in greasy sunscreen waiting to see my little girl emerge from inside the centre and stand on the track.

When she did, her little eyes searched through the crowd person-by-person for me, and absolutely lit up like the sun when she spotted me.

Mine filled with tears as I waved at her and cheered.

I'm breaking the cycle.

[leonw4nter]

I Love My Wife!!!

Husband!DI!Leon x F!Reader

A downside to being one of the DSO’s top performing and most trusted agents since 1999 is to be entrusted with handling the new generation of fresh-faced recruits, training them in all aspects necessary to become the next best assets the government has in their fight against BOWs. With each new generation he trains, their slang only gets weirder as they get younger; just the other day, they called him ‘mama’ and said that ‘a girl behind you’. He looks back and sees no one, much to his pupils’ amusement and his ever-increasing confusion.

“What the hell does that mean now?” He asks Hunnigan over lunch before he takes a bite from the egg sandwich you prepared for him. “I never told them about the baby announcement and she didn’t visit yesterday.”

“Oh you know, it’s the kids’ slang. They don’t even make sense anymore,” she says with a restrained smile. “They don’t really mean anything, you just need to see the videos that provide the context but each time the context doesn’t even make sense.”

“Kids these days,” he mumbles as he shakes his head. His blond-turned-brown locks sway with the slight movement.

“Oh relax, you were their age once.” The communications expert agent teases.

“Yes, but our slang was never this nonsensical,” he retorts. “If you guessed smart enough you could figure out what the words actually meant back in ‘98.”

“Good point,” she agrees before digging into her salad. “They’re bringing back everything from the late 90s though: low-rise pants, flared jeans, mini shoulder bags, and so much more that I thought we left behind in the past.”

Lunch continued on smoothly with small conversations in between bites of sandwich and sips of soda. The phone on Leon’s chest pocket buzzed to life, an illuminated rectangle revealed behind thin cloth. Wiping his hands, he fishes it out and checks the caller ID.

“Gotta take this one,” he says as he gets up from the table. “She’s calling.”

He walks outside of the store and into a not-so-busy sidewalk, not letting his phone ring for a little longer.

“Hey sweetpea,” he says. “How’s your day goin’?”

He vividly visualizes your smile right before you speak. “Oh y’know, it’s great. Yours?”

“It’s been great too,” he can’t resist but let a smile tug the corner of his lips upward. “Why’d you call? Need anything?”

“Nope,” you pop the ‘P’ sound. “Just wanted to hear your voice today. Stupid reason, I know.”

“No, it’s not stupid sweetheart. I wanted to hear your voice too,” he softly responds. “Day’s going to be busy for me: bigwigs are making me teach theoreticals to the rookies today, it’s been a while since I’ve done one of these. They’re always boring.”

“I’ve never sat through one of your lessons but it already sounds boring,” you comment with a dramatic sigh.

“Are you saying that my teaching is boring?” He asks, voice laced with feigned offense.

“Well…” you trail off, breaking into a small giggle.

“You just broke my heart, ouch.”

“Kidding!” You swiftly respond even though you know his feelings were never hurt in the first place. “You’re such a drama queen.”

“That’s why I’m your husband.”

“Okay, that’s enough cheesiness for today mister. That’s all, you can get back to your lunch now.”

“That was just one joke,” he points out. “Okay, I’ll get back inside and demolish the rest of the sandwich you made me. Take care of yourself and the baby for me while I’m at work, okay honey?”

“Yes, I will, don’t worry.”

“Okay, that’s great. You end the call, I love you so much.”

“I love you too, baby.”

The call ends so he brings his phone away from his ear, lovingly taking a moment to admire your beaming self saved as his contact photo– you, bundled in dense scarves and insulating layers, smiling brightly at him in the middle of a street covered in crunchy white now. He walks back in the shop, taking his seat to finish up the rest of his snack and energize for the long day that is yet to unfurl.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

Nightfall has finally seized the day, the absence of the sun in the sky prompting Leon to swiftly pack his belongings and drive home to his darling wife. Just as he finally zips his laptop sleeve, his coworker Patrick leans on his cubicle and starts talking.

“Got any plans?” A loaded question.

“Yeah,” he says as he locks his drawer. “Stayin’ home with the missus and watching TV.”

“Me and the others are going out for drinks tonight. It’s been a week and I think we all deserve to unwind, no?”

“Mhm,” Leon hums absent-mindedly as he makes sure that there’s nothing plugged on his desk.

“C’mon, man. A drink or two with us won’t hurt, we’ll be at a bar a few minutes away from here. Drinks are on Miller and Ronson,” Patrick adds. Leon hasn’t touched a glass of alcohol in months, his previous alcohol issue and current sobriety progress kept secret amongst his most trusted circle. Patrick, and the rest of the agency, is oblivious to his relationship with alcohol.

“Thanks for the offer but I’ll definitely pass,” the seasoned agent coolly says as he slings his bag over his shoulder. “Bars aren’t really my scene.”

The curly-haired agent’s shoulders slumped but he took Leon’s answer, gaze trailing after him as he neared the door.

“If you’ll be in here a little longer, don’t forget to shut the lights on your way out.”

Patrick’s back straightens up and nods, following after Leon since he doesn’t have any business to do in the room now that Leon’s made his mind on heading straight to home.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

The ringing of the doorbell shifts your attention from laying out skincare materials on the kitchen island, face masks and other sheets cool from being kept in the fridge. You excitedly skip over to the front door, walking normally on the remaining half of the lap because ever since that test showed positive, you’ve been a lot more susceptible for motion sickness.

“Welcome home sweetie pie,” you greet your husband in a silvery singsong voice as you engulf him in a hug of unmeasurable comfort. He leans into your touch, melting in the middle of your arms as he returns a hug of his own.

“Missed you s’much,” his voice muffled from his face burrowed in the crook of your neck. His arms encircling your frame tightens slightly, wordlessly communicating his yearning for your affectionate touches.

“Tired?” You ask as you pull away from the hug and invite him in, keeping him company by the doorstep as he takes off his coat and shoes.

“Mhm,” he affirms. “Didn’t do anything physical today but y’know, it’s still a pretty draining workday today.”

“A coworker invited me for drinks in town after work hours ended but I declined,” he adds before he could forget. “That could never match up to a night staying in with you.”

“It’s nice that they thought of inviting you. That's progress from everyone aside from Hunnigan being intimidated and too scared to approach you,” you point out. “Anyway, I got a surprise for you!”

One glance at your glowing smile and infectious elation soothes your husband’s spirit, giving him an added boost of energy. “Yeah? What is it?”

“It’s a surprise for a reason, dummy. Freshen up first and I’ll show you. Close your eyes when you pass by the kitchen!”

“Gotta hold my hand first, I might bump into something and seriously concuss myself.”

“Leon we’ve lived in this house for 4 years, you know the layout like the back of your hand.” Despite that, you still take his hand and lead him.

He’s finally freshened up, now wearing a worn-out sleep shirt paired with Batman pajama bottoms. His head rests on your lap, your fingers idly playing with his silky soft tresses as you watch one of those corny reality TV shows about finding love on boats– or tropical cruise getaways, you corrected him moments ago; he makes more than enough money to spoil you to a tropical cruise so he makes a mental note to start some research while you’re asleep. His hair is kept away from his face by a fuzzy Mike Wazowski headband, matching with your own fuzzy Sully headband as chilled face masks rest on your faces. There’s sliced cucumbers resting on his eyes and a jelly lip mask on his already-perfect lips, challenging his resolve to stay awake and listen to you rant about Basic White Man with A Beard and A Tan #3’s stupid decision. Playing with his hair is tempting him to fall asleep but carefully scratching his scalp while you’re at it? It’s like you’re commanding him to drift off to Dreamland ASAP.

“Man, I love my wife,” Leon quietly murmurs to himself before he’s out cold, snoring deeply. Despite your yapping, you didn’t miss his words and blush to yourself. He must’ve had a truly exhausting day so you lay a blanket over his sleeping frame and turn the TV off.

“Hey, do you know what ‘mama a girl behind you’ means? I’ve been hearing it from my trainees all day.”

NOTES - yipee, first di!leon fic in... 7 months :0 ?!?!?! this fic is pretty much just stream of consciousness, i wrote the fic + formatted the post while listening to ASMR and actively fighting off sleep (it's quarter to 4AM in my area uyurhgrh). i kept repeating 'mama a girl behind YOU 💜' in my head randomly so i was like "hey yk what why not add that into my fic heehee so silly :D" and thus this fic was conceived. also guys i read on twitter that re9 takes place 4 years after re:village and since leon's there... we're going to see his chronological appearance which also means he'll look old... mmm yummy :3 and he's dripped out similarly to re:damnation... mmm yummy :3 also my nail is peeling off so imma have to lay off of nail polish for a bit aw :'( anyways, thank you to everyone supporting me and reading my fics!!!!!!!! I <3333333333 UUUUUUUUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The dividers (hearts and support banner) are made by @cafekitsune , the images are made by me (sourced from Pinterest).

[gingerteawrites]

Angels- Nanami Kento

Content: Nanami x reader, reverse comfort, a bit angsty, fluff.

A/N: It's been a while since I wrote something new for my boo, so here comes a little drabble. I've been feeling a bit under the weather these past few days, but I really wanted to share this, so I hope you enjoy. Inspired by this fanart.

divider by: @saradika-graphics

Nanami had survived Shibuya. Your entire being shook when you laid your eyes on the man, barely holding onto his life in that hospital bed. You approached on unsteady feet, choking on your sobs as you knelt by him. Nanami had survived. Despite all the pain, all the injuries. And you thanked every deity on the face of the earth for returning you your husband.

The first few months are hard. With the extent of his injuries, Nanami needs your assistance for everything. Eating, cleaning up, dressing, the list goes on.

You are eager to oblige, of course. But watching you work so hard, driving yourself to exhaustion. It kills him inside.

The man you married was a provider through and through. One who took great pride in taking care of you. But now reduced to a shell of his former self, his mind threatens to crumble under the weight of guilt and shame. You deserved so much better than this. Than him.

"Kento," you fixed him with a stern gaze, already cognizant of the thoughts that poisoned his mind. He did not speak them, he never would. But you knew them. You knew him. "I know that this is different... and difficult," your fingers intertwined with his uninjured ones, "But you're here, with me," tears filled your eyes, but you held on. You needed to be strong, for the both of you. "And that's all that matters. So please, let me do this for you."

-------------------------------------༄༄༄-------------------------------------

Things are a bit easier with your steady hands and tender words. In sickness and in health, you often remind him. Pouring out your heart, plowing through your own exhaustion.

Little by little, physical injuries heal, and Nanami's life regains a semblance of normalcy. He returns to the activities he had once considered routine. One step at a time.

But the scars that marred his skin served as a dreadful reminder of a life forever altered. People stare and children hide at the sight of him. All hard lines and sharp edges.

But with you, he softens. Loved in his entirety; ugliness, insecurity and all. In the warmth of your embrace, Nanami lets it all go. You kiss the scars, trailing your lips delicately across his skin, endowing each blemish with your perfect love.

Nanami's heart swells. He pulls you even closer, kissing you with a desperation that is scarcely displayed.

"My angel on earth," he whispers against your lips, holding your jaw tenderly, tracing your skin with his rough fingers. "I adore you, my darling," his voice shakes, overcome with emotion. With the knowledge that you were here. That you would never leave.

He feels you tremble under his touch, knowing that you knew.

You held him together when his very soul threatened to shatter. And in this moment he focused on holding you, letting you unravel under his reverent touch. Hoping that you could feel even a fraction of the love that filled his being at the mere thought of you, his guardian angel.

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated (❁´◡`❁)

[plasticfreckles]

ok nvm im coming back to this

lucanis dellamorte the snooker player

illario is also one

there's a whole thing about lucanis being better (=ranking higher) that makes illario salty af (honestly tho maybe Lucanis is just better at compartmentalizing the baize and the game only as opposed to the whole competition/championship thing. Skillset-wise, they have different points of focus, but them playing pvp is actually always really close (and really long!) matches. High-breaks and centuries left right and center but also the "i will lightly slap the cushion to show my respect for the shot you just made" A LOT.

there's a lot of post-game slander that is very not gentlemen's sport

but they also love each other

lucanis is like "i mean illario has some MEAN offensive game and I'm more on the safeties sort of side. Incredible break-building."

and illario's like "man's is so SLOW it really takes me out of my flow >:(" [but deep down he admires that lucanis can and will take as long as he needs to leave the baize with the most incredible snooker played to date] [i need this bc I need to believe in the good in ppl and that ronnie o'sullivan isn't just a maladjusted entity >:(]

but when they're both in the World Championship finale it's the singular most watched snooker event ever, they will talk about it for years to come. Jan Verhaas will return from retirement specifically to referee this match. Michaela Tabb will also return to snooker to watch the computer part of it [like the one that supervises from a distance so support Jan in resetting the table after complicated situations].

Rolf Kalb will ALSO return from retirement to provide legendary live commentary for German-speaking audiences.

They will spawn an entire new generation of snooker players who, when asked what made them want to become professional, be like "the 9:64 Dragon Thedas Championship finale between the Dellamortes."

The little fancy commentary room they have in the Crucible for the BBC that is like entirely retired pro players at this point will have a field day. They will find a nickname for that match. Something outrageous like "Dellamorte Deathmatch" or "Combat of the Cousins"

and bc players also have nicknames in snooker

Lucanis "The Demon" Dellamorte [I thought of going Mage Killer and then make Illario The Mage but that's a little too far and there's already like 50 mage-adjacent nicknames on the main tour, so] His walk-in music would either be My Demons by Starset (bc I'm hilarious) or some tacky instrumental tune from a lovesong OR Michal's Kein Bock

Illario "Mage Killer" Dellamorte [bc he's a killer who's learnt magic lmao. no I just ran out of juice for this. I just wanted to see if I got any feedback on my thesis yet :(] Walk-in music: Scream by Bronnie or Scarecrow by Lordi

If they're healed anough to joke about it after the Thedas Championship final they will call each other "The Heir" and "The Spare", dependent on who won lmao.

kthxbye

if you have a niche sport/job/hobby it’s your sacred duty to make the most specific incomprehensible AUs with the characters you like. no more coffeeshop aus no more college aus you have to put those guys in a microbial lab. your fave is a high school english teacher. that show is about bowling now sorry. THIS IS MANDATORY!!!

[stellarsecrets86]

Moon in Signs of Groom Persona Chart

Other posts you might like

Masterlist

(PS: For entertainment purposes only. Have fun❤️)

[In astrology, the Moon is said to represent emotions, intuition, inner needs, and the way one nurtures and is nurtured. In the groom pc, it is closely related to the subconscious, reflecting how he emotionally responds to his surroundings and relationships, especially with his spouse. The Moon also reflects habits, instincts, and the way the groom establishes emotional security within marriage. Understanding the placement of the Moon in the chart of the groom pc provides insight into his emotional depth, needs in relationships, and ways he processes feelings.]

🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹

Moon in Aries

Moon in Aries makes the spouse emotionally dynamic, passionate, and straightforward. He processes feelings fast and often acts on them without a second thought. In marriage, he is enthusiastic, wanting a partner who can match his energy and spontaneity. Yet, he may struggle with impatience and emotional impulsiveness, needing a spouse who provides balance and encourages reflection. His instinct is to take charge emotionally, and he thrives in a relationship where his independence is respected.

Moon in Taurus

He is practical emotionally and loyal; a man of relationship stability. Feeling secure is evoked in him by tactile expressions of love, shared comfort, and sensations. A person with his Moon in Taurus becomes a marriage-partner-nurturing, steadfast husband, eager to establish in marriage a life overflowing with peacefulness and beauty. His great attachment to the customary may resist innovation, however, so his partner needs to stimulate it. He is very affectionate and committed to long-term relationships, so he can be a very good partner for those who need emotional constancy.

Moon in Gemini

Spouse is intellectually curious, communicative, and emotionally versatile. He thinks out loud about his feelings and wants a partner who enjoys deep, engaging conversations. He brings excitement and adaptability into marriage but may struggle with emotional consistency or depth. His wife will appreciate his vivacious mind and help him delve into the depths of his psyche at the same time. This position does make him a light-hearted, jocular husband who values intellectual rapport no less than emotional intimacy.

Moon in Cancer

Spouse is loving, sensitive, intuitively emotional, and his very special attention remains riveted upon building a nest-a warm home, where love continues to overflow; he needs to be wanted and felt indispensable in married life. Yet this sensitivity could as well invite mood swings or emotional vulnerability, for which an assured and sympathetic partner becomes vital. This position is indicative of a husband deeply attached to family and home, wherein the spouse's emotional equilibrium becomes his foremost concern.

Moon in Leo

The groom pc with Moon in Leo craves attention, admiration, and emotional assurances. He is generous, warm-hearted, and loves to show his emotions with big displays. He marries for a life partner who will make him feel special and appreciated, with the same kind of enthusiasm he has for life. At times, though, he may have pride or an over-need for recognition. His spouse needs to balance the attention he requires with encouragement toward humility and emotional balance. He is passionate and a loyal husband who adds drama and excitement in the relationship.

Moon in Virgo

Moon in Virgo in groom pc is emotionally analytical, practical, and profoundly caring. The way he loves is by serving and paying attention to the minute details in life, working toward creating a sense of order and security in marriage. He might get into overanalyzing or self-criticism, extending that to others around him. His wife will have to reassure him frequently and keep telling him that this is not an exercise in perfection, but a wedding. He bases the relationships on mutual assistance, pragmatism, and common goals - an absolute guarantee of the seriousness of this young man as a life partner.

Moon in Libra

Groom is harmonious, balanced, and fair in his relations:. He flourishes in a relationship where there is an exchange of feelings. He often idealizes love and romance. He is diplomatic and yielding in marriage to maintain peace and connection. The negative side of this is indecisiveness or suppression of feelings. A spouse will have to be encouraging toward sharing feelings and support his need for balance emotionally. He values beauty, partnership, and shared dreams, making him a charming and committed husband.

Moon in Scorpio

Moon in Scorpio in groom pc husband is intense emotionally, passionate, and transformative. He feels deeply and looks for a marriage that's as deep and intimate. He desires emotional depth and loyalty in relationships and forms bonds with his spouse that are very hard to break. But this same intensity at times finds him possessive or struggling with too much closeness of emotions. The partner will be called upon to handle his deeper emotions while he is learning to trust and stabilize them. This placement presents the husband bringing emotional power and transformative growth to the marriage.

Moon in Sagittarius

Husband could be adventurous, optimistic, and emotionally expansive. He values the freedom and explorer aspects of marriage, preferring a partner similarly enthusiastic about taking life's trips. He brings joy and humor into his relationships, is often philosophical, and is likely to tell his spouse to dream big. Where he may sometimes fall short is in emotional inconsistency or an avoidance of deeply felt emotions. His spouse will take his adventurous nature and help channel it into deeper emotional grounding. This placement describes a husband who brings growth and excitement into a relationship.

Moon in Capricorn

Moon in Capricorn is in groom pc emotionally reserved, disciplined, and seeks stability in marriage. He deals with feelings in a practical, organized manner and will often put responsibilities before emotional expression. He is responsible in relationships and works hard to establish a safe and prosperous life with his partner. However, he may find it difficult to be vulnerable or allow excessive attention from his partner for worldly success. The partner would need to motivate him to open up emotionally and remind him that shared feelings matter. Being a very dedicated and hardworking husband, he is deeply involved in long-term marriage stability.

Moon in Aquarius

Moon in Aquarius here is emotionally free, creative, and in search of mental contact in love relationships. He thinks through emotions with reason and objectivity and can often bring a very different perspective when emotional issues need resolution. Marriage must be a partnership based on mutual respect, individuality, and shared ideals. Emotional detachment or inability to show deeper emotions may be a challenge. A spouse would have to value his progressive outlook while encouraging emotional expression. This placement describes a husband who values freedom, equality, and innovation in the relationship.

Moon in Pisces

A Pisces groom is emotional, empathetic, and intuitive groom. He strongly feels the emotions of his spouse as his own and mostly reciprocates unconditional love and support. It is spiritual and emotional understanding that he seeks from marriage, lays emphasis on compassionate committal of shared dreams. Highly sensitive, he runs into escapism and is unable to tackle practical issues. His partner will have to provide grounding energy while appreciating his romantic and imaginative nature. He is a very loving and sacrificing husband, adding magic and spirituality to a marriage.

{Each Moon sign carries unique emotional needs and strengths the groom brings into marriage and shapes how he nurtures his spouse to create emotional security in the relationship.}

[jazzyolivervo]

Aight. Let's tackle this point by point.

Content Warning for the screenshot below: Death threats.

"Jazzy is saying they're nice because she's afraid they won't hire her anymore."

I've left paid jobs because the clients did things I wasn't happy with. I left an entire project with a cast of personal VO heroes of mine because I was not happy with the client's overall behavior. Is my income important? Sure. But it's not nearly as important as my morals. I'm a very blunt individual. If I don't like people, I will say it to their faces. Like this.

Hey, ii-neg! I don't like you! Or anyone who follows you! Especially with how much you wish death onto the II creators. Something I DO have proof of. Don't believe me?

Looky! I posted evidence! It ain't that hard.

Also, please report this! I don't think Tumblr likes encouraging murder on their platform~

"I have people and proof that beg to differ."

Show it then.

"You do know about the ableism. Don't deny it."

No, because all you do is claim that it happened and then proceed to do nothing. I can deny it all I want because you refuse to show any actual evidence.

"Adam cowardly licked Israel's boots."

The evidence you have of that is a flag from a decades-old, largely unused IG account. It is possible that he, being a teenager at the time it was last used most likely, wasn't aware of that the flag was for a country that was doing REALLY bad stuff. It is entirely possible he thought AT THE TIME it meant Judaism. It's entirely possible, and even believable, that he wanted to represent his faith and didn't realize what the flag actually meant. Was it a mistake? Sure. Was it one he corrected? Yes. And it's stupid that you're still dragging him on this. And considering the man went so far as to delay episodes in solidarity with anti-Israel strikes, I do not think you can factually say he's an Israel supporter.

But again, your account is one that relies on just saying things without actually providing actual evidence.

Aaaaaaaanywho! I'm gonna go ahead and stop giving this person attention after this. Seeing their post about me told me everything I need to know and further posts saying they're wrong is pointless given that any individual who thinks about what they're actually saying for 5 seconds can get the gist themselves.

I'm still gonna do positivity posts on here like the dirty little "posie" I am. But they'll be a wide range of topics! :D

Someone wake me when they actually present actual evidence.

[pedgito]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄 | Joel Miller x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | Joel hates change, but you introduced the idea that letting someone else take charge isn't always bad.

author's note | horrible summary but just know that man is dow horrifically bad. i don't think i need to explain what inspired this. i recommend a mix of father figure by george michael and i'm on fire by bruce springsteen on a constant repeat while reading this, for the vibes <3 thank you @chaotic-mystery for beta'ing and constantly making me laugh

content warning | 18+ MDNI, sub!joel, no outbreak, power dynamics (he's your boss), age gap (shocker), lots of open communication, vague plot, oral (m & f receiving), unprotected piv, creampies, cum eating, restraints, joel eating the puss with no hands, use of a cockring, joel's a real good boy, open-ended

word count — 7k

“You ever thought about lettin’ someone else take control?”

Tommy’s staring over the dirtied tupperware in his hands, the heel of his boot squeaking against Joel’s cluttered desk, who’s staring down at the mess of paperwork before his eyes flick up briefly at his brother, glaring.

“And run this place into the ground?”

“Joel, look at this place,” Tommy gestures lazily toward the space.

It is a mess—paperwork misorted, information scribbled on a calendar long forgotten underneath the pile, sticky notes scattered throughout, and Joel’s brain running a million thoughts per second on top of the physical work he’s providing throughout the company.

He’d taken on the position thinking it would be a good thing, a breather, after years of working only physical labor—extra money, more security for his daughters as they entered college, always feeling the support of him even miles away. But, it had slowly begun to overtake his life, his weekends that used to be spent watching football games and drinking in his backyard, were forced into four walls.

He can’t even remember that last time he’s had the chance to have a night out.

Gone on a date.

Hell, even sex was nonexistent.

“Hiring someone means training and you and I both know we don’t have the time—”

“That’s why you hire someone with experience—and vet ‘em. You know what, I’ll ask Maria if she can help out with finding someone. Lord knows you’ll never make a decision.”

“I am your boss, remember?” Joel threatens lightly, tossing a dry, unusable pen on his desk, mirroring his brother as he raises a foot on his desk and leans back, arms crossed over his chest, “Maybe work would be less of a pain in the ass if I jus’ fired ‘ya.”

“Yeah, but then who’s gonna deal with all your cryin’?”

Joel tosses a balled up napkin at Tommy’s head, one that he dodges with ease as it flies over his head, barely missing the trashcan on the other side of the room as it slumps to the floor.

“Just try it out—ain’t nothing bad about change, brother.”

For Joel, it meant relinquishing the control he wasn’t ready to offer up.

–

You fidget nervously in the chair in the front office, heart hammering in your chest.

First impressions were always nerve-wracking, but with Joel, and the preface you were given by both Maria and Tommy, who had led you through the hiring process, made it seem like he was nearly unbearable at times.

The door to his office creaks open right on time, not a second after.

He’s dressed up, slacks and a tight button-up paired with loosely slicked back hair, peppered with grays that dissolved into his trimmed facial hair, a permanent scowl on his face as he greets you, head down and following you as you slipped by his large, stocky frame.

As the door clicks closed, he begins with audible uncertainty, “I’m not sure what all my brother and his wife told you, but—”

You interrupt firmly, attempting to assert your unique approach at dominance when men like him, slinging your bag into one of the two chairs positioned in front of his desk.

“So—I manage the day to day. I can handle calls, within reason, unless you like doing that yourself,” Truthfully, it wasn’t his favorite thing although it was the most important—selling the company, getting the customers, Joel could be a smooth talker when he wanted, “for paperwork, I’m scarily organized and I’ll take care of all,” You look around at the tornado of receipts and contracts scattered around, “this.”

“What about lunch?” Joel inquires jokingly.

“And breakfast,” You answer nonchalantly, “Listen, I’m here to help you.”

“I’m used to handling all of this alone, so forgive me if I’m—”

“Territorial,” You finish for him, eyebrows raising inquisitively as Joel cracks a faint smirk.

You cross one foot over the other and clasp your hands together, connecting with his gaze as he stands a few feet away, hands shoved into his pockets, and he opens his mouth like he wants to argue or protest against the word, but you smile knowingly.

“I’m used to it,” You assure him, “Mr. Miller—Joel, I’m not…sure what you prefer. The goal is balance, your brother mentioned something about you sleeping here sometimes.”

“Just Joel is fine,”Joel tells you, glancing sheepishly at the messy couch, a blanket and pillow balled up on one cushion.

“That’s not happening anymore,” You assure him, “and don’t think you’re overwhelming me. I need a list of everything you want me to cover—I’m your assistant, so if helping means grabbing you breakfast every morning, I’ll do it.”

It takes an hour of conversation and convincing before you finally manage to lead Joel toward his desk, inadvertently organizing some of the paperwork as he wrote down a list that grew and grew as you talked, giggling to yourself as he would occasionally scribble out a word and then rewrite it down.

You’ve dealt with plenty of men like him, an unwillingness to hand the leash over, gripped tightly around his hand—Joel just needed a shove and some reassurance.

And within a few weeks, after you’ve managed to introduce an entirely new filing system to keep things organized, color-coded his calendar, and started taking calls while he would make his rounds to check on the employees posted at different locations around the city, he realizes that he can breathe a little easier.

It’s also a mighty big plus that he doesn’t have to spend twenty minutes in the pick-up line for a black coffee and bagel or concern about lunch before deciding to skip it entirely.

You spend most of your time with him, learning subtle nuances and quirks that help you decipher his steely expression and non-existent personality. Tommy, who was outwardly joyful and shamelessly extroverted, was the complete opposite of Joel, who was reserved in all aspects of his life.

“Forgot how greasy these damn things are,” Joel gripes lightheartedly as he pulls the paper away from the double cheeseburger, sipping at his soda as you tap away quietly on his computer, watching him briefly from the opposite side of the desk as you took up residence in his chair for the moment, “what’re you doin’ again exactly?”

You silently pass him a napkin which he grabs wordlessly.

“I’m scheduling a week off for you and clearing your schedule so you won’t have to worry about anything,” You tell him, the line returning between his brow as he chews.

“I didn’t approve that,” He says around a mouthful, wiping at the corner of his mouth with the crumpled napkin, “besides I ain’t got the time—”

“The last time you took off was,” You pause for an extended amount of time, searching back through the calendar before you spot it, “two years ago for…”

“Graduation,” He answers quietly, “for Sarah and Ellie.”

His daughters, who he always spoke of fondly, pictures scattered around his office.

You were a few years older, wondering if the reason he was so reluctant to your help was your age, wondering if you truly had the experience to handle the workload.

“Exactly,” You answer sharply, “And your birthday falls within that week, so you’re not going to argue with me.”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

You grin triumphantly, snatching a fry from his to-go tray.

–

By September, Joel has fully settled into having you around. It’s only been a few months and he’s already able to spend more weekends at home and occasionally get back to more physical labor when his body agrees with it, unfortunately the company was heading toward a rush, a quickly moving train with no end in sight.

It was the third late night in a week after Joel had returned from his much needed vacation and you’re working quietly at writing down a plethora of dollar amounts to work out on the white board beside his desk before he huffs, leaning back in his chair as he curls his fingers behind his head and grimaces at the stress, forehead shining with a sheen of sweat.

Oh, yeah—and the AC was broken.

They were scheduled to fix it at the end of the week, but for now, it was thin dresses and loose fitting clothing and Joel, who was sticking to jeans and a casual, worn-out shirt. Your hair was tossed over one shoulder as your head tilted, arm extended up as the marker squeaked against the board, unknowing of his eyes that dragged along the expanse of your body.

He’s never shown any interest, not really. Almost always respectful, sometimes too much.

He’s asked about your life, your interests, whether you were thinking of marriage or not—it all felt wholly casual. You knew he had never been married, that he’s raised both of his daughters alone aside from the help of his brother Tommy, and that he rarely went on dates.

You tried helping him once, even scheduling his work day around the date to accommodate and allow him the opportunity, but you were ultimately greeted with his sour expression an hour after lunch.

“She kept tellin’ me how much I reminded her of her ex-husband,” Joel had told you, your hand covering your mouth in both shock and amusement, watching as he slumped into the chair and loosened the cuffs on his shirt. You weren’t sure how anyone could pass up on that.

Now, you can sense his discomfort. Like an aura. 

Lately, you’ve felt like an extension of him. He sensed it too, with you seeming to say things he’s thinking, in your own words, always knowing exactly what he needs, whether it was just a moment to himself or a day of you handling other work while he hid away in his office to handle the overload of calls.

You’re not sure why you stop writing, but you do. The pull guides you to him, moving silently, watching as he leaned forward on his desk, head slung down as he rolled his neck and quietly, your hands curl around his shoulders to squeeze, digging deep into the knotted muscles.

He’s quiet for a moment, both savoring the feeling and processing the situation.

First, he speaks your name, like a warning.

“You’re stressed, let me help,” You comfort him, watching as his shoulders relax with the effort of your hands, now completely slouched against his desk as your hand drags around his shoulder blade and back up, thumbs pressing into the base of his neck as he groans quietly, “does it hurt?”

Joel shakes his head, allowing the press to continue before he slowly pushes up, reaching blindly for your hand before you swat it away, “It’s just a massage, Joel. Relax.”

That wasn’t the issue.

He won’t admit it either, his face blushing as he leans his head back, feeling the delicious pinch of skin as you work out the difficult and stress-filled knots, eyes closed as his lips part.

You smirk slightly, watching the mess of his soft brown curls caress your breasts and he situates himself in his chair, slowly curling your fingers over his shoulder as his bottom lip quakes, shivers.

He whimpers.

He hears it, you hear it.

Joel’s eyes peel open in apology but you shush him, the cold touch of your fingers dragging along his neck, in perfect position to take hold and you’re almost positive Joel wouldn’t try to stop you.

“Don’t—don’t say it,” You nod to reassure him, dragging your other hand over his clammy skin, pushing his hair away from his face as you tug at the strands gently.

Joel nods obediently, swallowing as his hand glides over his crotch, rubbing through the denim of his jeans, cock swelling slowly underneath as he presses the heel of his palm against it for a sliver of relief. 

You both ignore how quickly the lines have blurred, glaringly aware of the unlocked door to Joel’s office as the massage transforms into something much more nefarious, your fingers slipping underneath the fabric of his shirt and against his skin, through the coarse hair on his chest, not a single reaction as his right hand curls around the back of his chair to twist around your thigh, pulling your knee up on the armrest.

With the slight adjustment, you notice his hand squeezing tight at his jeans, desperately trying to avoid his obvious want, attempting to stifle the desire and not acknowledge it.

“It’s been a while, huh?” You ask softly, too scared to startle him.

Joel nods, blinking slowly as his eyes fall on your lips and the way they curl slightly over your teeth and into a thin line at his response.

“Since someone touched you like this?” You inquire further, feeling his fingers squeeze at your thigh as your hands work like magic over his skin, trailing down his chest and twisting into his hair, his eyes fluttering closed at the interaction.

“At all,” He admits, “s’been so long—m’sorry, sweetheart.”

“Don’t apologize,” You tell him, sensing the regret as it invades his thoughts, quickly quelling the feeling, “I think—I think I can help you.”

Joel sighs, breathing out through his nose, “I’m your boss.”

Obviously, you think.

“On paper, maybe—but you’ve had no problem listening to me,” You tease, the slightest hint of shame on his face at your words—he’s guilty, he knows it—”in fact, I don’t think you realized how much you liked it, until now.”

The voice trailing along the hallway breaks you both out of your trance, slowly pulling your touch away as your leg falls, Joel’s fingers yearning for a final touch as they dig into your skin.

“Easy,” He cautions, looking down at his desk as he pulls at his jeans, adjusting the obvious discomfort of his stiff cock as it waned, “not—not here.”

“Gimme your phone,” You urge, holding your hand out expectantly.

He hands it over with an air of skepticism, your finger tapping against the screen quietly before you pass it back to him, the device dwarfed in his large palm.

“If you’re not busy tonight,” You say quietly, increasingly careful as you hear Tommy’s voice carry throughout the office, “I put my address into your phone, it's in your favorites. Should be easy to find.”

An invitation. 

Like dangling a treat in front of him, waiting to see if he’d take the bait.

-

He’s starving, fortunately.

He sits through dinner with Tommy and Maria, a regular occasion as Joel is often horrible at taking care of himself, surviving on very little sleep and a couple meals a day, often supplied by you.

He should take better care of himself. He knows that.

Regardless, he’s jittery as he pulls up to the apartment complex his phone led him to, parking in the garage attached as he sends you a single text around ten o’clock that night.

Your phone dings on your kitchen counter, finishing up pouring out your glass of wine as you pull it toward you with a single drag of your finger.

Joel: Here. Apartment number?

You chuckle at his straightforward nature that translates loudly through the tiny letters on your screen, quietly tapping out a response before you push your phone aside.

As you’re rounding the counter to head toward your couch, the deep knocks follow, wondering if he’d already been perusing and got lucky he was near.

You turn the knob and pull the door open as you press the glass to your lips, taking in the sight of a man who looks and feels entirely out of place. 

His eyes follow your state of undress, assuming you were ready to climb into bed with the silk shorts that clung to your hips and the scantily cropped top to match, barely covering your breasts.

He’s changed since work, only trading the denim for a much softer material to cover his legs, a fresh shirt, his hair mused like he’s been running his fingers through it with worry and unsurety. 

“How was your night?” You ask casually, moving to allow him the room to step inside your apartment, closing the door behind you as you head toward the fridge, silently grabbing for a beer—his favorite just happened to be your own, so it worked out perfectly.

“Fine,” He grumbles, watching as you hand him a now opened beer and push by him, but not before your fingers drift against his own, pulling him alongside until you reach the couch.

His fingers curl around yours without a second thought.

“You started talkin’ about football and Tommy went on one of his rants again, didn’t he?”

He’s used to it by now, how well you can assess him.

“S’almost like you were there,” He chuckles, tipping the beer to his lips and taking a long chug, “did I bother you? I know it’s late.”

You shake your head, allowing him to finish up a decent amount of his beer and your glass of wine before you’re plucking the glass from his hands and tucking it away on the table.

“Have you done this before?“ Joel asks softly, a deep gravelly timbre to his voice as your ass angles up, leaning off the couch to dispose of the drinks before you’re climbing over his lap, quietly raising your hands to cradling his face.

He doesn’t look at you for too long, not allowing the weight of the situation to settle quite yet, selfishly roving the expanse of exposed skin, feeling your hands grip his own to guide them to your hips.

“Does it matter?” You ask, dragging your thumb along his beard, rubbing at the bare patch of skin on his cheek, “Would it make you feel better if I said yes?”

“No.”

A small sliver of tongue peeks through your teeth as you bite down, grinning openly at him and his sheepish gaze.

“You’re my first—is that what you wanna hear?”

You can feel the bluntness of his nails dig into your skin at your words—oh, he that is exactly what he wanted.

“I’m just—M’not sure what I’m supposed to do here, sweetheart.”Joel responds instead, licking his lips before they pull together in a tight line.

“Would whiskey help? I got whiskey,” You respond cheekily, “I’ll get you some. Stay put.”

Joel chuckles nervously, “Yes, ma’am.”

You climb off his lap and disappear into your kitchen, reaching into the cabinet for a glass before crouching down to retrieve the liquor hidden away, hearing the soft and subtle rustling as Joel adjusts more comfortably on the couch, his shoes now removed and tossed haphazardly toward the coffee table. 

“If you—if you haven’t done this before,” Joel pauses as you return, making immediately room for you on his lap as you press the glass into his waiting hand, “why’d you offer?”

“Men pay me to boss them around, plenty of men like you,” It was a loose description, but it was the one strong suit you’ve prided yourself in, corralling stubborn men, “I like it and I’m good at it.”

“Clearly.” Joel comments under his breath, a small scoff of astonishment slipping past your lips as you force the glass to his own lips in a silent command.

“I don’t make it a habit to have sex with them, f’that is what you’re really worried about. They’re all married, miserable, but married. And I don’t like the mess of getting involved. Any time I’ve moved on it’s been because of that.”

Joel continues to drink by your aid, downing the rest of it as you continue to speak.

“You’re not married, you’re not complicated. You’ve been respectful. This isn’t you approaching me—I made that move, I just gave you an offer. One, which, you can still bail on and I won’t be upset. I won’t quit, either.”

As the liquor takes hold, Joel seems to relax, the tension in his body dissipating as you slowly trace the lines of his face and body with your fingers, explorative within reason.

“I guess we should set some ground rules,” Joel grunts at the mention, slightly more handsy as his fingers meet at your back, dipping a centimeter below the waistband, “If we do this—I’m in charge, completely. That’s the only way this works, or helps you. And it should be a given, but I’m clean and on birth control. But, it that reassures you—I’d rather you hear it.”

“Jesus Christ,” Joel groans, feeling the immediate loss of his touch as he rubs his hands over his face before stretching them out over the back of the couch.

“I’m just…covering the bases, I’d rather not have the question come across when you’re an inch away from putting your dick inside me, you know?”

“Coverin’ your bases?” Joel echoes, slightly amused.

You grin, climbing off of him slowly as you reach for your phone, fumbling through your playlist before you find a slow, sensual tune to fill the quiet air.

Hey, little girl, is your daddy home?

Did he go away and leave you all alone?

I got a bad desire

Oh, oh, oh, I'm on fire

“Do you dance?” You ask curiously, wandering toward your kitchen for the open wine bottle, half-empty and begging to be consumed.

“Not much—not…not anymore,” Joel doesn’t know he words it so cryptically; he danced, just not well. 

“Tommy told me how, at least, before the girls, how often you two would go line dancing,” Joel’s fingers curl around your hand as it extends, bring the wine bottle to your lips with the other, “now that I have to witness.”

“You and Tommy sure do talk a lot,” Joel notes, looking down at you as your fingers drag along the hair at his nape, “anything else he told you?”

You shake your head nonchalantly, bottom lip jutting out slightly as you sway your hips in time with the lyrics, Joel’s hand covering the full expanse of your own as it wraps around, constantly mesmerized by the sheer size.

The goal was to shake his nerves out, but he seemed to stiffen with your progressive movement as you twirled yourself around, one long gulp of wine before you set the bottle aside and relent, dragging your finger up the fabric of his shirt before you squeeze at the collar, pulling him closer.

“Either you dance with me,” You begin, “or I’m dancing for you—your choice.”

His non-answer is enough, forcing him back onto the couch before you’re shoving the table out of the way and turning up the volume to the rhythmic tune.

You’d convince him eventually, dying to see those skills come back to life, even if it was just a glimpse.

“Put your hands under your legs,” You instruct him casually, eyes tracking up as you watch his chest puff out with the motion, fitting his hands under his thighs without argument.

Huh, that was easy. 

Time was a teller, though, and you were curious how long it would last. 

—

He’s seen glimpses of it before, the soft hum under your breath as you sing the catchy tunes playing on the radio in his office, a subtle sway as you flip through a stack of paperwork or at his desk, the tiniest movement.

But here, now, he’s mesmerized.

He gets it, this is what you wanted.

Joel’s fists have balled up under his thighs, watching you turn away as you dance, the swaying movements pulling at the already short fabric as his eyes follow the way you bend, giving him a full glimpse of your ass.

You giggle softly at his lack of reaction, which wasn’t entirely true, watching his knees widen at the action, subconsciously making room for you despite your distance. 

Yearning. He was yearning for you.

You drop to your knees, crawling toward him slow under the low, ambient light of your living room—a faint glow of pinks and purples, transforming into greens and blues, filtering slowly through colors as your hands grip his knees, sliding up the inside of his thighs tantalizingly slow. 

“So…” Your finger trails around the drawstring of his pants, “at any point that this gets too much or you’re not feeling it, just say stop.”

“That ain’t somethin’ you gotta worry ‘bout.”

“Communication is a good thing, Joel,” You explain, “it’s important—to make sure we’re both benefiting from this. I’m not enjoying this unless you are, alright?”

Joel nods, a raised eyebrow offered in return.

“Yes,” His voice cracks slightly, clearing his throat, “uh—yes, ma’am.” 

“A simple yes would have worked, but I appreciate the manners,” You tease him, knowing he’s always been stuck in his ways, old fashioned and polite. It comes naturally.

Your fingers fold around his waistband and tug, his hips rising at the motion and you hear the breath he’s holding release as his cock springs free, leaking at the tip and begging to be attended to. You grinned, tongue peaking out to lick along the head and around, salty precum hitting your taste buds as you look up at Joel, his eyes falling shut as his hand wraps around your forearm in desperation.

You pull back instantly, gently moving his hand away.

He seems to realize his misstep, silently tuck his hand away under his thigh again as you nod, pulling his pants the rest of the way down and off before you’re licking him from base to tip, fingertips wrapping around his shaft and squeezing alongside the delicate suction of your mouth.

He groans, so deep and guttural you think he might come now, peeking your eyes open to see his head resting back, eyes closed. The sight was too much, having to force some reprieve on himself as you worked your mouth down his cock, head bobbing at a slow, tortuous pace until your throat can relax and take him fully, nearing around eight inches and thick, feeling the stretch of your cheeks alongside the ache in your jaw.

You pull away with watery eyes, a long string of spit connecting you to him, speaking, “If you feel like you’re about to come, say it, don’t lie to me.”

With that, your thumb rubs over the slit of his head, feeling his cock pulse in your hand, squeezing at the tip while his face contorts, lips parting as he breathes out shakily. 

“Oh, fuck—yes—yes fuckin, ma’am.”

He’d rip the stitching in your couch if he gripped it harder, losing his hold on reality as he watches your head move through bleary eyes, the buzz of alcohol tingling his brain as you gag against his cock, held in the back of your throat before he’s stammering out desperately, the familiar tug in his gut that proves just how long it’s been for him, ready to come after only a few minutes of your mouth on him.

He’s embarrassed, the words falling from his lips in a rush, “Stopstop—fuck, stop.”

You pull away quickly, the urgency in his voice startling you as your face contorts in concern.

“Fuck—not like, stop. Jus’ I was about to come. Sorry—sweetheart, I panicked.”

It calms your worry, nodding in response to his words.

“I’ve…actually I have an idea, if you’re okay with it that is.”

He’s suspicious of the glint in your eyes, rising on sore knees as he sat there naked from the waist down, your eyes dragging over his firm, muscled legs before they took in the sight of his cock again, standing proud as it rest against his stomach, the shirt slightly bunched at his chest.

You make the short trek to your room to retrieve the item you were looking for, coming back to Joel massaging his sore wrists, a subtle worry in his eyes that he’s done something wrong.

He eyes the bag in your hand suspiciously, brow raised. 

There were a few items, but the one most notable he reaches for initially, dangling it between two fingers as he asks, “You have that just layin’ around?”

It was a cockring, flexible material that he stretched his fingers before you politely snatched it away.

“What? I picked out a few things. Besides, I couldn’t get you anything for your birthday so consider this a late gift,” He sees right through the sickeningly sweet smile, pushing the bag into his hands as you straddle one thigh, the silk material of your shorts dragging along his bare skin.

“I dunno,” Joel’s hesitant, but not entirely close-off to the idea, “s’that even safe?”

“It is,” You assure him—Joel doesn’t really question it either, “You trust me, don’t you?”

He tries to stifle the small chuckle at your act, batting your lashes as you reach for his hand, settling it against the center of your chest underneath your shirt, the soft press of your breasts squeezing his hand and Joel has to resist the urge to explore further, rifling through the bag one-handed, pulling out a thick piece of cloth, a rich, plum stained fabric. 

“You’re in good hands,” You smile, leaning forward to brush your lips along the shell of his ear, “I promise.”

–

He does touch you now, though careful of his hands wandering too far, spreading you out on your bed sheet with hesitance, sensing that this wasn’t just a moment of uncertainty, but rather unfamiliarity.

“It’s been so long,” He admits, not lost on you, “I’ll try—jus’ might need some remindin’.”

Be vocal, he pleads without asking. Let me hear you.

Done and done.

His hands grip at the back of your thighs, pulling you near the edge of the bed before they’re pushing up, forcing your legs apart as he settles on his knees, stripped of his top and nude, a stark contrast to your clothed state as he pressed his face into the fabric of your shorts, his nose prodding at the seam of your pussy, teeth biting lightly into the fabric.

His eyes trail up, the bottom half of his face obscured as he pressed his mouth into the heat of your cunt through the silk, awaiting your command.

“Grab,” You sigh, his kisses trailing along your thigh and down, lips kisses at the sensitive skin of your ankle, “the bag—the bag,” You point vaguely, forcing him away gently with your opposite foot. 

You’d dropped it on the floor beside Joel in the mess of limbs, the bag hidden underneath his disposed shirt and as he thrusts the small paper bag into your hands you fish for the binding balled up at the bottom of the bag, tossing the rest of the bag aside as you sink to match Joel’s position, gently grabbing his wrists as you guide them behind his back.

“Just to make sure you keep your hands to yourself,” You inform him, face heating under his heavy gaze, looking up at him innocently as you knot the fabric blindly behind his back, tugging when you’re satisfied enough and rising to meet his face, nose brushing against his own at the close proximity, “Do you want a taste, Joel?”

“I’ll take whatever you give me, sweetheart.”

In this light, under the soft glow of streetlights that spilled over into your room, it was like you were seeing a different man, not at all the confident and defiant man you challenge on a day to day, but a man dedicated to you, an eagerness in his expression that you’ve never seen.

“Oh, honey—you’re gonna work for it.”

You crawl back on your hands, rising to perch on the edge of the bed with your legs spread, one foot perched against the mattress as Joel shuffled forward slowly, “Can’t taste you through those shorts, might help if you—”

“Get creative,” You urge, haphazardly pulling your top over your head and throwing it aside for incentive, breasts bouncing softly with the movement and spotting the way Joel swallows, hard.

It made him feel young, this desire that didn’t show itself often. He’s resigned himself to months, years of handling himself; jerking himself off with his hand to satisfy that urge, but never more. He rarely had time then, lucky if he could manage a full eight hours of sleep. 

He leans forward, his teeth digging into the fabric at your hip as he pulls, wrestling with the material as he drags it down your thigh—innovative, you think. You giggle softly at his steadfast gaze, a stubbornness in his scowl as he rips the fabric off. 

Joel doesn’t waste time, licking a long stripe through your already damp underwear, accumulated slick ruining the fabric as he greedily laps you up through the garment, but he hisses when your hand grips into his hair, pulling him back as his scowl grows deeper.

“All of it.” You demand.

You watch as his teeth gripped at the front of your underwear before he’s dragging them down, tossing them aside even more impatiently, like a dog with a chew toy, before he’s pressing his face into your cunt, leaning most of his weight into you as his strong, angular nose presses against your clit, his tongue dipping inside of you instantly, like he was trying to consume you.

A mix of a broken laugh and gasp leaves your mouth as he groans, a slight shake to his head as he attempted to force himself deeper, the movement shifting his nose of your clit in a way that has your entire body curling in on itself, his eyes closed, lost in the taste of you and the warm cradle of your thighs around his head, foot smoothing over his back as you pull him in.

He suckles at your clit as he shifts up, the wet expanse of his tongue sliding over the sensitive bud, responding with a soft noise as your fingers dig into his hair and tug, ““Fuck, you love it like this, don’t you?”

Joel responds with a noise, ignoring your question as his tongue swirls over your clit, repeating the motion repeatedly as your breath hitches, gasping loudly.

“I asked—asked you a question,” You interrupt, pulling him back defiantly, “I’d like an answer.”

“M’sorry, I do—I do,” Joel apologizes, mouth shining with your slick, his beard wet and his cheeks flushed, “jus’ taste so good, sweetheart. Wanna make you feel good—am I doin’ alright?”

“So good,” You tell him softly, your hand cradling his chin as you slide your thumb over his wet lip and through the dampness at his chin before you’re pushing your fingertip into his mouth, letting the pad of your thumb press against his tongue, closing his lips around you finger to suck, “You’re always so messy, you know that?”

Joel chuckles, pulling his mouth away as you slowly guide him back toward your cunt, pulsing around his tongue as it dips inside of you once more, like a tease before he returns the attention toward your clit, groaning as your thighs squeeze tightly around his head, feeling the creeping sensation of your orgasm as it coiled in your gut.

“A damn good meal if ‘ya ask me,” Joel comments, too entranced to chastise his comment as your orgasm spills over, the rush of fluids hitting his tongue as you cry out, his unrelenting tongue making your vision go white.

“That’s good, baby, keep doing that. Just like that,” You encourage weakly, legs shaking with overstimulation as he glares up at you through his half-lidded gaze, his nose smushed against your cunt.

Your fingers sift gently through his hair as you come down, feeling the weight of his head against your thigh as he speaks, “You’re shakin’ like a leaf, sweetheart—y’alright?”

“I am,” He can hear the elation in your voice as you rise slowly, “does it hurt?”

Joel pulls at the binding, loose enough that there's no straining or pinching, he shrugs noncommittally and answers, “If I say yes will you take ‘em off?”

You tilt your head at his subtle mischievous tone, “As long as you’re being truthful.”

“I wanna touch you, if ‘m bein’ honest,” Joel admits.

He’s such a smoothtalker, even now. 

“Fine—but, I’m not finished,” You warn him, “so don’t get any ideas.”

“Oh, yes ma’am.” He agrees wholeheartedly, feigning seriousness. 

It shouldn’t be this easy with him, but it was. 

–

“I’m tryin’ to help you out,” You tease him, fitting the ring around his cock, settled underneath his balls as he stifles the groan of your touch against his overly sensitive skin, having been so close to the edge and losing focus that he’s fallen soft, resting back on his palms as you rub your hand over his chest and down, fingers rolling along the underside of his sack before your fingertip trails along the seam and up, following the thick vein that led to the head of his cock, “Is it good when I touch you here?”

“S’good,” He answers shakily, watching your hand press flat against your tongue before you’re gripping his cock tight, jerking him firmly, his hand flying to your hip, trailing up blindly as you press your chin against the top of his head, feeling his hand tangle into your hair, cradling your face with a desperation, “I’m fuckin’ sufferin’ here, sweetheart.”

“Not yet,” You counter, leaving his now hardened cock to bounce freely against his stomach as you reach for two items sprawled on the bed, gripped in your fists as you straddle him, his cock sliding through your wet folds and nearly sending him over the edge, “which one?”

Choices, he thinks. He hated making a decision.

Sight or touch, he debates the two items.

“If you don’t pick I’m choosing both,” You warn him playfully.

“Not bein’ able to see you feels like a punishment,” Joel admits.

You hum thoughtfully, “You’re right—and what a good boy you’ve been, huh?”

“Real good, sweetheart,” He agrees desperately, feeling his cock pulse against your cunt, fighting the restraint it was taking him not to sink into you now and plow you into the bed underneath him, but that wasn’t the point of all of this.

So, the decision is made.

Joel settles against the headboard as you restrain his arms behind his back in a similar manner, his eyes following your movements carefully as you leave soft, light kisses along his skin before you straddle his hips, hovering over him for a brief moment before you’re wrapping your hand around his cock and sinking down onto him slowly, adjusting to the stretch as his eyes flutter shut, face pinched up.

‘It’s not too tight, is it?” You ask, moving your hips at a tortuous pace as your fingers curl around the back of his neck, his head shaking at your question, focusing so innately hard he can’t answer, as much as he tries.

“S’probably the only thing keepin’ me together,” Joel forces out, “all I could think about at dinner earlier was you—this, s’fucked up, ain’t it?”

Your eagerness wins over, bouncing on his cock at a quicker pace that has him panting into your skin, a pathetic whine ripping from his chest, “And I spent—spent all evening thinking about how you’d look when you came—and how stubborn you’d be—”

Joel chuckles pathetically, moaning weakly against your chest as you grip the headboard above him, the sharp slap of skin against skin as you ride his cock.

“Turns out you’re pretty receptive,” You continue, “‘s’good—I like it.”

Joel murmurs an acknowledgment as his neck strains back, slamming against the headboard as he forces his eyes open, panting heavily as he watches your body stretch above him, one hand sliding down to spread out against your thigh as you head falls back to mirror his own, moaning loudly as his cock pulses with need, your walls fluttering around him.

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” Joel speaks drunkenly, mesmerized, “M’never lettin’ you go.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” You assure him, watching him nod as his eyes squeeze shut, that familiar ache in his gut growing as his cock throbs with the need for release.

You lean forward, working your fingers through the knot of the restraints and speak softly against his ear, “Y’gonna listen? Yeah, like a real good boy?”

Joel nods fervently, sighing with the release of his hands as they immediately latch onto you, still and unmoving but like a relief for the both of you as his hands press hot against your skin.

“What should your reward be, huh?” You coo, “Should I let you come?”

“Sweetheart, please—”

You lean back slightly, riding him with fervor as you nod your head, cradling his lulling head between your hands, “Tell me how good you’ve been,” You encourage gently, his skin damp with sweat as you slide a hand down his chest, dangerously close to the point where you’re joined together, “let me hear it.”

“So good, sweetheart. Bein’ such a good boy for ‘ya,” Joel complies, his breath hitching as he feels the tight ring around his cock loosen, thrown to the side, slipping out and back in without skipping a beat, like you’d never left.

“Right there,” He warns, “fuck—baby, I dunno if I can—”

“It’s okay,” You whisper softly, hearing the pain in his voice and the way his arms wrap around you like a vice, “I’m gonna make you clean it up, anyways.”

Joel groans at that, nearly lifting off the bed as his hand steadies behind, pumping his hips into you jerkily as he comes inside of you and coats your walls, gasping sharply at the feeling of his blunt nails digging into your skin, riding him gently through the aftershocks before he falls lifeless against the bed, panting heavily.

You sigh with elation, though exhausted, slowly moving back as you lean on your elbows and gently poke at his thigh, his hand covering his softening cock as he grunts, grumbling some unintelligible. 

“You’re not finished,” Joel chuckles lowly, his hand wrapping around your ankle as he pulls himself up, eyes immediately locking on your swollen cunt, cum spilling out as your walls squeeze, your own fingers spreading through the mess before you’re dragging it toward your mouth, licking your fingers clean before reaching for his hair, mused from sex as you yank him closer and demand, “clean up your mess.”

“Gonna need you to schedule another week off for me,” Joel admits, dipping his tongue inside of you without hesitation, his hands squeezing around your thighs to pull you in, “and you.”

“Why’s that?”

Joel grins as you glance down, speaking confidently against your cunt, “Got a few messes I wanna make, that alright?”

You pause, a moment of hesitation, “I’ll consider it.”

Joel growls into you, nipping gently at your clit as you squeal loudly.

You relent quickly, swatting his head playfully.

After all, he was still your boss.

[hatesaltrat]

Oh I know you’re absolutely right Brother, but I’m bored off my rocker and just in case this retard has any friends who might have thought for a half a second that any of their ramblings might hold an element of truth I decided to jump in and ruin their lies.

It started with Trump is going to allow everyone in the US to arm themselves is proof positive that he’s a fascist dictator, because that’s exactly what fascist dictators need is an armed populace 🙄

Then they decided to prove their bigotry by calling anyone and everyone who disagrees with them a MAGA including the most articulate anarchists on the site who despise Trump and maga.

Next they said the left doesn’t want gun control and that’s just the right making shit up and putting words in their mouths 🤣 ahh fuck this clown is really something else.

Along the way they tried to excuse away the progressiveness of fascism and tried to claim that National Socialism didn’t have any socialism. I really can’t tell if they’re an idiot or pretending to be an idiot with that line of bullshit.

Then they tried to say that infringing on our rights isn’t really an infringement because of the dates or something.

And just to throw a cherry on top said my statements were incoherent and as proof provided some bizarre ass link that strung a few of my posts together.

I can’t get this type of comedy from any of the video pirating apps!

Here's an Example as to why Donald Trump is fascist

Donald Trump wants Concealed Carry Reciprocity.

What is that?

In the United States, it is not automatically legal to carry a firearm in a concealed manner just because one has a firearms license. One needs to obtain a special additional permission to do so. Like most things in the United States, Concealed Carry is decided on a state-by-state basis, meaning a person's permission for Concealed Carry only applies in the state it in which it was issued.

Concealed Carry Reciprocity is the legal concept that a permission for Concealed Carry, issued in any state, applies in all states. So, if a gun owner was permitted to Concealed Carry in Oklahoma, he can currently only do so in Oklahoma. Doing it in any other state is a crime. Under Concealed Carry Reciprocity, it would not be.

What does Donald Trump intend with this?

Donald Trump knows that his most loyal followers live in deep red states, which also have the highest concentrations of gun owners. Due to the high concentrations and due to Republicans being generally against gun control, it is likelier that more gun owners in red states have Concealed Carry permission. Donald Trump wants to allow people to Concealed Carry in any state if they've received permission in one, because he knows that most people who will take advantage of this will be his most loyal followers.

Donald Trump plans to lay the groundwork for his version of Mussolini's Blackshirts and Hitler's Brownshirts, his own paramilitary force of loyal followers who are ready to attack and murder fellow citizens in open daylight for their political positions that oppose their idol. Concealed Carry Reciprocity makes it easier for them to do this.

This is fascism.

[michanvalentine]

I was asked if I had any thoughts on Astarion's character development in terms of taking responsibility and making choices. And him coming to terms with that part of his past he's ashamed of. In the past I didn't dwell on it in detail, normally I write down on the keyboard what spontaneously passes through my brain. But I think they are excellent food for thought, so I will try to express what I think about it.

Here’s a little ramble, just because I love psychology and think it’s something to always keep in mind when discussing Astarion. If you’re not interested, feel free to skip ahead!

(Let’s talk a bit about the self.

The self is quite a complex concept with many facets. Briefly put, it’s shaped by various internal and external factors and reflects a conscious image of "me." In psychology, it’s key to building the Ego of an individual—the capacity to act, understand, organize, and interpret experiences. The Ego provides a sense of uniqueness, coherence, and personal continuity since the self encompasses many "faces." All this forms the personality of an individual, which naturally develops (and changes) throughout life.

Particular attention in the formation of the self is given to sensitive periods, such as early childhood. The self determines the level of self-esteem based on an individual’s assessment of their worth and competence in the characteristics they attribute to themselves (Real Self), their future aspirations (Ideal Self), and what they want to avoid (Feared Selves). The greater the discrepancy between these aspects, the lower the level of self-esteem. Social support and approval, as well as competence in domains deemed important to the self, obviously contribute to perceiving oneself as a person of value.

I’ll stop here, or this will turn into a full-blown psychology lecture, diving into every possible personality disorder! xD)

Astarion, as we know, has had his sense of self fundamentally undermined. For him, the world is divided between those who have power and those who don’t, with the former always being the "winners" in his eyes. The magistrate he once was is long dead, along with his moral compass and the life he used to live—especially after 200 years of servitude to Cazador.

As vampire spawn, akin to a newborn in some respects, Astarion learned to exist solely within Cazador’s world, revolving around Cazador, for Cazador. He was the domineering father figure, and vampire society functions under strict rules handed down by vampire lords. In this hostile context, without any room for self-expression or choice, Astarion developed a fragmented and damaged self-image. Constantly belittled by Cazador as an individual (small, weak, useless, incapable, all words he uses in the game), always pitted against his brothers and sisters, and degraded from a magistrate to a prostitute (this is important because it’s the only skill—or "talent," as he calls it himself—that Astarion believes gives him any value or power, forming the basis for his self-image). It’s easy to imagine just how high his self-esteem must be, right? Most importantly, he never developed the skills to navigate life as a free individual—at least not in a healthy way.

This is why, even if reluctantly (and despite his fear), he ends up leaning on Tav/Durge. Astarion is a follower, not a leader—not yet, at least. He needs a guiding figure to help him figure out what to do because making decisions and acting independently don’t come naturally to him; they terrify him. Especially outside of his talents, sex and survival. He needs to be rehabilitated, re-educated, and to achieve this, he requires a safe and healthy environment where he can experiment and grow, perhaps developing other faces of the self on which to base a new evaluation. Like, I'm not just a slave or a whore: but I'm also a companion, a friend, a lover, a hero and I'm able to listen, to help, to learn, to collaborate, etc. For instance, I think his lack of attention to detail reflects this to some extent—not just his tendency to be dismissive or distracted. In fact, Astarion isn’t stupid at all; his intelligence and wisdom stats in D&D terms are above average. He knows how to move in the shadows, remain unnoticed, and is highly skilled with his hands. Additionally, we shouldn’t forget that Astarion is an excellent observer of bodies, particularly body language. This is especially common when someone has lived in a stressful environment with abusive parents or partners. Recognizing the early signs of what they fear most—abuse—is crucial for trying to avoid getting hurt. The inflection of a tone, the light in someone’s eyes, the posture of their shoulders, arms, torso, etc. Body language is the most direct and primal form of communication and reveals intentions.

This is a skill Astarion has naturally refined, not only through survival but also by interacting with countless partners. It inevitably helps him sense certain things before others do, often saving him from trouble. So, he’s far from just some clueless fool, no matter how frivolous he might seem at times.

Sure, stress kills neurons, but the issue is deeper than intellect. To execute a plan, one needs to make decisions and lead a group—something he simply isn’t equipped to do yet. This also ties to accountability, an inherent part of decision-making—especially when others are involved.

Throughout the game, Astarion grows and begins to reclaim his rights as an individual. He realizes he’s more than an object to be used (he is no longer small, weak, useless, incapable), and he starts to establish boundaries and discover what he truly wants or doesn’t want to do, always alongside Tav/Durge. By the good ending, he even states that with Cazador gone, he can finally find out who he really is and what he wants from the life he’s regained. He’s still afraid—the road to healing is long, and the trauma is deep—but he’s willing to work on himself, which he couldn’t or wouldn’t do before.

A significant part of Astarion’s defense mechanism is dissociation, the ability to separate himself from the terrible things that have happened to him—or that he has done.

This, in my opinion, is how he managed to survive without completely losing his mind. In the game, there’s even a dialogue choice that highlights how Astarion simply repressed everything inside and kept going—a deeply unhealthy way of coping. And rightly so, the vampiric spawn retorts that it’s easy to judge when you haven’t lived through such a situation.

However, when Astarion comes face to face with his victims, that mechanism begins to falter. This time, he’s forced to confront what he has done directly, with all the consequences it entails. He has to look them in the eye, listen to their harsh words, and endure both their pain and his own—without filters, without excuses. The sequence is heart-wrenching, as we all know, but what I particularly love is Astarion’s comment about the Gur children and how, when he delivered them to Cazador, he felt nothing. I love it because it’s followed by an “oh” that speaks volumes more than all the discussions about ascension up until that moment. That “oh” seems to say, “How the hell is that even possible?!”

Astarion is surprised, first and foremost, because what he felt then isn’t what he’s feeling now. Before, he was numb, alienated—a ghost wandering the streets. But now, he’s not. He’s more awake and lucid than he’s been in the last 200 years. This concept is crystal clear when, upon setting foot inside Cazador’s palace, the vampiric spawn states that everything feels different, even though the place hasn’t changed. It’s not the palace that’s different; it’s Astarion!

And at this point, after speaking with Sebastian and Chessa, Astarion is torn.

On one side, there’s ascension, with all the rational explanations—or justifications for Tav/Durge and himself—about why it must be done. The vampire spawn are too many and too hungry; they’ll cause a massacre, etc., etc. On another side, there’s the need to erase the evidence of what he was, of what Astarion endured, and what he inflicted upon others—what these wretches represent as a mirror reflecting his own helplessness and pathetic state. A victim, essentially. And that, for him, is humiliating because he was, in fact, humiliated for 200 years. He’s deeply ashamed of it.

But yet another part of him holds the desire to do the right thing.

In fact, if asked about the prisoners and what he intends to do, Astarion will say he’s weighing his options. Not only that, but Astarion also gives his approval when Tav/Durge tells Sebastian that their freedom depends on whether or not they know how to control hunger. Adding immediately after that they can succeed. Anyway, at this moment, for the first time, the choice and the responsibility are entirely on Astarion's shoulders—and on his conscience. There are no orders from Cazador to carry out, no Tav/Durge acting on his behalf. The most Tav/Durge can do is help him think clearly in a moment when, between fear, the scent of blood in the air, and power within reach, Astarion might not be the most clear-headed being on the planet. But ultimately, the decision is his to make. The first of many more to come.

However, I believe Astarion truly takes responsibility for his actions when, after freeing the vampire spawn, he becomes the leader of the coven in the Underdark in the ending. In this particular case, the transformation is complete—Astarion is a leader who plans, makes tough decisions every day, manages resources, takes care of his people (his old victims, let's not forget), and continually grows in his independence.

Naturally, returning to the concept of the self, each of the endings—whether he travels across Faerûn with Tav/Durge, becomes a nocturnal vigilante in Baldur’s Gate, or even ascends—offers a perspective on how Astarion has changed and how new experiences have added positive aspects to his self-concept. These enable him to increasingly perceive himself as competent and valuable. At this point, I’m afraid I might have gotten lost in the flood of words, and I’m not sure if I’ve managed to address the proposed topics thoroughly. My apologies—I tend to lose myself in my thoughts and ramble on freely! If needed, feel free to let me know, and I’ll add a follow-up! xD Anyone who made it this far is a true hero, just so you know!

[sheepispink]

Food to feed the heart ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི relationships: simon riley x baker!reader

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི A/N: ello cuties i know i havent posted anything so take this before i post the next chapter (likely this weekend) because i also have exams next week which also means no chapter.. 😔

Part 1 | Prev | Next

A few days have passed since he had driven you back home from the farm, and you’re still a little flustered that you had fallen asleep so easily. It was embarrassing but thankfully he wasn't the one to wake you up; you’d probably pass out again if you opened your eyes to his skull mask in your face—no offense to him, of course. The truck jostled as he unpacked the car to take out all the fresh produce, clearly having no intentions of making you help. He handled it all with ease, feeling more like carrying a shopping bag than the heavy glass bottles of milk. “Simon?” Your voice has mumbled out sleepily, dragging your tired self around the side of the truck to watch as he lifted each crate. He had gone completely still at your words though, something shifting behind his eyes that were usually quite sharp, though it doesn't seem to be uncomfortable. That look alone flustered you and you immediately got to work despite his protests, hurrying to pack all the produce away.

You’ve long since closed the shop now, but you were preparing some dough as per usual. It was all you ever seemed to do these days, and even if more people were appreciating your bakes, you find yourself desperate for a new invention. Or well, at least somekind of new product in the shop. Somehow, your mind drifts back to your old train of thought that other day, what Simon would eat for lunch. You think he’d like something rich with flavour, considering how dry military food would be, but not spice—it doesn't look like he could handle that much anyway. Savoury seems to be his preference, even if he has tried a few of your sweeter options before. Don’t soldiers need lots of protein and carbs too? At least that’s what everyone says about building muscle, so you mentally jot those points down too. Your stomach rumbles as you see a notification from a cooking channel you follow, instantly clicking on it to see the thumbnail that is the most delicious tacos with their seasoned meat and vegetables. The video even showed pulled chicken tacos, but that’d seemed to be too messy for him to eat on the job— definitely a note for another day.

You hum as you lean against the counter, looking at the bread dough in the bowl before you. Pulled chicken sounded damn good especially for protein, you have bread already, and shredded vegetables would be easy to get…you're going to make the best damn meal he’ll have in his life.

——————————————————————

Sweat trickles down his back and soaks his shirt as he pants quietly, breaths eventually slowing down from his early morning run. The air is crisp, almost biting with how cold it is as December deepens. He doesn't particularly like how much his thoughts have shifted these days, always thinking about his next visit to his bakery rather than the rest of his schedule for the day. Damnit, just the mere sight of a teacup makes him think of your grin when you hand one to him. He’s convinced he’s starting to go insane.

The locker rooms are quiet at this time, and so he pulls off his top in one smooth motion before throwing in his laundry bag that he’ll handle later. His muscles flex as he stretches them a little, fishing out a fresh vest and shirt when his phone buzzes in his duffel bag. That’s unusual, no one really bothered texting him apart from his phone service provider or occasionally an app notification. Even Soap preferred to just hunt down the Lieutenant himself, knowing he barely ever checked his phone. But he does now, because now he’s got someone who has his number, and who actually wants to text him too. Your name and the silly picture you took on his phone flash up, and for once his thumb fumbles when he types his password in.

“Is there any chance i could potentially leave something for you at like.. a military gate.. post.. thing? You forgot something in the shop!”

He raises a brow at the message, knowing damn well he’s never been reckless enough to forget something that would be important as to be delivered to him at this time. If it really was something, surely it could wait until he inevitably saw you next week. At least, that’s what his rationale is telling him. He shouldn't breach work hours and go off and let you into the base, no he should just tell you that it isnt possible and he’ll handle it himself. He’d be damned if he ever let you drive your truck up here, carrying one of his things and delivering it to him personally. What if someone saw you? What if another soldier talked to you and you realised they’re the one you want to stay friends with and not him?”

At that he slams the locker door closed, letting out a deep breath and ignoring the way his face heats. It’s just because of the run, just because of the way his mask clings to his face. It’s really hot in here, yeah that’s it. This -2° air is boiling.

It’s almost lunch time now, and he walks down to the admin area where an intern, who is usually tasked with the mundane tasks like these, tells him there’s a girl waiting for him at the gate. He just gruffly nods, hands stuck in his pockets as he steps out of the building and where you stand on the other side of the barrier, awkwardly waiting with a little paper bag. He’s glad you’re wrapped up, a thick scarf practically engulfing your face and a wooly hat covering the hair he loves the look of. “Miss Lost and Found, is that your name now?” He hums, stepping towards you and you almost jump, not used to the physical skull mask he wears on base and rather the more tame chalk one. But his voice resonates instantly and you grin, tugging down your scarf to your chin. “I may have lied. I came bearing a delivery.”

Well he hadn't expected you to straight up lie to get your way, but he supposes it must be a good cause and so he takes the bag when you offer it to him, though not without taking your wrist too. “C’mon, let's get you warmed up inside.”

You’re not sure if you stick out like a sore thumb because of the thick jacket you wear compared to the camos sported around here, or due to the Lieutenant’s grip around your hand as he tugs you along. It must be a mix of both, assuming from the way the other soldiers look at Ghost and then you before scurrying off quickly. He eventually seats you opposite him in an office, letting you sit on the couch as he settles on the armchair. Though.. this office does not match him in the slightest. “Captain’s office, not mine.”

He hums, digging out the container out of the paperbag with curiosity along with a warm flask. “You didn't..” He grunts, eye flickering down at the food and then up to you, not quite sure just yet if the little lunchbox you brang is something he had somehow left behind in another life or you really had brought him lunch while he was working.

“I did. I wanted to thank you for all your help the other day” You grin, and he pulls off the lid, instantly caught in the delicious smell inside. Two large chicken stuffed buns right beside each other, practically still hot considering you cooked them this morning. Beneath is veggie sticks, ones you’d usually give to little kids, layered over seasoned rice in case he wasn't full on the buns already. And of course, would it really be you if you didn't give him a dessert? Of course, nothing too sweet, in fact you even went out of your way to make another off menu item for him… oops.

“Banana bread? Do you note down everything I say?” He likes the way your smile grows wider when he notices your efforts, taking care to remember that for later too. Though, he really is surprised you were paying that much attention to him. “You know I'm gonna devour this, righ’?”

Though you’re quickly cut off when the door bangs open, a noise common around here but not exactly for you since you unintentionally jump. It doesn't go unnoticed by Simon though, whose hand shoots out to protect before realising you had only jumped at the door and nothing actually serious. His hand says awkwardly hovering before you before he just picks some lint of your shoulder, quickly turning to the door instead. Is he going crazy or what? The cause of the noise was a bulky man who had almost as much muscle as the man in front of you, only shorter than him and the muscle was more evenly distributed.

“Lt, the fuckin’ rookies are at it again! This new batch are always fighting eachother!” He exclaims, walking over to the desk in the office to snatch a cookie out of a jar that easily blends into the rest of the furniture around. You stare at him as he bites into it, the crumbs falling onto his tactical gear before his head lifts to meet Simon’s, only to see you right in front of him. He raises a single brow at you, then chomps on a cookie a little more.

“Oh, is this one of ‘em? Lass doesn't even look terrified, have ye lost yer touch mate?” Ghost grunts as the man jests, and shakes his head before trying to move the lunchbox out of the man’s sight. “She’s not a soldier, Johnny.”

“Not a soldier eh? So.. CIA? One of Laswell’s right?”

“No”

”Medic?”

“No.”

“K9 Trainer?”

“No.”

”Damnit, Lt, yer killing me!”

‘Johnny’ groans as he steps around the desk, before promptly noticing the lunchbox that Ghost had failed to completely hide behind him. Though, that left even more questions unanswered. For starters, when has Ghost ever sat with someone for lunch?

“None of ya business who she is. I’ll deal with the rookies in five, just get ‘em rounded up, Soap.” Then he turns to you, wrapping the scarf that was tossed to the side back around your neck before he pulls you up by your hands. “And you need to get back home.”

“Do I really look like I could be in the CIA?” Soap snaps his gaze to you as your head tilts, in a way that’s far too friendly, towards Ghost though he only rolls his eyes up at you and huffs out a chuckle. “You couldn't even kill a fly.”

“I didn't want fly blood on me!”

You argue and Ghost turns to see the other soldier staring, so he grunts and closes the lid onto the lunchbox. Soap had just been through a series of emotions and confusion was an aspect of all of them. Ghost had just tucked a scarf around your neck, refused to give your identity to him and he was about to walk you back to wherever you came from. For once in his life, he stays silent as his Lieutenant leads you out, a hand on your back to guide you.

——————————————————————

After he walked you back to your car and made sure you knew your way out of the complex, he had spent the next half hour dealing with those damn rookies Soap groaned about. Finally, he was free now, the little blue lunch box in front of him, and lord was he starving. As he promised, he devoured everything you made him, even taking a moment to stop and savour the burst of flavour the shredded chicken had been coated in. It was more than good, it was like the takeout they only got every so often, like the drinks he’d share with his taskforce, or even the sigh that gets let out when everyone comes back unscathed from a mission. It was comforting and warm, a promise of safety and he’d be damned if he never got to try this cooking ever again. So, he savours each bite, every drop of tea in the flask until it’s empty. He’ll scrub the container clean for you, grab you a box of chocolates even if it was meant as a thnak you. And he’d be back in that bakery, as soon as he could.

———————————————————————

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[chaifootsteps]

The show has accidentally paralleled Stolas and Blitzo as fathers but not in the way it thinks

Stolas lowkey seems like he wanted to escape from fatherhood (saying he only stayed with Stella so 'that girl could have a normal life', openly did not want a daughter and had an heir from obligation) and had a daughter who he looked after from birth and got to her teenage years only for him to continually neglect her after blowing up her life with his cheating. the climax of the trial scene is him forgetting Via exists entirely until after he's lost his titles and after he thought he would be put to death

meanwhile Blitzo wanted to be a dad and have a family, adopted a teen daughter who rejected his love despite also needing someone herself. but meanwhile his "relationship" with Stolas is solely to provide for her and IMP and set up his dream business and he actively avoids neglecting her by prioritizing her medical care over getting Stolas' stupid ass out of trouble. the climax of the trial scene is not Blitzo mooning over Stolas but instead prioritizing Loona once again, asking M&M to take care of her. compared to Stolas, Blitzo loves Loona too much and is a bit smothering, but his only real misstep is getting drunk in front of her

Blitzo is the actual flawed but trying father. Stolas was only ever good at being a parent when Via was tiny and too young to see the obvious flaws in her selfish father, who prioritized his affair over her the second he got the chance

It's true, and the kicker is that Stolas doesn't even seem to appreciate or even realize that Blitz is a much better father to Loona than he's been to Via. Hell, before all's said and done, it wouldn't surprise me if the show tried to insist it was the other way around.

[astroyongie]

How does it feel to be loved by ateez???

How Does It Feels To Be Loved by Ateez

Hongjoong

His love feels like a tether to something beyond, a pull toward redemption and the promise of ascension. His love feels like watching you rise under a strange passion, weighted with the same longing you feel to be free, to transcend, to leave behind the chains of this world. you want the same things, yet Hongjoong's love gives you the contrary of what you this you want. His love makes you yearn to vanish, to dissolve into the ether where neither of you can hold or hurt the other. His love takes what it needs, leaving only the echo of your shared desire, a fleeting mark in the void you both crave to escape.

Seonghwa

His love feels like a quiet, unspoken guardianship, a tenderness born in the shadows. his love raises you in the dark, shielding you as best he could, even as you caught glimpses of his light breaking through. you see his potential love how it carries despite the weight of the world. your heart would ached as you try to hold back the darkness his love somehow provides, to protect yourself from it, even when you know he couldn’t shield you forever. hist love alone might not be enough to save you.

Mingi

His love feels like finding shelter in the shadows, a home carved out of the darkness he carries. He would see you most clearly when you are alone, your raw edges unguarded, and you know every step that led you here. Mingi's love is the sharp intake of breath, the ache of wanting to know him deeper, to understand the parts he hides. If he chooses to give, you would be able to take all he has, all his darkest impulses, all his fears and desires. you would hold them close, not to fix them, but to feel the weight of his truth. If he gives you love, let it be the surrender of himself, let him give in again.

Yunho

His love feels timeless, a thread woven through past lives and future dreams, binding you across the ages. Yunho's love speaks as if he knew you before, as if your future was etched into the contours of his fantasy. In his voice is an invitation, a plea to dance in the dark, where shadows become sanctuaries of love. He offers a blacklit paradise, a world glowing with forbidden beauty, where every step with him feels like passion, and every moment is a promise of etern love wrapped in night. Yunho's love is mysterious and deep.

San

His love feels like a mirror, a distortion of who you are to fit the shape of his desires and it can be quite scary. he sees in you the reflection he craves, someone to echo his pain, his deception, someone to shoulder the burden he won’t carry. His love is to set you free by taking pieces of you, carving out what he needs until there’s nothing left. His love is fleeting, a thief in the night, leaving behind the hollow ache of his absence. he knows what he wants, and you give it to him, even knowing he’ll take it all and leave you behind.

Wooyoung

His love feels like standing at the edge of chaos, where wrath and desire collide in a storm of love. In the heat of it, there’s no boundary between passion and destruction for wooyoung, no line left uncrossed. The thought of his love burns, sharp as a hollow point against fragile skin, each word a promise to unravel everything. His love is capable of pain at the core of pleasure. His love is violent, raw, and unrelenting, leaving nothing but ashes and the haunting pull to dive back in.

Yeosang

His love feels like unraveling the universe thread by thread. you would crave him, not just in touches, but in the depths of his essence, you would want to taste him better, to know him in ways no one else can. his devotion sharpens into lust, a silent warning that his love faces you even when he dares to harm you. Even in the quiet, he would reach for the proof of you, aching to feel your presence in the vast expanse of everything. you would want to know he’s out there, burning as fiercely as you burn for him.

Jungho

His love feels like a garden untamed, a sacred space where beauty and wildness intertwine. His love is the silence on distant, a calm that follows storms. but his love also glitters with danger and allure, and you would yearn for the bite, even just once to feel the sharp edge of his love. he would offer himself willingly, a gift laid at your feet, a sacrifice in your name, knowing the cost. He has a taste for this, for the fragility of devotion, and you need to be ready to be consumed by him, piece by piece.

[inexplicifics]

Ooooooh, what is this L/A/V/M ruling omegas fic? I don’t think I’ve seen any snippets from it yet! Any chance you’ve got something available?

I can provide a snippet of that! Not actually sure where this one is going but I've already had to do Math so...oops?

“I received a message today via spell-raven,” Rennes says, making everyone sit up straighter in astonishment. Spell-ravens - especially if sent to somewhere as remote as Kaer Morhen - are hideously expensive. Lambert’s immediate thought is that some city or other has gotten a whole nest of higher vampires, or something similar in ferocity, and need to hire witchers both quickly and in large numbers. It turns out he’s correct about the ‘large numbers’ part, at least. “The Duchess de Roggeven, down in Redania, wishes to hire at least half of the School of the Wolf to protect an upcoming tournament from any threats - including any attempts by the competitors to kill each other.” “Except during the actual jousting,” Gweld says, not quite sotto voce. Rennes rolls his eyes. “Yes, except during the actual planned fighting.” He grimaces. “I’d refuse, except that she’s offering what our entire School earns…in a decade.” “Holy shit,” someone breathes.