#but i really do want him to have a good life for himself

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Whatever You Say

Stepdad!Joel Miller x F!Reader

Notes: this was supposed to be a 3 sentence "imagine this!" But i just kept... going.

Summary: Joel's determined to be the father you need and the husband your mom deserves. That all comes crashing down when he accidentally misunderstands your intentions.

Warnings: unprotected sex, stepdad!Joel, switch!Joel, voyeurism, panting sniffing and stealing, f and m masturbation, manipulation/black mail, dub con, Daddy kink, riding, sub!joel, rimming, humiliation kink, cum play, cheating

18+ ONLY

- - - -

Genuinely nice, kind, wanting to do the right thing Step!Dad Joel trying to be a good man to your mom and fit in with you. Despite your aversion to him, he knows you're an adult now and you probably aren't on board with the whole "new dad" thing so late in the game. Still, he gives you your space but also actively inserts himself into your family, trying to get your stubborn self to open up to him and accept him.

His assumptions are wrong, when he crosses passed your cracked bedroom door one night and hears you moaning "Daddy!" While rubbing your clit. He gasps and covers his mouth, unable to draw away from the sight of your slick pussy glistening in the moon light from the window.

He should turn away right now, burn the vision and memory from his brain, but your sweet soft whimper of "Daddy please..." followed by a high pitched groan, and the schlickslick sounds of your finger working through your folds has him planted in place, mesmerized.

"Daddy's here," he hums under his breath barely over a whisper, not removing his tranfixed gaze from your naked wreathing body in bed as he fishes out his leaking cock and begins to pump it with his fist. He would have genuinely never guessed, never picked up on how needy you had been all this time for him. Too busy denying yourself and pushing him away when you really needed him shoving his cock right into your aching little cunt.

He's practically salivating. Each time you let out a "Daddy m'gonna cum, wanna cum on your cock!" He can feel his length pulse wildly in his palm.

"Cum for Daddy!" he rasps, jaw dropping in a silent please as he bursts over the lower panel of your door. At the same time you arch your back, tits piercing the air while your orgasm tears through you.

He steadies his breathing as low as possible, still not sure if he's dreaming. His vision regains focus on you just as you bring your sticky fingers to your lips and suck them clean of your juices with a satisfied hum.

Joel chokes, accidentally stumbling against the door.

You sit up only to hear a frantic rush of footsteps disappearing down the hall and a door slamming at the end.

-

After that, Joel avoids you like the plague but stalks you from a distance. He's too nervous to act on both your desires. He had set out on this family to be a good husband, a good father! Your dad was shit so of course you'd been neglected that vital role in your life.

He just can't help but get hard every time he thinks about you.

Whenever you go out with friends for the night, he sneaks into your room and slips into your bed. The aroma of your shampoo and body wash, sweat and skin rubbing along these same sheets fills his senses. Joel palms over his bulge, buring his nose into your pillow with a pathetic sigh. It smelled like sex, like you'd been rubbing your slick pussy all over your bed, marking it, making it evident of your possession like a nest.

He finds a pair of used panties sitting on the floor beside the bed, pressing the damp crotch of it firmly into his nose. He already has a thick hand wrapped around his girth as he tongues and sniffs your used undies, rolling his hips into his hand. God, he wants you. And he knows you need him. Should he be the big man, step up as any father would and take care of your needs? Is that what you were waiting for? Waiting all this time for Daddy to ruin your sweet tight hot little cunt and fill you to the brim with his seed--

Hes about to cum when your door swings open. Yhe blood from his body drains into his cock as you stand, catching him red handed, literally, with your crimson panties wrapped around his fist and bare dick in your bed jerking off to the thought of you.

"What the FUCK, joel??" You screech, slamming your door closed behind you, trapping him in here with his confessions laid out for you to direct.

"I c-c-I uh--"

Vowels tumble from his mouth but nothing coherent comes out. He should put his cock away, but he just catches the way your eyes glance down every half second, ans it only makes him swell with righteousness even more.

He breathes in, smirking, knowing he has the upper hand here. "Heard ya crying for your Daddy few nights back. Wanted to give ya what you--"

"Just because I have a "daddy" kink doesn't mean i was crying for you, you perverted fuck!" You shout.

Joel's shit eating grin disappears into horror. "You--you didnt--"

He wants to crawl into the wall, but even worse than the situation he's caged himself in, you start walking closer. "IS that what you thought? That i was rubbing my pussy to the thought of you??" You cackle. "That's fucking disgusting. I call my BOYFRIEND 'daddy.' Only a sick, perverted old fuck like you would think I'd be wanting my step dad of all people!"

Daggers piece his insides at each word. You stalk towards him even more, ans he's practically crawling up the bedframe in fear and embarrassment. It doesn't help that his cock is fucking leaking all over your pillow, bobbing painfully with the reddened tip thrombin another glob of precum from his hole.

"I-"

"Is that what you are, Joel? A perverted, sick fuck who thinks about fucking his step daughter?"

"Please--please i--I'm so sorry -- I didnt... I misunderstood..."

"Misunderstood?" You've finally cornered him, knee pressed to the matress and leaning over so he has no where to look but you. "Did you plan to use that as your excuse when I tell my mom I found you jerking off in my bed with my underwear wrapped around your face?"

"Please--please don't tell her..." he could die. Die right now that he's one centimeter from fucking this whole family to hell, the family he had wanted to make right for so long-andwhyishisdickstillsohard??

"I'll do anything," he whimpers. "I'll make it up to you."

He hopes you're gonna bleed his wallet dry, or get him to do your dishes, or buy you a apartment, but instead, your eyes drop down to his spread legs, biting your lower lip with a sickening hum.

You don't say anything as you shove him, his back flat bouncing onto the bed. You straddle his waist, his face bound in surprise. Joel stutters a whine but snaps his throat shut as his cock brushes along your ass, your very naked, bare ass underneath that sorry excuse for a skirt.

"I wanna see just how desperate you are to get inside your stepdaughter," you hiss, your hand snaking behind the two of you and gripping his length.

His face is pale, shocked and aroused and confused all at once, but he doesn't protest at all when you rub his tip through your soaking folds. He tilts his chin down to watch the scene between your legs unfold, unsure what kind of punishment miracle this must be.

"Daddy," you whine.

His head snaps back to your face like a dog ready for a treat.

You laugh. "That's what you wanted to hear, wasn't it? Me crying for my daddy when he's about to push his big--fat--cock inside my little pussy?"

You both let out a moan, wide eyed and open mouthed as you sink fully onto his length.

"Ohhh, dadddyyyy," you tease, experimentally rolling your hips. Joel's hand slap to your hips, instinctually holding you up as you begin to ride him. Whether you were making fun of him or actually enjoying yourself, he didnt care. All he cared about was the warm, wet suction of your heat sucking him back in each time you grinned your hips down on him.

"Do you like this, Daddy?" You moan, looking down on him.

He grits his teeth, beautiful brown eyes making contact and nodding. He has no words.

You giggle. "Me too, Daddy. Your cock is so big, stretches me so fucking good. Never had cock like this," you gasp, one hand planted on his collar as you set off a quicker pace, humping him with delicious rhythm.

He has already edged himself before you had come in. You could tell he was close, his thrusts meeting your every roll of your hips.

"Do you wanna cum? You wanna cum inside me Daddy?"

He nods fervently.

"Tell me."

"I wanna cum--wanna cum inside, inside your sweet pussy baby fuck, please let me, let me cum, let daddy cum inside you!"

"You can cum inside--but only if you do everything I tell you." You expertly swivel your hips so that his impending orgasm is subsided, making him growl. He has no other option but to focus on your words as if it were law. "If I want you to eat my pussy at the dinner table, you do it. If I tell you to finger me when Mom is talking, you do it. And if I tell you I want you to myself all night...?"

"Im here," he moans obediently. His blunt nails dig into your belly as he bucks harder into you, agreeing to everything you say just so he can burst.

You smile. "Cum inside me Daddy!"

He obeys, shouting as his hips still high in the air and thick ropes of his spent cover your walls. You laugh at him, laugh and moan and laugh ans gasp and laugh, and he can't get enough of it. He's never cum so hard in his fucking life, filling you to the brim until it's leaking down his shaft in a creamy mix of yours and his fluids.

Of course, you knew he wanted you. You did think about him every night since he shook your head eith "Hi, Im Joel," like the upstanding citizen he was. You knew he was a perverted mess. And ever since you found that sticky surprise plastered on your door, it only confirmed it. Joel Miller was a needy man, and you were a needy woman. He was meant to be here, and you weren't about to fight destiny.

Collapsing against his sweaty chest, your lips connect with his in a messy link of wet kisses and breathless moans as Joel comes down from his high. You can see it in his hazy eyes: He'd do anything for you right now. Jump off a cliff, eat poison, stab your mom--

"And if I tell you to get on your knees and spread your ass...?" You hum casually into his mouth before sucking his tongue.

He stops, eyes fluttering open slightly with crinkles in his forehead. You know he heard you. You raise your brow, waiting for his move.

Joel glances down at your plump, wet and swollen lips once more before rolling over and planting his knees into the bed, bending forward so his face hovered over the pillows.

Your legs clench together in excitement as you position yourself behind him. He hesitates for a moment before bringing his fingers around his sides and spreading his cheeks before you, his hole exposed to your devilish gaze.

He can't see behind him, but the sound of your squelching pussy as you finger yourself to his ass makes him whimpers into the pillow.

You pull a glob of Joels and yours cum from deep inside and spread it along his asshole. He flinches, not being used to -- well, fuck, ANYONE touching him there in his whole life. He's touched his hole before, out of curiousty more than anything, but thats the extend Joel Miller has ever gone.

Not that you are paying any mind to his apprehensions, as your thumb messily circles the tight edges of his entrance like a finger painting.

It's warm and sticky as you smear his cum over the rim, dribbling in excess down his crack to his balls and hanging cock. He can feel pulses of excitement and anxiety twitching, undoubtedly for you to make fun of him more.

What the hell would a pretty girl like you want with his old hairy aashole?

"You have such a pretty hole, Daddy," you hum against his cheek, nipping it softly with your teeth. He feels your lips glide over the swell before the warm heat of your breath tickles his opening, and your lips settle with a gentle, innocent kiss. He let's out a low sigh, closing his eyes while you make out with his ass.

His step daughter is making out with his ass hole right now, and he's getting hard as a rock.

Your tongue prods his rim, making him stutter, pushing back slightly against you again. You giggle, obliging and wiggling the tip around his puckered entrance enclosing your lips again to suck and kiss before repeating. One of your hands starts tugging on his cock, squeezing along the base before yanking up and down like you're trying to milk him.

Joel's head fully sinks into the pillow, his tongue lolling out as he let's out happy groans. His eyes roll back every time you straighten your tongue a little harder. Trying to work its way inside, wiggling and kissing him softly.

Joel thinks to hell with upstanding dad, upstanding husband routine he had envisioned when he first laid eyes on you and your mom. He can feel his irises morphing into literal hearts as you continue to lap at at his ass, never having fallen in love and fallen to his knees for a woman so quickly in his goddamb life.

- - - -

Taglist:

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[meloyellow236]

How would the TWST boys act when they had a crush on the Reader/Yuu?

All are meant to be interpreted as romantic except for Ortho, who is a wingman for his brother in his part. Some characters might be a bit OOC. Reader is GN but will be referred to as pretty/beautiful. Minor TW for Rollo having yandere tendencies.

If anyone has anything to add or any questions, please leave an ask or comment! Requests are open if anyone wants :) Everything is under the cut

Heartslabyul:

Riddle Rosehearts - 

Not the best person to have liking you. 

He’s not mean or anything he just... Has no idea what to do with himself at any time. 

And it’s very obvious. 

He thinks that if he’s very, very specific about you following the rules, you’ll praise him and thus that’ll mean you’ll like him. 

He’s… Trying his best. 

“Off With Your Head!” You felt the metal clamp around your neck as you heard the echo of the words. Turning around, you saw the small redhead with his hands on his hips, face already flushing. He grabbed the drink you were holding, the surface of the coffee moving as he pulled away. “On a Tuesday, one can only drink lemon tea past 3:14 in the afternoon!” He huffed, before using his free hand to pull you away. “If you don’t know the rules, I’ll just have to teach them to you. Come on, there’s some tea in the garden. I have a book of rules I could read to you.” 

Trey Clover - 

He’s housewife material, he’ll bake for you 

“Any boy can be babygirl but it takes a man to be a single  mother” vibes 

I never know what to say to him he’s just a normal person who likes cooking 

On a complete side note if you ever go to NYC, go to Alice’s Tea Cup. It’s this tea house that’s kind of close to Broadway, at least last time I went pre-COVID, and it’s so good. I have the recipe book from there and the pumpkin scones are the best. 

You walked into the Hearslabyul kitchen, smiling at the smell of apple pie. Trey was baking, and the dish had just come out of the oven. He smiled, but then slapped your hand away when you tried to grab it. “Not yet, it needs to cool first. If you really want something to eat, we have leftover blueberry scones in the fridge.” He said, looking away to get the serving plate. You touched it anyway, pulling back as you burned yourself. He looked at you and sighed, taking you by the arm to get an ice cube on it. “Burnt hand teaches best, I suppose... It shouldn’t be that bad of a burn. If it gets any worse, I’ll  put some cream on it...” He said, before kissing the burn. “And a get-well-soon kiss, of course.” 

Cater Diamond - 

He’s a silly boy, but also an angsty one 

If he genuinely likes you, he’d probably try really, really hard to be the “perfect guy” 

And also to try to hide how into you he is because he’s scared you’ll leave him 

Those moments when his guard drops are probably the sweetest, though 

“Ah, that was fun! Well, Cay-cay’s all yours for the rest of the day. What do you wanna do now?” Cater said, having just turned off his livestream. You were behind his phone smiling at him. You were going to recommend getting a drink at the Monstro lounge, but saw how tired he was. He smiled at you when you asked to just hang out with him at home. “You do, huh? Well, there’s a new movie we could watch.” When you raised an eyebrow, asking if it was for Magicam, he just chuckled and shook his head. “Nope. A remake of an old classic. I want to watch it with you. I’m sure that you’d be able to make anything good, just by being there.” 

Ace Trapolla & Deuce Spade- 

They’re together because I feel like you can’t make one fall for you without the other. It’s a ‘buy one get one free’ deal. 

Ace would be a nightmare to have in love with you. 

He’d try his best to flirt, but mainly through really bad dirty jokes and pickup lines. 

Or, by inserting himself into your life as much as possible in an attempt to force himself into a place of importance for you 

Duece, on the other hand, would be an angel. 

He attempts to be an old-fashioned gentleman, like holding open doors and getting you flowers. 

Are those roses from Heartslabyul’s garden? Maybe. Just don’t snitch on him to Riddle. 

You weren't entirely sure how you got yourself into hiding in a cabinet with Ace and Duece, but here you were, avoiding the Riddle currently screaming his head off about how someone had stolen the roses currently in your arms. You had a hand over Duece’s mouth as he muttered apologies, trying to get him to shut up, before Ace leaned in and whispered “Hey, Prefect?” You gave him a look, to which he said, “Are you from Tennessee? Because you’re the only ten I see!” He asked, voice rising in volume as he tried not to laugh, to which Duece slapped him on the arm and cried, “Don’t be so loud! You’re going to get us caught!” Ace only laughed harder, until the door to the cabinet opened. You took a dash out of there with your roses, the two bumbling baffoons behind you, the yelling housewarden already collaring them. 

Savanaclaw: 

Leona Kingscholar - 

He’s a fun man 

Well, not really, but his attempts are very fun for Ruggie. 

He’ll just drag you away and force you to cuddle with him. 

You’ll probably end up cutting class, but do you really care when it’s with the clingy lion man? 

Throwing money at you with no regard to the amount he gives or the reason he does it is the other attempt. 

If he can prove that he’s better at taking care of you than the lizard, he can win this round. 

And get a better lover than his brother, but that’s the secondary goal. 

You were just walking in the garden when you felt someone trip you, causing you to land half in a bush. Before you could turn around to tell off the person responsible, they grabbed your waist and pulled you to them on the floor. “It’s nap time, Herbivore. Shut up and let me sleep.” When you told him that he was the one who invited you here and you’d have to skip your next class to stay, he just huffed and rolled his eyes at you, pushing a pouch in your hand. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. If you’ll be like that, take this and you can get whatever you want in your lunch period. Fair deal if you’ll stay.” 

Ruggie Bucchi - 

Would never ask you out on a date, he’s scared. 

The best treatment that you get before he’s sure you’re not going to be mean to him is that he doesn’t pawn your gifts off for cash. 

Afterward, he’ll be a bit more affectionate 

Maybe even give you some of his food... 

Also, hyena courting stuff; Shadowing a potential partner, taking a step forward and then taking a step back, and other stuff like that. 

You heard the laughing of the beastman before you were able to see his face. He had been following you around for most of the day, but every time he’d take a few steps forward, he’d taken a few back after a second. Now, though, he had his head on your shoulder. “Hello, Prefect. Look what I got!” He said, showing you a donut he had probably gotten from Sam’s. “You want a bite?” He asked, when you nodded and took a bite he bit onto the other end, giggling away. “What, was that really enough to fluster you, Prefect? Shishishi, I should try doing this to you again.”

Jack Howl - 

Jack asks you outright if you feel the same way he does, especially if you two are friends. 

Finally! A confession! 

He doesn’t want to make your friendship weird, so he wants to tell you that it’s happened and either find a way to get over you or have a happy relationship. 

Very much “Worst they can say is no, best they can say is yes” kind of man 

Aside from that, very loyal and sweet to you before he realizes that he likes you 

Also, a pinch of an old-fashioned gentleman in him 

Jack had called you out earlier that day to go on an evening walk with him, and so here you were. You were in the mountains, walking at a fairly slow pace. You neared a big tree as the sun set, and Jack took a deep breath. He took your hand, ears on high alert and tail looking undecided between if it wanted to cower beneath his legs or wag excitedly, and said, “Prefect, I like you very much. Please go on a date with me.”

Octavinelle: 

Azul Ashengrotto - 

Oh no 

He has two moods when it comes to the person he likes; Annoyingly showoffish and annoyingly terrified of you. 

Somehow, it’s sometimes both. 

He would talk very loudly about how well he was doing as a businessman his contracts and how much money he’d made. 

And then you touch him and he just stops functioning.

“Oh, look, Jade! Another new high this month! We might even be able to expand!” He cried, glancing at you again and again. This had been happening every time you visited Monstro Lounge; A song and dance of Azul fishing for compliments that he seemed to hate, if him leaving the room every time you complimented him had anything to say about it. This time, you grabbed his wrist as you spoke, telling him how he was doing a very good job. You watched him turn a shade of red and blue, stiffening up as he muttered out a response. “Thank you... I will keep your response in mind.” The moment you let him go, Jade stepped in to talk to you as the octopus-mer ran away once more. 

Jade Leech - 

As the more put together of the two moray eels here, he gets the ‘classier’ side of the coin. 

Moray courting rituals of wrapping together is often described as a dance, so he’ll try to dance with you. 

Aside from that, I can see him subtly teasing you about yawning in front of him, even if you don’t understand why. 

And feeding you plenty of mushroom dishes. 

You were stuffed, that was for sure. Jade had invited you to Octavinelle a while ago, and now you were here, eating various mushroom dishes like your life depended on it. He was smiling, another one placed in front of you. “A shiitake and crab stir fry is next. Surely, you have room for more?” He asked, a small smile on his lips. He chuckled when you yawned, “Isn’t it a bit late in the season for that?” When you asked what he meant, he only shook his head and brought a filled fork to your lips. “Fufu. Just focus on eating for now, Prefect.” 

Floyd Leech - 

Hehe funny unhinged eel man  

Moray eels like to cuddle, so prepare to be squeezed by him 

Also, yawning or ‘gaping’ (Opening his mouth really wide) at you. 

Honestly, I don’t have a lot of thoughts on him, he’s just a silly little guy. 

“Shrimpy!” You heard cried behind you, Floyd flopping himself over you from behind. He yawned and pushed his head over your shoulder as he spread himself over you so his weight was all on you to hold up. “Whatcha doing?” He asked, smiling at you. Once you answered that you were on your way to class, he frowned, wrapping his arms around you before lifting you like a cat. “That’s boring! Common, Shrimpy, we’re going to find something fun to do!” 

Scarabia: 

Kalim Al-Asim - 

For Kalim, I feel as if the second he knows he likes you, you will know he likes you because he’ll tell you outright. 

Before he knows he likes you, everyone else will know he likes you. 

Running up to you at every opportunity, constantly complimenting you, talking about you to everyone who will listen, etc. 

Much like the other rich kids who aren’t used to being genuinely wanted for themselves and not their money in this school, Kalim will throw expensive gifts at you in an attempt to gain your favor. 

“Prefect!!” You heard someone shout, running at you from across the field of the flying lesson you were in. “There you are! I’ve got something for you!” He said, smiling all the while. He kissed you on the cheek, and then reached into his bag, pulling out a golden bracelet. Before you had time to refuse, because it was the middle of a class where it could easily be lost or because of the outrageous price tag, he spoke up. “And now we match! Just like twins, see?” He had kept his ones on this time, and you couldn’t help but smile as he was beaming up at you. 

Jamil Viper - 

Jamil might not be able to show off often, but he does try to do so for you. 

You’re busy and can’t cook? He’ll get you some food! 

You’ve torn a hole in your gym clothes? He’s got a sewing kit on him!

Your homework is about to kill your GPA because Crewel seems to hate having breaks? He’s your guy!

All in all, he attempts to woo you like a mixture of a 1950s housewife and the stereotype of tutor love interests in media. 

“-And that’s how to make a basic healing tonic. Any questions?” He asked. When you shook your head, he gave a small smile. “That’s good. I’ll help you clean up in here, and then I’ve got something for you back at Scarabia.” His hand brushed yours as he helped you clear up the papers that had been scattered around as you studied. “You mentioned wanting to try foods from the scalding sands, so I got a bunch of ingredients. I’ll make you a wonderful meal if you’d like.”

Pomefiore: 

Vil Schoenheit - 

Much like Riddle, you must deal with him being much more annoying as soon as he likes you. 

Just this time, he’s annoying you about your self-care. 

You don’t take multi-hour spa baths in the crummy bath at Ramshackle? Well, now you do at the much better baths in Pomefiore every week. 

You don’t have a skincare routine that takes up half your morning? Yes, you do. 

You will never be in better condition physically but he will continue finding new ways to push you. 

He does it out of love because he wants you to always look and feel your best. 

You opened the door to Ramshackle, looking at a mildly annoyed Vil. He grabbed you before you could protest, leading you away from your dorm. “Come on, Potato. I’m taking you to Pomefiore, and you’re going to get a makeover.” When you asked why, the third year just rolled his eyes. “You have bags under your eyes, and they seem to be from lack of sleep or stress, if your appearance when you came here was anything to say about it. So, I’m getting you a spa day and will teach you how to take care of yourself better. If you still can’t, I’ll just have to take you for spa time more often.” 

Rook Hunt - 

Rook is a walking love letter. 

Constantly waxing poetics, and talking about how beautiful you are. 

You forget something at home and the next thing you know you’ve got an arrow shot next to you and whatever you need as well as a heartfelt note is in a pouch tied to it. 

And he’s just... There. 

All the time. 

He’s in your walls. 

You sighed, having forgotten your potions textbook for the third time this week. Truly, your memory was your own worst- What was that? A thud had come from right next to you; An arrow with a paper gift bag tied onto it through a deep purple ribbon had been shot into a tree, going right past your head. When you looked into it, there was your missing textbook, as well as a note from the giver. ‘Dearest Trickster, it is a wonder to be in your presence. I do ask, please grace me with those eyes to my face. If only I had those, I would be happy to deliver you your books for the rest of my life.’ When you looked around, you saw him; The third year excitedly waving at you from the rooftop of the school. 

Epel Felmeir - 

He tries so hard to show you how awesome cool and manly he is. 

Has the same vibes as a child showing their parents how good they are at sports. 

“Hey Mom, look!” *Kicks a soccer ball and falls flat on his face* 

He’s doing the best he can with the skills he has, give the little guy some credit 

“Hey, Prefect! Did ya see that goal I made at the end?” Epel said, having just finished a Spelldrive game. He had come up to you as soon as he was done, and you smiled at him, nodding and telling him that he had done well. He puffed his chest out at that, looking like the cat who got the cream. “Of course I did! I’ll even give ya a ride on my broom after our next practice, so you can see what it looks like when ya playing. That’s be fun, right?” He said, smiling at you widely. 

Ignihyde: 

Idia Shroud - 

Scared boy 

Very, very scared boy 

He will try to run from you any time he’s nearby.

If you manage to corner him, expect him to be very flustered. 

Maybe you’ll get a sentence or two out of him if you keep trying... 

Idia had been avoiding you for the past few days, and you had no idea why. So here you were, using the key card ortho gave you to work your way into the room of the hermit. He was hunched over his desk, eyes closed and breathing steady. His monitor was on, so when you walked over, you took the mouse out from him and went to save in his game before you closed it out. He stirred, muttering as he opened his eyes, “One more round, Orthohmysevenitsyouohimsorryicangonow!” He bolted straight up, hair flaming pink as he pushed the swirly chair back and ran out of his own room.

Ortho Shroud - 

His big brother’s best wingman 

Will come up to you and talk about how great his brother is 

If needed, pulls up diagrams and chats like he’s giving a PowerPoint presentation on his brother’s ability to date you 

“Prefect!” You heard a shout, the younger Shroud brother coming up to you. “I have something that you must see! You are aware of my brother’s affection for you, correct?” When you shook your head, he smiled, pulling up a presentation on his iPad. “That makes this much more difficult, but very well! As you can see here, one’s heartbeat increases when one meets with the object of one’s affections. This can be caused by a flight or fight response, which my brother does not usually suffer from when over a call with another. However, when your voice is there, his heart rate spikes dramatically! This means that I have reason to believe that he is in love with you. In this presentation, I will-”

Diasonia: 

Malleus Dracona - 

He is going to try to woo you with gems 

And probably other dragon-courting rituals 

I think that out of the beastmen and fae, he understands the least that you don’t get their courting rituals. 

By the name he realizes that you don’t think you’re dating he’s already picked out the names of your kids. 

“Child of Man?” You heard the familiar voice of Hornton call out to you in your garden. You smiled, turning around to face him. “It’s nice to see you again. I have a gift for you.” He said, holding out a golden necklace with emeralds sprinkled in. When you tried to refuse the gift, saying it was too expensive to get ‘just because’ he only shook his head and put it around your neck. “All the stars in the sky would be too little to give you, and every jewel in my horde pales in comparison to your beauty. If only you wear this, then you will surely compare to my father when you take your place at my side. Although, I believe you already do in both appearance and wit.”

Lilia Vanrouge - 

Old fae bat man 

He flirts with you, but it ends up being either too old-timey or too fae for you to understand 

For the old-timey side; According to Wikipedia, “Gifts accompanied courtship in the form of a man proving coins, trinkets or clothing to the woman he is trying to woo.” So, he gets you various gifts, like coins, jewelry that he has, and whatever else you’re interested in. 

I assume that because he’s such a long-lived fae, they range from ‘I found this stone in the garden’ to ‘Here’s a 1000-year-old artifact capable of destroying the world if you hold onto it wrong’

For the fae side; Male bats court by making various noises (screaming, honking, singing), flicking their wings/showing off how good they are at flying, and grooming the other party. I’m interpreting this as singing to you, playing with your hair, and trying to impress you in flight class. 

Also, him humming old love songs to you and playing with your hair I can’t-

Lilia was sitting next to you on the couch, as you flipped through various movies on the television he had in his room. You were in his arms, with his hands in your hair, braiding wherever he could get enough hair to do so. “Hey, Beastie?” He chuckled as you sighed at the lack of familiar movies. “I really do care for you quite a bit. Also, there’s this one Halloween movie that came out a year or two ago. Terror is Trending, or something. We could watch that.” He laughed again and started humming. It seemed to be a classical piece. When you asked what he was singing, he said “Dichterliebe, Robert Schumann’s Op. 48., movement 11.” He smiled at you, and then laughed at your confusion. “Just put the movie on already, Beastie.” 

Silver “Vanrouge” - 

The meeting scene from Sleeping Beauty 

That’s it, that’s my idea 

Due to the lack of inspiration, he gets a slightly longer drabble, though? 

You were walking in the woods, pausing at a shallow river, singing to yourself. It wasn’t long until you heard a horse trotting towards you. You turned to face it, and Silver smiled as you did. “It’s nice to see you again, Prefect.” He said, getting off his horse to stand next to the river with you. He looked at you, gently humming the same tune as you were. He reached a hand out to pull you in, one hand in yours and the other on your waist. “Do you know how to dance?” He asked, already starting the movements. When you shook, your head, he laughed, spinning you around. “I’ll teach you. Copy my movements, but backward... 1 2 3, 1 2 3...” He started to dance with you, slowly going from repeating the pattern to singing lightly. He was softly smiling, staring at you even as your eyes were focused on your feet. However, it didn’t take long before his horse seemed to tire of this, pushing the two of you in. “Samson!” Silver cried out, now soaking wet and a bit banged up from shielding you from the fall. “And after I promised you an extra bucket of oats to come out here... No carrots for you tonight.” He spoke, looking at you as you asked him why he had done so. Silver only smiled and responded, “There was something strange about you, and I heard your voice earlier. You’re almost too beautiful to be real. I thought it was some mysterious being, a wood sprite or a fae. Truly lovely either way.”

Sebek Zigvolt - 

He tries to protect you like the knight that he aspires to be 

He will infodump to you about Malleous or Brair Valley or something else of the sort if you let him 

Also, he’s half fae, which means fae/crocodile courting rituals. 

Crocodiles mainly bump snouts as far as I can tell, so expect many boops from him. 

Also, piggyback rides and playful nips if you get close enough to him 

“And that is why Wakasama is the greatest mage in our time!” Sebek finished, still carrying you around the school. When you tried again to tell him it wasn’t needed, Sebek scoffed. “Foolish Human! You said that your leg was tired after running in flight class, and so you must rest your legs lest you injure yourself!” He said, bopping his nose against yours. “Besides, you must know by now that as a friend of Wakasama, it is my job to defend you as I would him! In not doing so, I would be committing a sin worse than just letting you walk by yourself! As such, I will accompany you to and from class from now on. Be grateful, Human!” 

RSA+NBC: 

Che’nya - 

Che’nya will try to pull as many pranks on you as he can  

Appearing in random places, taking little things from you, and other things showing up in random places you never put them.  

All around being a little menace and trying to make your daily life as annoying as possible 

You sighed, looking towards the floating smile next to you. It laughed, as you held up the empty pencil case, asking it how he expected you to be able to do your homework now. He only chuckled, the rest of his head and shoulders appearing. “Stay pawsitive, Prefect! No need to be so catty!” You rolled your eyes, to which the boy simply snickered and rubbed his head against your cheek. “Come on, my puns are purrfect!” He pulled a pencil out of seemingly thin air, letting you take it from him. “And I’ve got plenty of pens back at RSA if you’d like to take a weekend trip to see me.” 

Neige Leblanche - Kinda angsty, but not much

He’s a sweet guy first and foremost, and his having a crush on you reflects that. 

He buys you flowers, takes you on walks in nature, romantic stuff like that. 

Maybe watching cheesy old movies with you and cuddling 

He wants to be your friend before he dates you, though, and won’t make a move until after you can see what life would be like if you were dating him considering how famous he is. 

He needs to make sure that you’re comfortable with the fame you’ll gain, and that you love him for more than just his popularity. 

Neige sighed, biting his lower lips. He was situated in your arms on the floor of his dorm room, what you’d define as a cheesy romcom on the TV. The most interesting part was the man going through his DM’s next to you. He snuggled into you a bit more as you asked him what was wrong, to which he said “Just... Hate comments and stuff. They’re really mean sometimes. Saying stuff...” He took a deep breath again, and melted against you. “Thank you for treating me like I’m a normal person. It means... So much to me. I... Care for you so much.” 

Rollo Flamme - Rollo's got yandere tendency's

Unfortunately, I can in no way see Rollo having a light crush on anyone 

For him, I imagine it’s an ‘all or nothing’ situation 

So, you’ll end up with a very obsessive and objectively evil wizard trying to win your heart by any means necessary 

But this is not the post for that, so he’s getting toned down to fit into a little drabble  

“Mon amour, how are you feeling?” Rollo asked you, coming into the area that you were lying in. You had been resting in the infirmary since coming back from the destruction he caused, and he sat on the edge of the bed. You turned away from him, closing your eyes and saying that you had no desire to speak to him. Rollo sighed, “Please, my dear? I am begging you, just talk to me.” You shook your head, but he took your hand and kissed your knuckles anyway. “Then I will wait for you to want to speak to me again. However, I do ask that it be soon. I cannot imagine my life without you, my dear angel, and I do not intend to live without you forever.” 

[mullermilkshake]

The last time.

—-Minors DNI—-

Yandere!Satoru Gojo

Tags: Breed kink. Breeding. Kidnapping. Imprisonment. Unprotected sex. Plotting murder. Cream pie.

"Fuck me like it's the last time." That's what you say to Satoru's face after you have everything ready to make your move and run from him.

It's certain that if you stay here, Satoru will trap you in other ways, and you aren't about to let that happen. It's taken meticulous planning to get to this point, earning his trust finally and getting your leash extended enough for wiggle room.

Satoru takes your statement as a challenge, but constantly reinforces the face that you aren't leaving and that this is all role play. He doesn't deny that it is turning him on, going further in gorging himself on his favourite kink.

He needs to breed you.

You aren't sure where it's come from, you don't want to know either. You've been lucky so far, despite his best efforts and bold disappointment when nothing came of it.

Relief.

The last time doing this and the last time seeing his smug face before you disappear and vanish into the night. Satoru won't ever find you, you've made sure of it.

Satoru fucks you. His thrusts are hard and unforgiving, repeating over and over how you'll stay with him, bear his children and somehow be alright with raising them for his legacy he's been pressured to fulfil.

Not a fucking chance.

You let him, taking the chance to think of all the good times you'll have after you leave, but the danger you'll be in to ensure he never finds you.

Satoru Gojo isn't as trusting as he might appear. Time and exhausting effort to throw off this sniffer dogs nose. He never seems wise to it the entire time, how you'll leave him in his bed and fight the urge to slit his throat in his sleep.

After he comes inside you for the very last time, he takes a hold of your wrist and drags you out of the bedroom, throwing you back into that awful closet he had you in when you arrived here.

"C'mon, you really think I don't know? I thought you were intelligent." Is all he says before slamming the door shut with his grin the last thing you see into the darkness.

With his come still leaking between your thighs.

Yandere!Suguru Geto

Tags: Murder. Indoctrination. Choking.

"Fuck me like it's the last time." Suguru hears you loud and clear.

He understands what you are saying, and takes it as literally as possible.

Originally, you hated the idea of being with him after he snatched you up, but he convinced you that his logic was the way forward. that he was the way forward. And eventually, you started to believe it yourself.

Now, you applaud his reasonings, even go as far as to thank him for doing what he does. You aren't sure when it was, but there is a moment in the timeline from when you first met to now, that urges your brain to enjoy it whenever he takes a life.

Almost to the point that it impresses you how he does it with such ease. Though it's most probably due to the fact that it fascinates you. You battled with the guilt for the longest time, shaming yourself against your better judgement until you became numb to it.

Numb. Like now. The last time. Suguru decides the best way to fulfil this request its to lace his slender fingers at your throat, whispering filthy things into your ear to allow the dark spots at your eyes to collect around the outside.

He presses just right, light pressure, enough to hear your gasps of pleasure as you watch all the red on his face, on his open yukata to reveal his bear chest. Yes, he had killed again, but that doesn't deter you to let the bubbling itch in your abdomen grow and grow until you can't take it anymore.

The agonising part is that he fucks you slowly, dreadfully teasing until you come around his cock and he tells you what a good girl you are.

This path isn't one you ever saw yourself walking, but you guess you're in too deep now to ever think about leaving him.

Yandere!Kento Nanami

Tags: Psychological abuse. Spanking. Humiliation.

"Fuck me like it's the last time." It's supposed to be a comment to throw him off, but to be honest, you aren't sure why you said it.

Kento in hyper critical of you all the time. There's a spec of dirt on your face, your hair is out of place, your shirt is crooked, you haven't taken care of your nails. He's always picking up on something wrong.

You fought it originally, but when you realised that you weren't getting anywhere, you stopped. Now, you let him have his say, correct it and go about your day like he doesn't exist.

It's always manners with him. Watch your posture, manage your words and stop using curse words like they command the room. Verbally, you reel it in, though internally, you scream and say every word under the sun. You constantly think of all the ways you want to hurt him, to kill him.

There are many ways to kill a man.

At first, when you asked this of Kento, you assumed he would pick up on the curse word and reprimand you. But he doesn't. He never says a word, he only leads you up to the bedroom and sits down on the bed.

He asks you to bend over, to lay across his lap with your clothed ass pointing up. It makes you feel like a petulant child, you hate it. He's done this before, because he has picked up on how you said the word 'fuck'.

Kento pulls your leggings and panties over your ass and leaves it there, bulging at the plush of your thighs. He tells you that he won't sleep with you, not right now. Which meant that he's going to make an example of you.

At least if he is fucking you, the crack of his hand making the connection with your bare skin, isn't nearly as embarrassing. But alas, he doesn't, he strikes your ass in the weighted silence, heavy with burden and humiliation.

At least if he fucks you and finishes all over your stomach, there's a likely chance he'll fall asleep. Then you can have a moments peace to yourself. Trying to escape him is impossible now, you can't count the the amount of times you have tried on ten fingers anymore.

Ten times he spanks you, cupped hand with the extra sting he likes, his free hand laying flat on the small of your back like it's supposed to soother you, but it's not.

It's to keep you there so he has control.

Kento always needs to have control.

Yandere!Ryomen Sukuna

Tags: Mark making. Physical abuse. Rough sex. Dubious consent. Shaming.

"Fuck me like it's the last time."

Why the fuck did you just say that? You think it was a way to stop him glaring at you the way he just did because you were sure he was going to make your day miserable.

Sukuna actually laughs at this, cackles even. He says that it's not up for debate, there is no chance he would ever let you get far enough to make this the last time. Because he will always find you.

You have not ever attempted to escape him, it's like he can read your mind and even the slightest whiff of a plan to leave makes him give you the look as though he would burn you alive right where you stand.

He thinks you're weak, in comparison to him, you are. But your spirit is much stronger than he assumes, even if he can see straight through you.

There's no point in trying to fight him, no chance to slip from his grasp as his nails dig in with those little present shapes over your skin. Little deeper marks when his nails are especially sharp. You're sure he does this purpose, just to watch your eyes wince no matter how much you try to hide it.

"It it's to be the last time, let's make the most of it." He says, taking you in his bed like an animal howling in the night.

Terrifying. Ghastly. A demon unlike anything you ever read in books. The cursed man believes in no boundaries, no safe words. Just pure raw sex, hormones to run rampant while he's balls deep inside you. The bare skin slaps and sucks each other in until you are screaming from under him.

He only laughs. This is exactly what he wants. What he craves.

Just what he expects from his little pathetic whore.

Yandere!Toji Fushiguro

Tags: Forced marriage? Restraints. Power imbalance. Marriage. Psychological tactics. Cunnilingus.

"Fuck me like it's the last time." You said it out of anger.

You want it to be the last time. Truly.

Most days you often ask yourself how in the hell Toji managed to persuade you to get married. The old ball and chain as they said back in the day.

You didn’t realise that it meant an actual restraint around your ankle. Not that Toji needs it to keep you right where you are, but you assume it’s for dramatic effect.

There isn’t a day that goes by now that you don’t hate his guts, often questioning yourself how you even said yes to him in the first place.

It’s odd, because you don’t even remember.

Today, Toji promised he would let you out again after much deliberation. Like a fucking dog more like. It angered you, the only reason you have been kept inside was because the cashier spoke words to you while Toji stood right there and watched. How were you supposed to pay if you did not talk?

Why did you say yes to marrying him again?

You don’t remember. You only remember how he uses his tongue over your body because he claims to own it. He tells you this every time, because the difference in power between you is so immense.

You can't leave even if you tried.

This whole thing is fucked, while you get fucked. Toji enjoys eating you, pulling every guttural moan from your lips so he can savour it because no one else has the privilege to hear it. But you know it’s because he’s insanely possessive over you. It’s unhealthy. This relationship is unhealthy, yet he’s convinced you to stay.

How?

After he makes you come a few times, you’re in a daze. Is that when he convinces you?

You’re married. He gets half of everything you own. Everything you worked hard for. What does he actually bring to the table besides some misinformed ownership over you?

At times it’s like he wants you to divorce him, but still keep you here. It’s obvious he will make things difficult for you.

He always makes things difficult for you.

Yandere!Choso

Tags: Obsessed. Mentions of making a family. Missionary sex. Attempted break up.

"Fuck me like it's the last time." You have had enough of Choso’s clingy nature, trailing behind you like a lost puppy. You’re tired of it.

One last time, and then you will see whether or not you would leave. The connection is there, but his protective, over bearing nature is suffocating.

Choso looks at you like you have just broken up with him point blank. You haven’t. But you are unsure of how to proceed with this.

He tells you he’ll do anything to keep you happy. He will do anything. He’d steal for you, hurt for you, kill for you. Die for you.

It’s all very intense.

You can’t live this way, you know this when he holds you, pulls you close and presses precious little kisses all over your face, your neck. He holds your hands softly, lacing your fingers with his as he leads you over to the bed.

Choso makes love to you slowly, intimately, whispering all sorts of nonsensical drivel. He loves you. He adores you. He wants you to be in his life forever, live in a little bubble, start a family together.

He wants it all with you, he says as much as he’s inside you, rutting slowly, sensually enough it allows you to clear your mind.

This is not healthy.

But how can you deny him now after he’s saying all of this?

When he comes inside you, he draws back to look down at you, staring up at him.

“I love you. This isn’t the last time, is it?” He strokes your hair and presses his lips to your nose and he loves you, it’s true.

How can you deny this now?

This is not healthy.

[hugsandharrystyles]

SUMMARY: One phone call was all it took to change the course of your sex life.

Word Count: 5k+

"You're not understanding me right. I never said the sex wasn't good."

"You essentially did," Your friend counters. "He doesn't make you cum," Her voice a little too loud to be on speaker but fortunately you were in the comfort of your own home by yourself. Harry was supposed to be at the gym.

Harry was not at the gym.

Harry was at your bedroom door listening to your conversation. He had just made it back when a very interesting conversation involving his name made his ears perk up.

"Harry is the best sexual partner I've ever had. He's so good- it's a me thing. I've never been able to... finish with someone before," You explain because you don't want anyone to think Harry was bad in bed. He's far from that. He just doesn't make you cum.

"Isn't that the whole idea of sex though? To fucking finish?" Your friend tells you.

"I've just come to terms with the fact that some of the things I like in the bedroom... are not going to be explored."

"What do you mean?" Your friend asks.

"You know, just like... rougher things- kinkier things," you say bashfully.

"Like what?!" Your friend pushes.

"I don't know. Some choking, manhandling, assertiveness- that type of thing. I would really enjoy some casual dominance anytime really."

"Oh, wow," Your friend says.

"I know. I'm a fucking freak," You sigh and drop your head to rest on your bed in agony.

"No! I didn't say that! Hey, I like that type of stuff too. Why don't you just talk to Harry-"

Harry was livid. His heart was beating faster now than any time during his workout. He was so angry with himself that he hasn't made you trust him enough to tell him how you feel. How he hasn't been able to satisfy you. He'd made you think you were a freak.

"No- look. I don't fucking care if I finish or not. The sex is so good, and I just like having him that close to me. He's not very big on... being touchy any time else, which is totally okay, but I don't want to take the time I do have him so close to me for granted."

There was a sudden dip in the bed and a body weight being pressed against you as you laid flat on your stomach. You almost screamed until you felt a hand reach around and wrap around your throat and turn your head.

Harry was behind you, on the back of your thighs, looking down at you with a look you've never seen from him- from anyone.

Your friend droned on, never noticing your silence. Harry grabbed your phone with his other hand still wrapped around your neck and took the phone off speaker, putting it up to his ear.

"Hey, this is Harry. We're a bit busy at the moment- actually we're going to be busy for quite a long moment, so don't call anytime soon." With that he hung up and threw your phone on the bedside table. "So," Harry begins after a quiet minute. "Anything you want to tell me?" He asks. He flips you around so you're lying on your back with him straddling your front, completely at his mercy. You don't know whether to cry or squeeze your thighs together.

"Harry, I am so sorry that you had to hear that. I don't want you to think that-" You're momentarily stopped when both of his hands cup your throat, thumbs under your jaw so he can control your face. He angles your head up, so you finally look into his eyes.

"Look at me when you're speaking to me," He commands. You swear your pussy purrs. You can't help but squeeze your thighs together. You have never seen Harry like this.

"S-Sorry- I'm sorry. I don't- I don't know what to say," You finally get out.

"Tell me what I did to make you be afraid to trust me."

"No! Harry, that is not true at all!" You say angrily. He grips your throat a little tighter, and his eyes become a little sterner.

"Don't raise your voice at me." You audibly swallow. "Were you afraid I would be mad- hurt you?" He asks. One hand leaves your jaw to comb through your hair.

"No, Harry- I know you would never. I just- You're not really into... touching me all that much when we're not having sex, so I didn't want the only time when you want to touch me to be gone." You realized you had misworded your sentence as soon as you finished.

"You think I don't want to touch you?" He asks, and you can't tell if the anger in his voice is pointed at you or himself.

"No- I just-" You're abruptly paused when you feel the hand that was in your hair venture down between your thighs. You were only wearing panties and a big t-shirt, so Harry finds your clit very easily. You moan in surprise in grind against his hand.

"Trust me, I want to fucking touch you," he says. "I thought you were the one who didn't like all the touching," he explains.

"What- why?" You ask breathlessly, your body keening at his touch and the bit of weight he was resting on you.

"Every time I would, you would almost jump or just kind of tense up, so I didn't want to make you uncomfortable," he says and lets a finger tease at your entrance.

"N-no, you just- you make me so nervous," you gasp when he slides a finger into you.

"Why?" he demands.

"It's embarrassing," you whine and turn away from him, but he grips your jaw and makes you look at him.

"Why?" he demands again, and the look in his eyes tells you that you need to answer.

"You're so- I just find you really attractive. Anything you do turns me on, and I just get really nervous," you say bashfully. He adds another finger and curls them to find your spot. Your mouth drops in pleasure.

"You are aware that we are dating, correct?" he asks.

"Shut the fuck up," you whine and try to grind down on his hand. He gives you a pointed look.

"Be sweet to me. Don't talk to me like that," he says and very lightly slaps your face. It causes your jaw to drop and a moan to spill from your mouth. "You like that?" He asks and bends his face down to bite and kiss at your neck while continuing his movements on your cunt.

"Harry," you moan and scratch at his back. He groans into your neck and pulls his fingers from your underwear. He waits for you to stick your tongue out and take his fingers inside your mouth.

"Good," he praises and pulls his fingers from your mouth. He cups your throat with both of his hands and brushes his lips against yours. You tilt your head up and try to catch his mouth. "I want to give you everything you want," he tells you and gives you a passionate kiss.

"You do, baby," you assure him and kiss him again while wrapping your arms around his neck and run your fingers through his hair. He grabs your wrists, resting most of his body weight on you, and brings them to his lips.

"Tell me what you want from me," he demands while kissing your fingers.

"Harry," you sigh.

"No, tell me what you need from me. Don't think I don't want to do this. I am more than willing," he says with a sly smirk. You roll your eyes, and you both laugh. He becomes serious again. "Tell me what will make you cum."

"H, I don't know," you say honestly. "I've just never been able to with anyone."

"Okay," he says. "What do you do when you're by yourself?"

"What do you mean?" You question.

"How do you get yourself off," he expands.

"Oh! Um..." you blush.

"Listen," he begins and shifts positions so that he is sitting up on the bed with you in front of him. He holds your hands in his and plays with your fingers. "You have to trust me if you want this. I'm never going to push you, but I just want you to be comfortable with me," he explains. Your heart twists.

"I am comfortable with you, Harry!" you correct him. "It's just- everything is so intense with you in the best way possible." His eyebrow quirks.

"Explain."

"Like- I just feel everything so intensely with you. I don't mean to boost your ego any higher than it already is-"

"Hey!" He complains, and you both laugh.

"But you're just really fucking hot, and it's hard to be normal around you when you do your sexy stuff," you explain.

"My sexy stuff?" He laughs.

"Yeah, like your deep voice and- and your hands," his hands reach out to cusp the back of your neck.

"Yeah? What else, mama?" He asks and places a feather-light kiss to your cheek.

"Um- well, like this. I- I feel like any time you touch me, I go braindead," you explain. He works his lips up to yours and slips his tongue into your mouth, craning your head back, so he can kiss you deeply. He groans into your mouth when you suck on his tongue out of animalistic need. "I need you," you whine.

"Tell me what you want. Do you want to just keep kissing for a bit? I can eat your sweet cunt or just finger you," he suggests and paws at your breasts.

"Can we- uh-"

"What, sweetheart? Tell me."

"Can we just... dry-hump and make out some?" You ask, your face turning a dark red out of embarrassment of the vulgar language.

"Of course, honey. Come here," he says and scoots to the end of the bed so that he's leaned against the headboard. He grabs your waist and pulls you on top of him, straddling his lap. "Can I take your shirt off?" He asks.

"Of course, Harry. You don't have to be so gentle with me." He gives your face a light smack again.

"Lose the attitude," he commands, and you try to squeeze your thighs together, but you end up just grinding against his bulge making both of you moan. He kisses up your throat while his hands toy with the bottom of your shirt. "You're turned on, yeah?" He asks.

"I'm so horny, H," you whine and grasp onto his shoulders to grind against him better.

"Good," he sighs and tugs your shirt off, eyes widening at your bare tits that he's seen many times. "Fuck," he whispers. He spends a bit of time sucking and kissing at your breasts while you cradle his head to your chest.

"H, I wanna kiss you," you whine, and he finally lets up on your tits. His hand cradles your throat in a firm but comfortable grip, allowing him to move your head in any way he wants to. The tension is high when his lips finally meet yours. His free hand slides down to your ass while yours are roaming underneath his shirt.

"You can take it off," he says against your lips, and you both only pull back from each other to get his shirt off. His lips are back on yours, and his hands slide to your hips, helping you grind against him.

"Can you take your pants off too?" You ask timidly.

"'Course, baby," he says and taps your hips so you will move off him while he takes off his sweatpants. He places you back on his lap once he's just in his briefs. He's hard as a rock, and you can tell he's trying his best not to lose control. You kiss his lips softly, and he moans in surprise.

"I love you," you tell him. "And I trust you."

He smiles. "Thank you, sweet girl. I love you more." His hands move back to your hips and grinds your crotch against his while he slips his tongue into your mouth. Your tongues clash, and you both moan as his bulge presses perfectly against your core. You both breathe heavily against each other's mouths as you grind against him. "Do you feel good?" He asks, and you moan against his lips while nodding.

"So good," you tell him and claw at his chest. "Can we take off our underwear?"

"Don't have to ask, baby. Just tell me what you want, and I'll do it," he assures you. You smile and crawl off his lap to slide your underwear off, and he follows quickly. As soon as he gets back on the bed, you sit back down on his lap and place him perfectly against your pussy. "Ah, fuck," he moans, and his hips flex up. A bead of precum falls from his tip, and you smile.

"I want your cock in me," you whine and grab his fat dick, trying to line him up with your entrance. Before you could slip the tip in, you're suddenly being thrown onto the bed, Harry hovering over you. "What the fuck, Harry?"

"Not yet," he says and begins to kiss down your body.

"But- you said I could have what I wanted," you protest.

"I need you to cum first."

"Harry, that's not important to me," you say with annoyance in your voice. You really did just want his dick inside you.

"It's important to me. Now, I need you to be comfortable with me. Trust me, baby. If I do something you don't like, tell me. If you want something, tell me. Got it?"

"Okay," you sigh. He slaps your thigh, and you yelp.

"You've got some serious fucking attitude tonight," he says.

"I just want you to fuck me- Oh!" You're cut off by Harry planting a kiss directly onto your clit. He spreads your legs and presses your knees to your chest to have full access. He presses his tongue as deep as it can go into your whole and curls it upwards. Your eyes cross as he tongue-fucks you. His eyes are closed in pleasure, and he's moaning like you're the one giving him head. He swirls his tongue inside you before moving to flicking at your clit. "Oh, fuck that's good, Harry," you moan and tangle your fingers into his hair.

"Give yourself to me," he moans against you.

"I feel so good, Har," you tell him, and feel a tightening in your gut that you've only ever felt when pleasuring yourself. "Harry, I feel it."

"Good fucking girl, let me make you cum," he says and doubles down his efforts on your pussy. His hands grip your thighs harshly and spreads you even further. You can't even think about where his tongue is working because of how fast he's going. His head shakes, and he moans so his mouth vibrates against you.

"I- I think I'm going to cum- don't stop," you cry and grasp his hair, holding his face hard against your pussy and grinding however you want.

"Use me," he muffles against you and just sticks his tongue out, letting you use him in any way you need. His hands reach up to tweak your nipples, and that's what throws you over the edge. You swear you black out. It's the most intense orgasm you've ever had, and you feel tears leaking from your eyes from the relief of having an orgasm from someone else. Your hands unleash Harry's hair, and your body twitches as he continues to lick at you. You close your thighs and push at his head.

"Oh my gosh," you sob and gasp for air. You cover your face with your hands as you catch your breath. You hear Harry giggle and feel him kiss his way up your body.

"Why are you covering your face?" He asks and removes your hands, resting his body weight on top of you. "Thank you, baby- for trusting me."

"Thank you for being patient with me. That was the best orgasm I've ever had," you laugh and kiss him. You both kiss for a minute before you reach down and stroke his cock, tapping it against your sensitive clit. His mouth falls agape, and his hips jut forward.

"Do you still want to have sex, or do you just want to cuddle?" He asks to be sweet, but you can see the desperation on his face.

"H, I want you to fuck me, and I want you to cum inside me," you tell him honestly, and he moans as you make his tip catch your hole. He pulls his hips back.

"I- I'm going to be honest. I'm not going to last long because I've been so fucking turned on for so long, so I'm sorry-" You cut off his rambling with a kiss.

"Harry, you are the most wonderful person and boyfriend in the world, so I don't care if you finish quick," you assure him and cup his jaw. "C'mon, Har. Put your fat cock in me. I wanna feel the stretch."

"You're so fucking hot," He moans and slips the tip in. His jaw stays dropped as he slides in further, his eyebrows furrowing together, and you can tell he's trying so hard not to cum. "Ah, fuck. Best pussy I've ever had- it's so- so fucking good," he groans and drops his head to your shoulder. His grip on your waist is bruising as he just moves your body however he wants onto his dick.

"That dick is so fucking good, H," you whine and press your heels against his ass, so he falls farther into you and rests himself against you. Your pussy is sopping wet and tight, and Harry fears he's going to cum when he hasn't even been inside of you for four minutes. He suddenly pulls out quickly when he feels his orgasm approaching. "Harry- what the hell?" You whine.

"It was too much. I'm really trying to last here, you brat," he argues and takes a moment to try and calm himself down.

"I don't care if you cum early, Harry, c'mon. Just want your dick inside me," you groan and grip his waist, trying to shove him back in you. "You told me that if I told you what you want, and you would give it to me. You're breaking your promise."

"Brat," he mutters through gritted teeth and begins to push into you again. As soon as he begins to enter you again, his hand starts to rub at your clit.

"Oh!" You moan, and your thighs tighten around him. Your hands claw at his sides as you try to kiss him through both of your moans. "I think- I think I'm going to cum again," you tell as your tummy begins to tighten again- stronger this time.

"Oh, baby, please. Please cum for me," he begs. You can feel his cock twitching in you, him on the verge of his own release. "Y/N- fuck, sweetheart. You have to cum- Baby, you gotta- I'm sorry," He babbles like crazy, and you don't understand his apology until you feel his cum start to spurt into you, and that's what tips you over the edge. You're a mess of shaking bodies, moans, and whines. "Oh, thank God- good fucking girl," he moans.

As you both begin to calm down, he relaxes himself on top of you and wraps his arms around your body.

"That was a real one, right?" He asks.

"Yes, Harry," you laugh and stroke his hair.

[myladybelle]

𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐍? | chapter fourteen

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: art donaldson x female!reader x patrick zweig 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you’ve always been content being second place to your best friend tashi duncan, waiting for the day you can quit tennis. your world is upended when you meet art and patrick, and you’re forced to embrace a life in the sport you’ve been too afraid to claim for yourself. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.9k 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬): challengers content warnings, swearing, use of y/n 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: thanks again for your patience everyone!! i know it’s been a month since the last update but my extracurriculars and class load this semester are insane and i sometimes only get home at 9:30pm so i don’t have too much down time to write x 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭

𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐙-𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐓𝐎𝐍. 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐄, 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐑𝐊 – 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟑𝟏, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟗. 𝟎𝟑:𝟏𝟓𝐏𝐌.

Tashi couldn’t believe she was standing in the back alley of a hotel with Patrick Zweig. She had been hiding in the hotel lounge for the last half hour because she knew you were upstairs meeting Lily for the first time, and the last thing Tashi wanted was to ruin that. It was better to strategise against Art’s future opponents and ignore the sharp pain in her chest than to think about you meeting her daughter without her. 

Patrick coming by to talk to her was her last straw. Tashi didn’t hide her irritation, nor how unimpressed she was with what Patrick had made of his life. All that talent and privilege was wasted on him. Scanning him up and down, Tashi made no effort to hide her disdained frown. 

“I’m going to propose something to you,” Patrick declared. He exhaled, sending a cloud of cigarette smoke to Tashi’s face. 

She jerked back. “Can you blow it away from me, please?” 

“Sorry.”

Tashi rolled her eyes. “I don’t know how Y/N put up with the smoking,” she mentioned off-handedly. “She used to say it was the single most disgusting thing a person could do.”

“I never did it while she was around, and I quit the year she won Wimbledon,” Patrick defended himself. “Started up again the night we broke up. Anyway, I want you to be my coach.” 

Tashi turned her whole body to face Patrick and stared. Even though he wore his typical entertained smirk, Tashi knew he was being serious. “What?” she exclaimed, unimpressed. 

“Even if he wins the Open, completes his career Grand Slam, Art’s still gonna retire as someone who’s just really, really good,” Patrick pointed out. “That’s what you guys will have done together.” As Tashi felt her blood boil with anger, she inched closer to Patrick and didn’t bother to keep the incredulous expression off her face. “But imagine if you could turn Patrick Zweig into a guy who wins a slam. I still have a season. I still have one good season, and I need you to bring it out of me.” By the end of his speech, Tashi’s mouth was slightly agape. Her eyes were comically wide, wondering how and why Patrick could feel so entitled to ask this of her. “So… what do you think?” He smiled expectantly, placing the cigarette back between his lips. 

Tashi reached out and slapped him across the face. The cigarette flung from his mouth to the ground from the impact, and Tashi held back from hitting him a second time. “How fucking dare you?” she exclaimed.

From the pain, Patrick groaned, “Jesus Christ!” 

“You want my best piece of advice? Do you want me to coach you?” Tashi goaded him, fixing him with a withering stare. “Okay, quit,” she ordered. “Quit right now. Right the fuck now, quit.”

“You know that when I’m good, I’m one of the best in the world.”

“You are 271st best in the fucking world,” Tashi corrected him. “Everyone forgot about you, Patrick. The only reason anybody knew or cared about you was because of Y/N. Back then, you were her sweetheart. And even if you weren’t playing at your best, it was a hell of a lot better than you’re playing now.”

It was a jab in the gut for Patrick, but he had expected it. He had a better ranking ten years ago, but Patrick hadn’t cracked the top 200 in several years. Realistically, he had no reason to expect Tashi to agree to coach him. The only time he was truly one of the best players in the world was in the Junior League, and that was a lifetime ago. The tennis world hadn’t cared about Patrick Zweig since word got out that you broke up; they weren’t about to start caring now that he was at the end of his mediocre, unmemorable career. 

“I still have a shot,” Patrick protested. It would have been more accurate to say I still want to win her back.

Her eyebrows raised. “You’re 31. You have a better shot with a handgun in your mouth,” Tashu accused. She knew it was crude and unfair, but she was at her wits end with him. 

Patrick scoffed and laughed at the same time. 

Despite everything they’d gone through, he liked it when Tashi was mean. Not only did it feel more authentic to who she was, but it meant he had her attention. Most people would have just walked away. You would have just walked away. You would have told Patrick that he wasn’t worth your time and kept your emotions out of it. That’s just the type of person you were. You could keep her calm on the court and in your personal life, but Tashi’s temper always ran a little hotter than that of her former best friend. 

“I mean, why don’t you go home?!” Tashi wondered. “Go home, ask your parents for a seat on the board, or you know what, matter of fact, ask them for some money. Okay? Go be like any other spoiled kid who has ever amounted to nothing in their fucking life, and stop this performance of being a down-on-your-luck professional!”

The amused grin slipped from Patrick’s face, hardening his expression as he lowered his eyes to the ground. It was a low blow, and it only made Patrick think of how he lost you all those years ago. You can still make something of yourself, you used to say. Forget your family and forget people’s expectations. You were born to play tennis, and you deserve to have your shot at greatness. 

It had been a long time since Patrick heard that kind of encouragement. 

“Tashi–”

“–No, you’re not 20 years old anymore,” she interrupted him. “And it’s not cute to be walking around pretending like you need to grind it out at these bumfuck tournaments, and sleep in your fucking car! And it is–” Tashi scoffed, holding a finger up to emphasise her words– “Unforgivable that you would ask me to devote a single second of my fucking time to help you achieve your fucking dreams! What dreams, Patrick?” Slightly out of breath from her rent, Tashi paused and waited for Patrick to give any indication that he had dreams or goals for himself. “You never had any!” 

Regardless of the truth in Tashi’s words, it was unfair of her to act like he never had dreams. Perhaps tennis had always been a way for Patrick to avoid a regular job and stop relying on his parents, but he had dreams outside of his career. All the things Art wanted—kids, marriage, success, happiness—Patrick wanted them to. But above everything, Patrick wanted you. 

You were the one who rejected his proposal. If everything had gone his way, he would be with you now. A small voice in the back of Patrick’s head reminded him that he was the one who walked out that night and ended your relationship, but clear thinking had no place in Patrick Zweig’s mind, so he cast it aside. 

“Is that what you and Art are doing?” Patrick asked sarcastically. He was tired of Tashi’s preaching and wanted to remind her of the reality of her own marital situation. “Living the dream?” The words permeated mockery and smug gratification.

Tashi laughed shortly. “That is exactly what the fuck we’re doing.” 

Patrick nodded slowly, lips pressed together as he searched every inch of Tashi’s face. “Then how come he’s still hung up on Y/N?” The anger fizzled out of Tashi’s eyes, replaced with a bout of raw emotion she couldn’t keep under wraps. Pure, unadulterated vulnerability spread across her face, hinting at Art’s ongoing love for you. “Maybe the two of you really are living the dream on the outside, but you know he still loves her. The rest of the world might not know it, but I can see right through your perfect marriage act. He’s practically a shell of himself.”

“I think you might be projecting,” Tashi retorted, not wanting to give Patrick the satisfaction of knowing he was right. “Your entire world might revolve around the fact that Y/N didn’t want to marry you, but some of us have moved on with our lives,” she added. “And our careers.”

“Right.” Patrick chuckled, unconvinced by her tough facade. “Does he ever say her name instead of yours?” he wondered, tilting his head and raising an eyebrow. “When it’s really late at night, and he’s tired from practice. Does he lie in your shared bed and tell you good night, and he loves you, but then he calls you Y/N? Because exhaustion is a little bit like truth serum sometimes.”

“What, are you jealous?” Tashi taunted. “Do you wish the last thing Art thought about before closing his eyes was you? After all, it’s been a long time since you used to push your hotel beds together and fall in love with the same girl.”

Patrick grinned, wondering, “If your life with Art is so perfect then how come you hate him?” Tashi paused, leaning back to put some distance between herself and Patrick. “You do. It’s obvious, you do.” Sighing, Tashi looked away and clenched her jaw with irritation. “You can feel him giving up already, even though you know he’s not going to retire until you let him.”

“He is a grown man–” Tashi reminded him. 

“–Sure–”

“–He can do whatever he wants!”

“Sure, but he doesn’t. He does whatever you want,” Patrick argues. “Except now, he’s not even pretending to like it.” Tashi sighed, inching closer as he continued to pick apart her picture of the perfect married family. Patrick was right, Art was done with tennis. Everyone could see it. “He’s dreaming about eating hamburgers again. Watching your daughter, um–” Patrick snapped his fingers– “Uh, Lily, grow up. Maybe doing some commentary on the Tennis Channel. He’s ready to be dead. And you’re starting to realise you might not want to be buried with him, ’cause who is he to you if he’s not playing tennis?” 

Tashi’s jaw tightened as she clenched her hands into fists, nails digging into her palms. Her chest rose and fell with deliberate, shallow breaths, trying to steady herself, but the heat in her cheeks betrayed her frustration. She could feel Patrick’s eyes on her, the smugness barely concealed behind his neutral expression, as though he didn’t feel self-righteous for seeing through the facade of her and Art’s marriage. Her brow furrowed, lips pressed tightly together.

“So that’s what you think he is to me?” Tashi realised angrily. “A racket and a dick.”

For a moment, Patrick said nothing. Then, “Does Art know about Atlanta?” Tashi’s breath caught in her throat, icy tendrils of shock creeping down her spine as his words echoed in her ears. She shivered, her eyes widening as she stared at him, suddenly exposed. “You keep saying you came here because Art needed matches. I think you came for something else,” Patrick continued.

A sharp, disbelieving laugh burst from Tashi’s lips, sounding foreign even to her ears as she shook her head in disbelief. The absurdity of the moment overwhelmed her, and she let out another incredulous chuckle, her eyes narrowing as if to ask, Are you serious? “You think I came here for you?” she cried out. “You think I came here to throw it all away–” Tashi motioned her hand in a circle for emphasis– “For you?”

Patrick’s lips curled into a slow, knowing smile, his lake-blue eyes glinting with a quiet confidence that unsettled Tashi. It was as if he held some unspoken truth, something lurking beneath the surface, and the certainty in his expression made her stomach twist in uneasy anticipation. “No, I’m not stupid enough to think you did all this for me. Like always, this is about Y/N,” Patrick revealed. “In one way or another, she’s the one that got away. I don’t expect you or Art to give up on her just because so many years have passed. Just like I’m not going to give up on her.”

Tashi rolled her eyes. “So, what? You think me coaching you is going to help both of us get on Y/N’s good side?” She shook her head sadly, her throat tightening as a familiar lump rose, making it hard to swallow. The weight of what they had done hung between them and you like an unbridgeable chasm, and Tashi knew there was no way to mend what they’d broken. “What we did is unforgivable. Maybe Art could get over it, but we slept together the night you broke up with her, knowing it would break her heart.”

“Maybe that would change if she just saw me,” Patrick suggested. 

“She has seen you. You look like shit,” Tashi retorted dryly. She started to walk past Patrick, her steps quick and determined, but just before she could leave him behind, she stopped and turned sharply. “You're an even bigger idiot than I thought if this is your plan to get her back,” Tashi said, her voice low but commanding, drawing his full attention as she stood her ground. “She’d have to fall in love with Art all over again to be with him, and you know she will if he becomes a part of her life again.” She motioned to the hotel. “She’s upstairs right now meeting Lily for the first time.”

Patrick smiled dejectedly, the corners of his mouth barely lifting as he wondered if it was finally time to give up, the fight draining from his eyes. “So you think I should quit on her?” he asked.

“Don’t you get it?” Tashi wondered exasperatedly. “With Art, she has to get to know him and fall in love with him a second time. With you, she just has to admit that she still loves you,” she explained. 

“I’m going to beat him,” Patrick declared, tucking his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “If we both make it to the final, I’m going to beat him.” 

Tashi met his gaze and held it, her eyes softer than they had ever been, hoping he could see the flicker of honesty she usually kept hidden. For the first time, there was a quiet sympathy there that she had never given him. “Even if you could beat him, it wouldn’t change anything,” she corrected him. 

“It’ll break him. You know it will,” Patrick replied. If Patrick beat Art in a match, Art would feel like he lost you all over again. It would be his final strike, and he’d never play a game of tennis again. More importantly, the part of Art that always longed to reconnect with Patrick and you would be shattered past the point of return.

“It won’t make you. Okay? It’s too late for that,” Tashi pointed out. “And it definitely won’t win you Y/N back. Not being a tennis champion will always be your insecurity; your problem with your relationship. Not hers. You wanted to beat Art, but she just wanted you.” 

𝟎𝟓:𝟑𝟎𝐏𝐌.

After finishing the movie with Art and Lily, the three of you ordered room-service ice cream before you excused yourself. Reconnecting with Art had been great, but you weren’t ready to face Tashi yet. 

Exiting the elevator, you felt your heart leap in your throat when a voice greeted you, “So you’ll talk to Art but not me?”

“Jesus Christ, Patrick,” you yelped. Your heart raced at the sight of Patrick leaning casually against the wall, a familiar yet unwelcome presence. His expression was a mix of anticipation and apprehension, as if he had been waiting to talk to you but feared what you might say. “What are you doing here?” you asked, stepping out of the way of people entering the elevator. 

“Actually, I was just talking to Tashi,” Patrick confessed. 

Your features smoothed into impeccable neutrality, not giving a single emotion or thought away. “I didn’t know the circus was in town—guess I missed the memo,” you quipped, unimpressed at the thought of your ex and ex-best friend getting together.

When Patrick laughed, your heart stopped; it was painstakingly familiar, just as boyish and uninhibited as the day you first met him. It was almost painful how easy it was to fall back into old habits with Patrick as you forced yourself not to smile or react. 

“That’s cute,” he mumbled, tucking his hands into his pockets. “But seriously, you and Art are friends now?”

“Art has a lot less to be sorry for than you do,” you retorted, raising an eyebrow. 

Maybe it was residual anger from talking to Tashi, but Patrick didn’t like that you chose to make up with Art instead of him. He searched your face for understanding, mind racing with images of you laughing with Art, the intimacy you shared lingering like a spectre between you. How could you move past your issues with Art while Patrick felt tethered to his mistakes? 

As Patrick stood before you, he felt a knot of insecurity tightening in his stomach, the words tumbling from his mouth with an edge of desperation. “Okay, fine. You’re right, sleeping with Tashi the night we broke up was wrong, but I proposed and you said no. Why am I the bad guy?” he questioned, his voice barely masking the hurt beneath. 

Your heart ached at the thought that he believed you were at fault for your relationship ending, the weight of his accusation pressing down on your chest like a heavy stone. As memories of that night flooded back—Patrick’s tense expression, the ultimatum hanging in the air like a guillotine—tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over. Your hands trembled as you fought to steady yourself, each breath coming shallow and uneven. 

“Did you forget how I begged for your understanding that night, how shattered I was by your ultimatum?” you questioned, voice hoarse and quiet with emotion. The injustice twisted in your gut, leaving you feeling raw and heartbroken, as if the wounds of your past were being reopened. “I begged you to change your mind, I begged you to give me time and keep dating because I didn’t want to break up. But you would rather end our relationship or force me to do something I wasn’t ready for.”

“‘Force’ you?” Patrick echoed. “I was in love with you, I wanted to start my future with you! You couldn’t even give me a reason why you didn’t want to get married!”

“You couldn’t give me a good reason as to why we should get married,” you argued pointedly. “It was so sudden and you were in such a bad place, I just felt like the entire proposal was driven by your insecurities and fears rather than what it should be about: us wanting to spend our lives together.”

Patrick stiffened at your mention of his insecurities, a grip of vulnerability wrapping around him as he felt himself freeze. The old fear surged back, a familiar ache in his chest, making him acutely aware of how exposed he was to you. You could always see through the carefully constructed walls Patrick had built around himself, just as he could see through yours. When he first met you, it was one of the reasons Patrick fell in love with you. Now, after everything you’d been through together, it was terrifying. 

He swallowed hard, the sting of anxiety creeping in. “I asked you to marry me and you said no. Forgive me if I felt a little insecure and needed to know that you actually wanted to be in this relationship,” Patrick replied. 

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about,” you insisted. “And I never said no! I said I needed time; I needed to process.”

“If it’s not a yes, it’s a no,” Patrick disagreed with you. 

“You see–” you gestured to Patrick with your hands for emphasis– “This is why we broke up! I never said no! I said that I loved you and that I wanted nothing more than to marry you and have a family someday, but you…” Groaning, you buried your face in your hands and muttered, “God, I can’t believe we’re doing this in public.” You dropped your hands and met Patrick’s tearful blue-green gaze. “You were already done with me.”

“I was ‘done’? By proposing to you, I was ‘done’?”

“No, by not waiting for me to be ready, you decided you were done! I wasn’t asking for our relationship to end, I was asking for time to get my thoughts together and stop freaking out so that I could make a choice! But you made that choice for me when you told me that I had to marry you or you were breaking up with me,” you explained. “My whole life before Stanford, someone else was making choices for me. I always thought that you of all people understood that,” you admitted, referencing your controlling mother and his overbearing parents. “But then you threw it back in my face and told me it was now or never; it had to happen or you were leaving. And no matter how much I loved you, I knew that you had given up. Because if you were truly still in it, if you truly still loved me, you would have known that given the choice, I would have picked you.”

Patrick nodded, pressing his lips together. “You were at the top of your game, and I was struggling,” he admitted. “I needed you to believe in me.”

Your chest tightened at Patrick’s words, the sting of his accusation cutting deeper than you expected. “I did believe in you,” you promised desperately. “How could you think I didn’t? I always saw your potential, I always wanted you to succeed.” Your heart ached at the thought that Patrick felt so alone in his struggles. “I was building my career too, and we were both busy. But I always showed up for you.”

Patrick let out a bitter, sad laugh, the sound hollow and laced with disappointment as he struggled to reconcile the memories of what you once shared with the reality of your fractured relationship. “Yeah, and I was always the one who got left behind. You didn’t care what others said about us, did you?”

“Of course I did!” Your voice cracked from the effort of your cry. “I knew it hurt you, but none of those people knew us! I knew you, and I believed in you and our relationship, no matter what other people said.”

“Then why couldn’t you say yes? Why couldn’t you just take that leap with me?”

“Because I wanted to be sure! I didn’t want to rush into something I wasn’t ready for,” you repeated. 

It felt like the two of you were going in circles, each sentence looping back to the same painful points, as if you were trapped in an unending spiral. You could see the frustration etched on Patrick’s face, and you felt your own simmering beneath the surface. Every attempt to clarify your feelings seemed to muddy the waters further, leaving you more entangled in your past. Patrick sighed, the heaviness of your unspoken emotions hanging in the air. You wondered if you would ever find a way to break free from this exhausting cycle or if you were destined to remain forever locked in this dance of hurt.

“So, you thought I’d just stand there, waiting for you to figure it out? You thought you could just put your life on pause while I tried to keep up?” Patrick asked.

“No, but you weren’t patient. You gave up on us the moment you proposed without understanding what it really meant for me,” you argued. “You could have waited. You could have let me come to you in my own time. But instead, you made it all about your insecurities.”

Patrick’s breath grew shaky, each inhalation trembling as he struggled to maintain his composure, and your heart sank at the sight. You could see the vulnerability in his eyes, the unshed tears threatening to spill over. “Then how come every time I picked up a racket, I thought of you?” he asked. “How come every match I played, I wanted to win just so that—for once—you could be proud of me the way I always was of you?”

“Because you were the one who wanted to prove everyone wrong! I just wanted you, no matter what people thought,” you replied steadily. “I didn’t care about you winning, I cared about your happiness. I cared that you were being so hard on yourself just because Art joined the tour and was playing better than you. I cared so much it hurt! But you didn’t see that. You were too busy drowning in your own doubts to see how much I loved you.”

“You could’ve said yes, Y/N,” Patrick insisted. He shook his head, unable to let go of this one point that had plagued him for the last eight years. “You could’ve shown me you believed we could make it work.” You sniffled, choking back tears. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I should’ve waited. But that doesn’t change the fact that I loved you enough to want to spend my life with you.”

“And I loved you too,” you reminded him. “But I would have waited a lifetime for you, and you couldn’t even spare me a minute.” Patrick finally let a tear slip down his cheek before wiping it away furiously as if trying to erase the evidence of his vulnerability. Your heart ached at the sight, realising that, even after everything you had been through, he still wouldn’t fully open himself up to you. “I guess sometimes it doesn’t matter how much you love each other. It’s just not enough.”

𝐀𝐓𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 – 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟒, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟏. 𝟏𝟐:𝟏𝟎𝐀𝐌.

Patrick sat on the edge of the bed, the soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminating the small velvet box in his trembling hands. He had wanted to propose to you for over a year, ever since he purchased the ring and slipped it into his pocket. But as he sat there, heart racing and mind swirling, he couldn’t shake the feeling that everything had changed. You had skyrocketed to fame and success, your career blossoming in ways everyone except you had anticipated—given your incredible talent, hard work, and tenacity to keep improving—while his professional trajectory felt like a slow descent into mediocrity.

As a former junior champion, Patrick had always been compared to Art, who now stood at the pinnacle of the tennis world. Their history together on the court had been golden, two young stars lighting up the doubles scene, but Art’s transition to the professional circuit had been nothing short of meteoric. With his years of training and playing at Stanford, Art had an army of supporters behind him and an incredible team of professionals helping him succeed. He had come onto the scene with finesse and skill that Patrick struggled to match.

Everyone had been right: coasting on talent wasn’t enough in the professional world. 

The media was all too eager to draw comparisons between them, framing Patrick as the one left behind, overshadowed by his former best friend’s rising stardom and his gorgeous grand-slam-champion girlfriend.

Tonight had to be the night Patrick proposed. No other night would do; this was his final chance. It was after midnight, and technically the early morning of the Atlanta Open’s men’s singles final. Patrick felt the weight of impending doom more than anyone else. He knew Art was going to win; everyone did. Art was the brand new golden boy of the American tennis world, keeping up with seasoned players such as Andy Roddick and Mardy Fish. The thought made Patrick clench the ring box tighter. 

Every glance at the ring brought about a fresh wave of doubt. Would you even want to marry someone who was struggling to keep up? You had blossomed into an extraordinary athlete, and every time you spoke of your achievements, Patrick felt a knot tightening in his chest. He loved you fiercely, but the shadows of his insecurities loomed with each passing day. What if you realised you could do better? What if you decided that Art—brilliant, talented, and successful Art—was the man you deserved? The one you truly loved?

It didn’t matter that Art and Tashi were engaged; Patrick was sure Art would drop his fiancée in a heartbeat if he could have you instead.

Shaking his head, Patrick hoped to shake the negative thoughts from his mind, too. He had pictured this moment countless times, but now that the moment had come, he was filled with terror. Patrick stood, pacing the room as excitement and fear swirled in his stomach. His insecurities were at an all-time high, and he felt isolated because he’d been keeping them from his girlfriend. But all Patrick could wonder was how he could propose to you when all he could think about was how far behind he was in the race they were running together? The comparisons to Art haunted him as he silently rehearsed his proposal.

He had to do it before the men’s finals happened in the afternoon, before you realised just how much better Art was than him. Patrick had to be the person who lifted you up. He couldn’t be the one who held you back from being great.

You pushed open the door to your shared hotel room, exhaustion etched into your features as you stepped inside, your shoes pattering softly against the polished floor. You had spent the entire day arranging press engagements for Patrick, switching between arranging interviews and photo ops and phone calls with Elora, who was helping Patrick out for free. You had gone through all this effort to support him during the Atlanta Open, even after he flew out in the penultimate round. 

As you walked through the door, you let out a long sigh, shedding the weight of the day like a heavy coat, and saw Patrick leaning against the wall, a smile breaking across his face.

“Hey, you,” he greeted, his voice warm and inviting. Patrick was proud of how calm and normal he sounded, given how he had raced to throw the ring box in his duffel when he heard your key card swipe against the keypad of your room door. “Long night?” he added sympathetically. 

You nodded, running a hand through your hair, which had fallen out of its perfect style throughout the evening. “You have no idea,” you replied, your tired eyes sparkling just for him. “It feels like I’ve been on the phone for hours talking to people who only treat me nicely when they realise who I am. I hope they’re nicer to Elora when she calls,” you mumbled. “But I’m here now,” you said happily. Wrapping your arms around Patrick’s middle, you hugged your boyfriend tightly and greeted him with a kiss. “How was your night?”

“Terrible,” Patrick replied, nuzzling his nose against your cheek and sighing happily. “My girlfriend up—being the selfless and perfect creature that she is—was gone all day and I missed her very much.” 

You chuckled. “That’s what I like to hear,” you joked. With a startled yelp, you held onto Patrick’s waist as he swapped your positions, pressing you against the wall. You recognised the hungry, desperate look in his lake-blue eyes and smirked. “Wow, you really did miss me,” you mused, resting your head against the wall and admiring your handsome boyfriend. 

“I wouldn’t lie to you,” Patrick replied smoothly. “I always miss you when you’re gone. I’m like a golden retriever with separation anxiety.”

You grinned. “I missed you too, Pat,” you promised. There was a shift in the atmosphere. A nervous energy crackled in the air that hadn’t been there in the morning. You studied Patrick’s expression closely, searching for any clues that might explain the sudden gravity of the moment, your brow furrowing with concern. His eyes, usually so full of mischief and confidence, now held a flicker of uncertainty, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that something deeper was going on. “Is everything okay?”

Patrick felt the weight of the ring box pressing down on his mind, an unyielding reminder of what he had planned. “Y/N,” he blurted out, the words tumbling from his lips before he could stop them. “I wanted to talk to you about something. Or, rather, ask you something.”

Your expression shifted from fatigue to surprise, your eyes widening as you registered the sudden seriousness in his tone. “You know you can ask me anything,” you encouraged Patrick, your curiosity piqued. Your exhaustion was forgotten, replaced with pure intrigue.

With every nerve in his body screaming at him, Patrick felt the world around him fade away. His palms grew clammy against the wall on either side of your body, and he could feel his heart hammering in his chest. A wave of nausea washed over him, tightening his stomach as Patrick wrestled with his doubts and insecurities. His mind screamed at him not to do it, warning him that this was a mistake, but deep down, he knew he had to push past the fear.

He needed you to say yes. He needed to grasp onto this moment like a lifeline, believing that getting engaged could fix the uncertainty that loomed over him and his career.

“I know this might seem sudden, but I love you, and I can’t imagine my life without you,” Patrick said slowly, enunciating carefully so you wouldn’t misunderstand. Encouragingly, you cupped his face and nodded for him to go on. The light touch of your fingertips made Patrick shiver, momentarily halting his proposal. Then, he stammered, “W-Will you marry me?”

The air hung heavy with anticipation, and time seemed to stand still as you stared at him, your mouth slightly agape, caught off guard by his unexpected proposal. The sparkle of pure affection in your eyes faltered, replaced by a bewildered look that sent a jolt of anxiety through Patrick. 

He had imagined this moment for so long, picturing a wave of relief washing over him when he asked the question. But now, standing before you, all he could feel was dread, a heavy weight settling in his chest that made it hard to breathe. The uncertain glint in your eyes only deepened his fears, a contrast to the joy he thought he’d see reflected back at him. Instead of the excitement and agreement Patrick expected, he was met with doubt, and it clawed at his insides like a dark, gnawing fear. Each second felt like hours, and Patrick was just about ready to snap under the weight of his insecurities.

“Patrick…” you started, your voice trailing off, as if searching for the right words to piece together what was happening. Your hands dropped slowly from his face in shock. The surprise painted across your face was palpable, and Patrick felt his heart drop when you—his girlfriend—said his full name instead of your beloved nickname for him. 

In that instant, the warmth and excitement he had envisioned for this proposal flickered, leaving only the raw vulnerability of his heart laid bare before you.

[cosmonauter]

best friend james without boundaries again!!

mdni, this has smut in it, i hope you guys enjoy it :))

sleepovers with james are the best thing on this planet, especially if you haven't seen eachother the whole day. meeting up with him after a stressful day, filled with studying and reading about different potion ingredients, is always such a relaxing feeling.

the way he whines about missing you, and thinking of hugging and touching you the whole day.

the way he cradles you to his broad and strong chest, thick arms wrapping around you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

the way he begs you to sleep in his bed tonight, because he had "such a bad day without you, i need you tonight, love, i can't sleep without you!".

so of course, as his best friend, it is your duty to make him feel better, and try your best at making him forget about the bad day he was having.

-

you're lying in his bed, wearing only his shirt and boxers, humming a tune that got stuck in your head, while sirius and peter are palying chess on the opposite side of the room.

"don't you think it's a little weird, sleeping in prongs' clothes and letting him kiss and touch you like he's your boyfriend? not that i'm judging, but i've just been wondering", sirius interrupts your little tune.

you sigh, tired of answering this question every day, "no sirius, why would it be weird? jamie and i just understand eachother and we don't get weird about cuddling and hugging eachother. that's just our love language!"

"alright, if you say so..", sirius shakes his head, as if he's disappointed. maybe he made a wrong move against peter?

suddenly the door to the restroom opens, and out steps james in his low-hanging pants, that make his v-line visible. he's still wet from his shower, his abs and chest glittering from the light reflecting of the little water drops.

he swiftly moves towards his bed, tugging the blanket up and getting under it, immediately pulling you to himself.

"jamie, you're still drenched!", you squeek out.

he smiles at you and apologises, "sorry love, didn't mean to get you wet."

sirius coughs and remus' eyes widen behind his book. " oh my god, you guys are such perverts!", you exclaim, "jamie, close the curtains, i don't want to see them anymore!"

james chuckles as he's closing the bed, laughing at the gobsmacked looks on his mates faces, "good night, boys."

-

you wake up to james moving against your back, " jamie?"

he mumbles your name, while rubbing up against you. suddenly you notice, that a very particular part of him was indeed in dire need of attention. you call out his name again, and start turning around to shake him awake.

as you finally manage to wake him up, his eyes widen and you can immediately see the shame and apologies swimming in his eyes, "jamie, don't even worry about it! we're best friends, if you need something, i'm happy to help you!"

"are you sure? i don't want you to feel uncomfortable or anything", he frowns at you.

"i've never been surer, really, don't worry about it!"

-

james never really expected to be in this situation. of course he thought about it and hoped sometimes, but he never dreamed that one day, he would get to do this.

you're lying on you back, his shirt and boxers nowhere in sight, letting him rub your chest and nipples with one hand, while holding himself up slightly with the other.

"oh my god, this feels so good", he moans out, rutting his swollen cock against your bare body.

goosebumps cover your whole body, and james wants to kiss every inch of you, mark you as his, and make you forget about any other male in your life besides him.

"you make me crazy. i'm going crazy because of you, fuck", he mutters into your neck, continuing to play with your nipples, squeezing and pulling them.

you moan out his name, and james thinks that nothing on this world will ever sound that good again. "you're so good, love. you're the best friend anyone could ever ask for, oh love, i- fuuck, i am so fucking lucky."

one of your hands runs down your body, nearing his dick. you wrap it around him, and james almost loses his control. the way your hand looks so small around his tip makes him nearly cum.

"come on, jamie.. you're doing so good, you're such a good boy, thank you so much."

james blushes and hides his face in your neck. whining, he pulls some of your skin in his mouth and starts sucking.

"jamie, stop! everyone will see, they're going to know what you did to me!"

"oh fuck, i want them to know. i want everyone to know you're mine. shit, tell me you're mine", james whimpers and starts rutting against you even faster.

you moan out and he thinks, that after this night he will not be able to live his life normally anymore. "i'm yours jamie, of course i am."

james can't hold back anymore, he really tries, but he just can't. " i'm cumming, oh fuck, i'm cumming." rope after rope of his cum cover your lower body, some of it landing on your pussy.

he looks at you with wide eyes and and apologises, promising you that he's "going to eat you out so good, just wait a moment. thank you, love, thank you so much", kissing your face and lips like he can't get enough of it. and he really can't, he's obsessed with you beneath him.

his lips start wandering from your collarbone downwards, and he feels you bucking up into him.

smirking against your skin, he starts leaving little bites here and licking over your body there.

finally arriving at your cunt, he places a little kiss right at the center of it and inhales. it smells so incredibly addicting, and james is sure, that nothing could pull him away from you at this moment.

he feels blessed, he feels so good in a way he has never felt like before. he thinks this is what going mad feels like.

"sweetheart, why have you been hiding this from me? i could have had this so long ago", he moans against your pussy starting to lick into you.

this is definitely what going crazy feels like. james feels crazy, he's going crazy.

he can't describe how he's feeling right now, every little emotion inside of him mixing together, making him incapable of forming together a sentence.

"oh my god, you, you taste so good, oh fuck", james is eating you out, like it's his last meal, moaning against you and grinding into the bed.

slowly, he drags a hand up and starts teasing your little hole with one of his fingers. "baby, i'm gonna stick my finger inside, okay? i really wanna stick it inside, please baby? let me put my finger inside you?"

he's whining, he knows that he sounds really pathetic right now, but it's you, and you are his exception for everything. you are the only one allowed to see him in this postion. no one else, ever.

your legs start shaking and you clench your pussy, as he finally puts his fingers to good use. james keeps kissing and sucking on your clit, enjoying the taste of you a to concerning amount.

he knows you're about to cum, he doesn't know how, but he feels it inside of him, like a ticking time bomb.

"come on, my love. grind it out on me, yes, just like that. feels so good, fuck, i could do this all night."

as you moan and cum on his mouth, james realizes that he will never get enough of you, now that he was finally allowed to taste you.

as you finally catch your breath again, james looks up at you with a face of worship.

"you taste so good, i'm genuinely addicted to you now." he huffs against your pussy, starting to give it little kisses here and there.

he licks your oversensitive flesh, as you whine about it being "too soon, jamie, my pussy feels so sensitive, please be careful."

"just one more time, darling, i just need one more taste", as he starts up again, your poor little pussy twitching against his lips.

i hope you liked it!! if you have any tips, please don't hesitate to help me out!!

also this is my first time writing smut, so please tell me how you liked it :))

[shybluebirdninja]

Beard Wars

Summary: Logan’s been growing out his beard, and you’re starting to suspect it might be a little too attached to his face. Now it’s become a silent standoff between you, his beard, and the world’s dullest scissors.

Pairing             : Wolverine!Logan Howlett x Wife!Fem-reader

Genre              : Fluff

You’d seen Logan do a lot of wild stuff in your time together. The man fought in wars, took bullets like mosquito bites, and still had the nerve to complain about your cooking. But nothing—nothing—had prepared you for the unholy battle brewing in your bathroom.

It had been growing… and growing. Logan’s beard, that is. The thing had practically taken on a life of its own. And sure, when it first started, it was rugged. Hot, even. You loved the whole “wild lumberjack with claws” look. But after a couple months, the beard went from sexy to Sasquatch. Now it was long enough to braid… if you dared.

You stood there, glaring at Logan as he sat on the couch, legs kicked up, flipping through channels like he didn’t have a forest attached to his chin. You crossed your arms. “Logan.”

“Hmm?”

“We gotta talk about it.”

He didn’t even look at you. “Talk about what?”

“The beard.”

He glanced up over the remote, raising one bushy eyebrow. “What about it?”

“Babe.” You gestured to his face. “It’s gotten out of control. It’s like… you’re turning into Chewbacca.”

Logan shrugged, clearly not giving a single shit. “What? It’s fine.”

“Fine? Logan, it’s a beard. Not a security blanket.” You shook your head. “I swear, it’s like you’re afraid of trimming it.”

He smirked, clearly enjoying himself. “Afraid? Nah. Just like the way it looks.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Babe, it’s started curling up at the ends. It looks like a goddamn villain’s mustache from a silent film. I’m half-expecting you to tie me to train tracks next.”

Logan huffed and stretched his legs. “What do you want me to do? Cut it?”

“Yes! Just… trim it. Before it starts forming opinions and voting in elections.”

“Good one,” he muttered, still flipping through the channels. “But nah. I like it.”

You knew this was going to be harder than you thought. This wasn’t a normal beard. This was Logan’s pride. His stupid, stubborn pride wrapped around his jaw like a fuzzy security blanket. You didn’t have claws or mutant powers, but damn it, you had scissors. And a dream.

Later that evening, you were standing in front of the bathroom mirror, practicing your technique. You held up the scissors and snipped the air a few times. Yeah, you had this. Stealth, precision, quick reflexes—you’d get him in his sleep.

You glanced down at the pair of dull scissors in your hand, suddenly wondering if maybe this wasn’t the smartest plan. Those things couldn’t cut through paper, let alone Logan’s adamantium-grade beard.

“Whatcha doin’ in there?” Logan’s voice echoed from the living room, suspicious.

“Uh, nothing!” You quickly shoved the scissors into the drawer and tried to look innocent. “Just, uh, brushing my teeth.”

“Mmhmm.” He didn’t believe you for a second.

That night, you waited. Logan fell asleep on the couch, a beer bottle balanced on his chest. You crept up, scissors in hand, moving like a ninja. The beard was right there—so close. One good snip, and you could at least tame that beast.

But the moment the scissors touched one hair, Logan’s hand shot out, catching your wrist. His eyes opened lazily. “What the hell do you think you’re doin’, darlin’?”

You froze, caught red-handed. “Um… grooming?”

Logan sat up, still holding your wrist with that annoyingly strong grip. “We talkin’ dog grooming or attempted murder?”

You sighed, defeated. “Logan, c’mon. It’s gotta go.”

He grinned, clearly enjoying the hell out of this. “You really think you can take this thing down with those weak-ass scissors? Good luck, babe.”

You pouted, yanking your wrist free. “You can’t live like this forever. You look like a damn mountain man.”

“That’s the point.”

“What, you gonna move to the woods and start living off the land?”

Logan chuckled, getting up from the couch. “Might not be such a bad idea. Get away from all this.” He waved a hand around like civilization was an inconvenience he had to endure.

“Okay, Thoreau,” you muttered, “but can we at least compromise? A little trim? Just a bit so you don’t look like a cryptid?”

Logan thought about it for a second, rubbing his chin. “Alright. You get one inch. One. Any more, and you’re losin’ a hand.”

You blinked. “That’s not exactly what I meant by compromise, but I’ll take it.”

The next morning, Logan sat in the kitchen, grudgingly handing you a pair of sharper scissors. “Make it quick.”

You grinned like you’d won the lottery. “I promise it’ll be painless.”

“You better hope so.”

You gingerly reached for the beard, Logan’s eyes watching you like a hawk. The tension was thick—one wrong move, and you knew it’d be war.

Snip. You took off just enough to make a difference, but not enough to piss him off. He grunted but didn’t complain. Snip, snip. A couple more careful cuts, and you stepped back, admiring your handiwork.

Logan rubbed his chin, inspecting it in the mirror. “Not bad.”

“See? Didn’t kill you.”

“Yet.”

You laughed, putting the scissors down. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Logan stood up, stretching. “Maybe. But at least now I won’t get mistaken for Bigfoot at the grocery store.”

You smirked. “Who knew the Wolverine could be such a drama queen about a beard?”

He growled, but this time, you could see the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t push it, babe. Next time you come near me with those scissors, you might lose an eye.”

“Noted.” You gave him a playful wink. “But seriously, thanks for not letting it grow legs and walk off on its own.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, grabbing his jacket. “Now let’s get outta here before you try to cut somethin’ else.”

As he headed for the door, you couldn’t resist one last comment. “Don’t worry, the hair on your head is next.”

Logan shot you a look over his shoulder. “Don’t. Even. Think about it.”

[lost-in-fandoms]

I love your writing so much!! If you are taking prompts (no pressure!!!!): daniel doing something cute for max’s bday while they are together in Perth after Singapore ❤️

Hello, I love you!! You are SO nice and I appreciate you sending a prompt! This was probably not what you were envisioning, even if there are cute things happening, but I hope you like it anyway. I wanted more birthday stuff but it sort of ran away from me. Also, this is about 2k oh god.

Daniel figured out in the early days, even before they were actually together, that Max doesn't care much about his birthday.

He will never say no to cake (unless his trainer gives him really mean looks), he appreciates gifts, and he loves a good party, but he has no real feelings about it being his birthday.

Daniel had asked him about it once, wondering if maybe there was some sort of deep rooted trauma behind it he didn't know about, but Max had just shrugged, easy and relaxed. It is not important, Daniel, when I get old, if I am getting older every day.

He knows that this year Max has no plans for it, and knows that neither of them minds, both just wanting a quiet day with each other.

It's been...a lot, lately.

Even here, away from the crowds and the hungry world that has just recently spit him out, like a bitter and unwanted bite, it's not been easy to let everything go.

The first two days after landing they had barely left the bed, sleeping and kissing lazily, too drained to even have sex. The third day they had spent with Daniel's family. The fourth, the one when the news had become official for the world, he had gotten horrifically drunk, in a way he hadn't done in years, Max being the one providing glasses of water for once and hands on his forehead while he was crying over a toilet bowl. He doesn't have many memories of the fifth one, spent nursing the worst hungover on this side of thirty.

And then he had tried to start his new life.

He doesn't know yet how that will look like, which makes it harder, but he's taking one step at a time, like his mom has been telling him.

Yesterday's step had been joining Max for some training, because he doesn't want to actually become a couch potato, and looking into finding a new internet provider after Max's numerous complaints.

Today's first step is going to be the farmers market.

He considers waking up Max for it, but it's barely seven a.m., and he doesn't actually want to be threatened with bodily harm this early in the day, so he leaves him with a kiss (Max doesn't even stir) and a post-it note on the bedside table.

It doesn't take long for him to decide that the farmers market isn't for him, at least not yet. Maybe it's an acquired taste, but there's just too much going on, bustling people pressing around him, vendors loudly calling out prices, colorful things attracting his attention everywhere, making his head spin.

He manages to get what he wanted and then flees, back to the safety of his car and towards the quiet of the farm.

It's only when he's halfway there that he realises that a few years ago he would have loved all of it, and then has to force himself to not have an existential crisis over it, wondering if it's just a result of getting old, or if something about the last few months has irrevocably broken him.

When he pokes his head into the bedroom, he finds that Max is awake, sitting up against the headboard, phone in hand and blankets pooled around his waist, looking soft and sleep-mussed.

"Good morning," Daniel says, stepping inside and feeling the warmth of Max's smile wrap around his lungs. "Happy birthday."

Max, impossibly, seems to soften further, his ears growing pinker.

"Thank you," he says, his voice still raspy with sleep. He reaches for Daniel, but he holds up a hand, taking a step back towards the door.

"Hold on, I have something for you. Don't move."

He watches as Max makes a show of settling back against the pillows and stilling there, beaming at him when Daniel laughs, retreating in the other room.

He comes back holding a paper bag and a bottle of orange juice in one hand and a small bouquet of flowers in the other, offering both to Max with a smile, refusing to feel self conscious about it.

Max blinks up at him, fingers just a touch away from Daniel's hand, surprise and confusion mixing on his face.

"For me?" he asks, soft and amazed.

Daniel nods, not really trusting himself to speak, and Max finally closes the distance, wrapping his fingers around the bunch of stems and taking the flowers from Daniel, pulling them close to his chest and burying his face into the colorful petals.

Daniel doesn't really know what kinds of flowers they are, he just chose a few that looked pretty, but he doesn't think it matters. Not when Max looks up at him again, cheeks red and eyes bright, smiling wide wide wide, happy and lovely.

"Thank you, Daniel," he says, so earnestly it cracks something open in Daniel's chest, unwanted and unexpected, making him feel like everything is too much once again.

Luckily, Max seems to notice, because he always notices, and he settles the flower gently on the blankets, uncaring of the wet stems, before tugging Daniel down in his lap. His hands are solid weights on Daniel's hips, and for the first time since he woke up that morning, Daniel feels like he can breathe fully, settled and steady, the feeling of being adrift that he had refused to acknowledge pushed away for a little while longer.

"What's in there?" Max asks, thumbs rubbing circles on Daniel's hipbones, gesturing with his chin towards the paper bag still in Daniel's hand.

The smell of baked goods has for sure given it away already, but Daniel makes a show of it, extracting a croissant as if it was a bunny from a magic hat, wishing Max's laughter could seep right into his bloodstream, weaving itself around his cells.

Max bites into the croissant cheerfully, not minding the flaky crumbs that rain down on the sheets, thanking Daniel again and humming his approval.

Daniel's chest feels warm.

"What's that?" Max asks again while he chews, pointing at the orange juice.

"Orange juice," Daniel tells him, untwisting the cap and offering the bottle to him, missing Max's hand as soon as it's gone. "Watched Marco squeeze it fresh myself."

He does his best to keep his face straight as Max hesitates, bottle halfway up to his mouth, eyes narrowing.

"Marco?"

"Charming guy, yes," Daniel teases, unable to keep himself from smiling any longer, amused by Max's frown, "about sixty years old."

The frown disappears as fast as it had formed, and Max smirks at him, finally taking a sip.

"Forty years too old for you," he says once he has swallowed, laughing at Daniel's outraged squeak.

Max makes it up to him by offering him the middle bite of the croissant, sweet custard oozing onto his fingers, and then again by kissing Daniel thoroughly, sweet with vanilla and sugar.

"I have something else," Daniel tells him some time later, when they're all kissed out, pushing away from Max's chest and clambering back onto his feet.

Max follows him without question, tugging on a pair of shorts abandoned on the floor, and grabbing the flowers from the bed, taking them to the kitchen counter before joining Daniel outside.

Daniel grabs his hand, because he can here, away from prying eyes, and guides him around the porch to a cardboard box peeping quietly.

Max gasps, immediately crouching in front of it and opening it, letting out a surprised laugh when he sees what's inside: four little chicks, fluffy and pale yellow, tweeting up at him.

"You said we needed them to have a real farm," he says, carding his fingers through Max's hair, "and mom said I needed a project."

Max has his fingers in the box already, trying to pet the chicks without startling them, but he leans back to beam up at him, eyes crinkling.

"I love them," he declares, steady and unashamed, before turning back to the box.

This time, he manages to scoop two chicks up in his cupped hands, taking them out and cradling them against his chest, humming happily.

"I think you're their mama now," Daniel jokes, "you'll have to come back for them."

He knows he's said the wrong thing as soon as it's out of his mouth, Max's shoulders tensing, even as his hands stay gentle around the chicks. He doesn't know how to backtrack though, doesn't really want to, so he watches as Max puts them down again and gets up, knees cracking.

He goes to make a joke about that too, something about Max getting old, but the words get stuck in his throat at the sight of Max's unhappy expression.

"Of course I'm coming back, Daniel," Max says with a frown, steely certainty behind it. "Did you think I was going to leave and..."

He doesn't finish his sentence, crossing his arms and looking away, blinking rapidly.

"I..." Daniel swallows, picking at a cuticle on his thumb. "I'm sorry."

It's again the wrong thing to say, Max turning back towards him, eyes shiny and thunderous expression.

"I love you, Daniel," he snaps, forceful and determined. "I love you, Daniel, not the you who races. I am not going to fuck off and leave just because..."

He shakes his head, reels himself in. Daniel doesn't know if he's breathing, but if he was, he stops when Max steps closer, bringing his hands up to cup his cheeks.

"I will have to leave, because I need to finish this season, and maybe the next, I don't know, but I am always coming back. Any time I can find time, I will be here. Or in LA, or wherever you will decide to be."

Max swipes his thumb along Daniel's cheekbone, leaning forward to gently thump their foreheads together.

"I wish you were racing with me," he whispers, a confession he hadn't let Daniel have yet. Daniel's heart is split open. "Always it is better, to race with you. I thought we would be racing until we both retired, but I don't care that it is different. I will miss you, when you're here and I am there, and then I will come back."

Max's fingers are damp with Daniel's tears now, and Daniel lets himself be tugged closer, wrapped in the safest arms he knows, hiding his face in Max's neck.

"I'm sorry," he croaks again when he finally finds his voice again, twisting his hands on the back of Max's sleep shirt.

He feels Max's take a deep breath, letting it out against Daniel's hair.

"I wish I could fix it," he says slowly, measuring his words, "but I don't like when you say that I will leave. I have never left. I will not start now."

And he's right, Daniel knows he's right, but it's been hard to remember what he still has lately, after everything went down.

He nods against Max's skin and then lets Max hold him, gently rocking side to side, the chicks peeping softly at their feet, until he doesn't feel like he's going to break with every stuttering breath anymore.

"I was thinking we could go down to the trail," he murmurs, lips dragging against Max's damp shirt. "Take some food, have a picnic. I bought bread rolls."

Max squeezes him tightly once more before putting some distance between them to be able to look at his face, smiling gently.

"I like that. You can make the food while I take the babies to their new coop."

Daniel freezes.

"You have bought a coop too, right Daniel?" Max asks, eyebrows raising. Daniel can feel himself blush.

"I...didn't think about it?" he tries to justify himself.

For a second Max just stares at him, and then he starts laughing, dropping his head against Daniel's chest.

"Stop laughing at me!" Daniel whines, hitting Max's shaking back, but making no move to step away.

Max hits him back, then straightens himself, laughter still etched in the lines of his face.

"Alright," he says, slightly out of breath, "we are going to buy a coop instead. Or build a coop, I don't know what is better, we'll have to call your dad. And we'll do the trail tomorrow, or the day after."

Tomorrow, or the day after.

It seems to hit Daniel all at once, that this is the start. He has tomorrow, and the day after, to do anything he wants. To go on hikes with his boyfriend, to think about new projects, to pick up old hobbies and interests, no schedules to stop him. And he will have tomorrow, and the day after, even when Max has to leave to go racing again, because Max will come back, to have more tomorrows, and the days after, with him.

He surges forward, crashing his lips against Max's, who gasps in surprise but eagerly kisses him back, until all that's left in his brain is tomorrow and Max.

Only then he lets Max go again, stepping back with a smile.

"Let's go get a house for the babies, baby."

And in the lines of Max's smile he can almost see it already: tomorrow, and the day after.

[krys4h]

𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 ◞﹒୧ .

✧ ⁝ 𝐚𝐤𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐲𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐰𝐚 ◞ ྀི

— my thoughts & headcanons on how i think he would be as a lover (or not...) fluff, nsfw, hurt.

𓍯 a silent lover. the type to love in secret, hidden from sight. cold facade, worried heart for his loved ones. you feel his affection in the little things like when you feel down and he always prepares your favorite meal without a word, trying to create comfort and affection that he can't express with words. a confession would be too loud for him.

𓍯 he prefers to watch, observe and protect those he cares about behind their backs. the type to lie to you about his schedule - because it's physically impossible for him to verbalize his feelings - and go secretly confront a devil who was giving you a hard time.

𓍯 aki loves to make love to you during rainy days, forehead pressed against yours, his breath brushing your lips. it's intimate, despite the fact he run away from any emotional intimacy. he can't say i love you with his mouth, makima's shadow covering his heart and his words but he can convey his feelings in his kisses, his hands that circle around your clit, touching in spots nobody did.

𓍯 his eyes that soften only for yours will always follow you, everywhere you're going.

𓍯 he spend his night looking at you when you're sleeping, wondering why God gave him such a gift in his life but not enough time to cherish it.

𓍯 you always felt it even though it was silent. he seemed so detached from you, always careful that his eyes didn't linger on you for too long - attempt failed, they always found you -, you had to squint, see the unsaid, and understand the innuendos to perceive the love he had for you.

𓍯 it takes time. it takes time to go from a cold look when judging a stranger, to the first nods, the first half-smiles that precede the softened glances. it took him time to get used to having someone who cares for him like you do. maybe it was complicated to accept the fact that he was finally the first choice for someone, and not the forgotten youngest of his family like he always was. your warm air when you saw him coming from afar felt weird for him, almost inappropriate. when you seemed too happy to see him he couldn't help but frown at how your eyes always looked illuminated for him. weird. almost inappropriate.

𓍯 it takes time, but the slight pang in his heart he feels every time he feels your affection for him is slowly starting to disappear. he can't be openly expressive like you, but he's starting to accept it. it takes time. his love is silent when yours is so loud that it becomes overwhelming and he feels like he doesn't deserve it.

𓍯 it's understandable, everyone is dying around him. he's the only one who hasn't lost his humanity yet and mourns the deaths of those who defend the people of this city. it touches him. death scares him so much that he can't allow himself to truly get attached to someone, it would be like welcoming someone with big arms for a hug with arms full of thorns. to engulf you, to make you dive with him. no, he can't. he really can't.

𓍯 it doesn't matter how his breath hitches every time he feels when your silhouette towers over him, your hips undulating in the most exquisite way, so eager to please him. he doesn't even need to guide you with his hands on your hips, it's already too good. it doesn't matter the almost painful but sweet feeling he has in his stomach when the lights are out with the only sounds being the creaking bed and your soft breath. he feels so safe with you, you make him so wanted that he starts to think that life might be worth living outside of his desire for revenge.

𓍯 but it doesn't matter, he can't say "i love you", the poor man doesn't even manage to smile normally. there's always an awkward look.

𓍯 he was so caught up in the curse of his family's vengeance that he had closed himself off from any relationship that went beyond the professional sphere. but... it was hard not to succumb to you. he couldn't give you the bright future and romance you deserved, but he could give you the remnants of his heart he had left. working with you, doing missions and hunting devils together, and sometimes, when you were a little too drunk, kisses on the neck that would slip into panting. no commitment. that was what he could offer you. he thought it would protect him from the loss of not putting a word on your relationship, like a wall for pain. he lied to himself so much. he was already madly in love, and if he were to lose you right now, it would be the end of him.

𓍯 it was up to you to decode if the hands that brushed you at night sought only for pleasure or for your heart, because even if for a moment, you would lose control of your emotions and let your love for him express itself, an "i love you" that should have remained hidden, he would not answer it.

𓍯 aki loves you too, that's a fact. but he wouldn't let you see it. he wasn't going to make the mistake of investing too much in a relationship that was inevitably going to go badly, and make you hope. you deserved better, he thought. you were his heaven in the hell that was the daily life of a devil hunter. so dear, so precious to him.

𓍯 𝐤𝐫𝐲𝐬

[slaaverin]

Sorry but HOLY SHIT.

I'm?????? At loss for words.

This is the gayest shit I've ever seen.

AAAAAAAAAAAH.

Park Jimin is devious, he is sneaky, he wants everybody to know JK is HIS and Jungkook just sat or lied there letting him writing his own name ON HIS CHEST and also let him take a picture of his creation while Jungkook smiled like a..a..proud boyfriend? Idk. HIS SMILE???? LIKE HE'S HAPPY HE JUST GOD CLAIMED BY HIS MAN

ALL OF THIS IN FRONT OF STAFF AND TAE.

This is??? I'm baffled.

You can't defend them. You can't. Who agrees to have someone else's name written on their chest? If they are not a couple? NO ONE. IT JUST DOESN'T HAPPEN. I REPEAT THIS SHIT DOESN'T HAPPEN IN REAL LIFE THIS IS NOT A THING

Jimin made sure everybody knew JK his HIS. He claimed his boyfriend as property of The Park Jimin but WE KNEW THAT.

The fact he thought funny to just do it again for good measure AND TAKE A PICTURE FOR HIS PERSONAL ARCHIVE TO REMEMBER. Jimin looking at the picture month later and telling himself "Oh yeah, I took a picture of MY MAN on the boat my little Jungkookie is MINE AND MINE ONLY" while looking at it fondly and a little devilish.

This is surreal.

This is the type of shit that couldn't have been predicted.

IT FEELS REALLY SEXUAL TOO. IDK??? LIKE??

I'm losing my goddamn mind.

Guys guys we have come to this type of insane stuff OK. ok.

This is fine. This is perfectly fine. Let me breathe.

I'M NOT OK???

God couples are so annoying and insufferable.

We get it guys you're really in love in a kinky way. We. get. it.

Do they know some people are single?? Do they not care? No those two lovebirds are too occupied being completely obsessed with each other of course 😐

They are completely insane, those two.

I'M SO DONE. BYE.

[storiesfromafan]

Persistent - Benny Cross x Reader

A/N: this is a follow up to Drinks. Another one-shot under 1000 words. Maybe there will be another part, see how I go.

I want to thank @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler for reblogging and your comments. I woke up to them the day after I posted, and I was a giggling and smiling mess. And wanted to give you more cute and flirty haha.

Prompt: “I’m not the right person for you” “You’re doing a bad job of convincing me of that”

Tag list: @strayrockette

You had to give it to Benny, he was persistent. After making his intentions known to you, for the next week Benny made himself known in your life. You had started to see him riding around town more, like he knew where and what you were doing. Visiting the diner you worked out, and making sure you were his server.

But tonight took the cake. For Benny showed up at the movie theatre, leaning on his bike with a smoke in hand. You came walking out, arm linked with your date. A young man your mother set you up with, and you had gone out with to get her off your back. You put on a smile and talked to the man about the movie you’d just seen.

But the moment your eyes landed on Benny, well your date was completely forgotten. For mister tall drink of water, leaning against his bike and smoking a cigarette was a sight too see. And when Benny’s eyes spotted you, his eyes darkened seeing you linked arms with Stewart. With a flick of his cigarette, Benny stood up before making his way over to you.

Poor Stewart looked like he was going to piss his pants, seeing as Benny was making his way towards you. If only he knew that the Vandal was your shadow. Coming to stand before you both, Benny continued to be intimidating. Which was working.

“Evening Princess" Benny greeted with his rough voice, which sent a shiver down your spine.

“Benny" you replied, a little standoffish.

He smiled at your tone, finding it all so amusing. “Don’t ya look good tonight", he winked.

You rolled your eyes. “What are you doing here?”

He chuckled at how forward you were being, no pleasantries or beating around the bush. “Thought ya might need a ride home" he replied sweetly.

Your narrower your gaze on the gorgeous Vandal. “How kind of you. But as you can see, I’m on a date. Who is perfectly capable of taking me home".

“Oh, really now?” Benny asked, turning his gaze to your date. And staring your date down. “Well, you wouldn’t mind if I took your date home, would you now?”

Stewart, God bless him, sputtered out some words. Neither you or Benny could decipher what the male had said. But with a few shakes of his hand, and the release of your arm, Stewart didn’t stick around. You don’t blame him. A Vandal can be intimidating, nor would you want to get on their bad side. So there you were, standing before Benny while your date took off with his tail between his legs.

You sighed. “Good job scaring off my date".

Benny – having been looking you up and down, admiring your dress – smirked. “He wasn’t much of a date. Not to mention ya didn’t look that into him as ya walked out of the theatre”.

He had you there, not that you want to admit it. “How I felt about my date is not the point. We were talking about you scaring him off".

“Hmm, really now?” Benny asked in amusement. “Or should ya be thankin' me from savin' ya from the square?”

You crossed your arms over your chest, popping your hip out a bit, as you gave him a pointed look. “You didn’t save me Benny. As, I myself, am a square".

The deep chuckle that left Benny, was music to your ears. “Princess, we both know ya not that much of a square".

He was right, but you’d been trying to be on your best behaviour. After your parents found out about going to Grand and Division, and being around the Vandals. Not to mention Benny’s presence this week scaring your poor mother. You might be attracted to the man before you, but you had to heed the warnings from your parents.

“I’m a square Benny. I work a stable job, wear dresses" – you ruffled your dress skirt in emphasis – “I don’t drink, or smoke, I follow the rules and I date nice, clean cut men".

Benny smirked in amusement, finding your words more a challenge than a deterrent.

You glared at his smirk. “I’m not the right person for you". A small white lie, you wanted to be the right person for him. But you had to be a good, wholesome woman.

“You’re doing a bad job of convincin' me of that" he replied staring into your eyes, his baby blues consuming you. “I take everythin’ you said as a challenge Princess, a challenge to corrupt ya".

A noise left your throat, but you were unsure if it was one of frustration or approval. You liked the idea of Benny corrupting you. In more ways than one. The man was gorgeous and you would easily give in. But you had to be strong. A Vandal man was dangerous, and trouble. Two things you didn’t need.

“Well I’m going to burst your bubble, and it’s not going to happen". With that you walked off, headed in the direction you would take home.

You couldn’t be around Benny any more. You needed to get away from his charms, before you caved, but also needed to get home. Holding your bag closer to your body, you began the walk home in your short heels, which would kill your feet by the time you get home.

Benny watched you walk away, amused and fully taken with your boldness, and sharp tongue. He would be taking this challenge seriously. He would win you, and make you his. Needing you by his side and on the back of his bike.

“Princess! Let me give ya ride home, will ya!?” He called out, which you ignored. With a groan at your stubbornness, Benny moved for his bike and to chase you down. He wouldn’t let his girl walk home alone.

[arowyn-m]

Why Viktor Could Die in S2

“They won’t kill a champion because—“ okay just pause for a second and humor me. I’ve made a lot of arguments in the past about why every Arcane character is fair game but that’s not what I’m arguing here—I’m arguing from a narrative standpoint.

Viktor’s my favorite character in Arcane, but I believe him dying in the series finale is the most likely conclusion to his arc. Here’s why:

Viktor’s whole arc is about life and death as a concept—what really constitutes “living”? (Posed by the scenes with Rio) Why is a human life inherently valuable? (Posed by capitalizing on his aggressive need to leave a legacy) Which is more important—a person’s effect on the world around them or their effect on their loved ones? (Viktor realizing too late that Sky valued him not just for his output but for who he is)

There’s also a ton of foreshadowing to Viktor’s demise coming about by a fault in his technology or by the careless way he relates technology to human life (usually himself but not always), and it’s often disguised as humor (the “of course not” scene) or hidden behind false foreshadowing for death by illness (basically everything to do with the Hexcore in eps 5 and 6)

I’ve theorized about it on here before, but I believe at the end of the series the Hexcore will be destroyed (probably by Jayce, specifically to call back to the promise he made to Viktor), effectively ending the threat of the Void overtaking Piltover. Viktor will be so connected to the Hexcore by the finale that destroying it will kill him. He reaches his Glorious Evolution, yes, but it destroys him in the end.

And yeah there is merit to the “how can you live with yourself” kind of approach to ending a character’s story, but that conclusion has the strongest impact if the character’s arc is about learning to live with your mistakes. Most of the character arcs in this show pose that question, but Viktor’s arc really doesn’t?

As far as we can tell with Viktor so far, there’s very little grappling with that concept up until his last 5 or so minutes of screentime, and even then it’s more of a blip that resolves itself (“In pursuit of great, we failed to do good. We have to make it right.”) If Viktor’s story is about defining the respective values of “life” and “humanity” then the most bittersweet ending to his story would be by letting him die after briefly coming back to his humanity.

At the same time, in Ep 5 of BtR Alex Yee says this when talking through writing the script for S2:

“It’s, like, die or accept some things being imperfect. That would be the way that they could go back to humanity.”

So if we assume he’s talking about Viktor covertly here (he very well could be talking about some other character, but yk “going back to humanity” is a very Viktor-coded issue) we could also speculate that they may try to end Viktor’s arc with him accepting the Glorious Evolution just…doesn’t work. I hope that’s not the case because that kind of kills his whole shtick but anything’s possible lol.

To round off this thought by comparison—there’s no chance Jinx dies by the series finale because her whole character arc will inevitably move from “Am I Powder or am I Jinx?” to “Okay, I’m Jinx. How do I live in that identity with the knowledge of my past mistakes?” Her dying at the end of the series would be an unsatisfying conclusion to that question. Same thing with Vi. Vi’s arc was about trying to “fix” things. She just wanted things to go back to the way they were, and they just can’t. Her arc is probably going to be centered around her grappling with grief over losing Powder AGAIN and learning to accept things will never go back to how they were before. Caitlyn’s arc is going to be her exacting revenge and maybe living with regret and bitterness. None of those character arcs logically conclude with “and though they found the answer to their life’s question, they died.”

Viktor’s probably will.

Also here’s a link to a longer more in-depth theory I had a while ago—kind of a adjacent to this thought (for some reason it won’t work as an embedded link) https://www.tumblr.com/arowyn-m/755893249865039872/jayceviktorhexcore-situation-in-s2?source=share

[cameatslemons]

mouthwashing post. jimmy is a raging narcissist and im tired of people trying to give him benefit of the doubt. his inability to see two feet beyond what immediately concerns him dooms everyone on the tulpar, and even in the end, he only really cares about himself.

big list of all his narcisstic bullshit below bc im here to motherfucking prove it (mouthwashing spoilers of course)

most obviously: everything is a personal attack on him. EVERYTHING. you can see it most clearly at the birthday party; while everyone else is understandably freaking out about being laid off, jimmy starts telling curly off and insulting both him and everyone else at the table, as if being laid off is a personal attack on jimmy specifically. it doesn’t matter that anya has nothing to go back to, that swansea’s life is thrown away- jimmy is the ONLY victim here, apparently. curly is personally responsible for getting laid off, in his eyes.

i don’t actually know the words for this but the way he’s constantly going “i have to do EVERYTHING around here”- again, feeling like its a personal attack to be asked anything at all. anya asks him to take care of curly because her entire fucking life is falling apart, its her end of days, but somehow shes the villain for struggling.

also the general antagonization of anya. she’s extremely competent for the hand she was dealt! shes too poor to attend med school yet shes very knoqledgable in medication and wound care! and yeah no shit shes struggling now, someone she cared deeply about is suffering immensely and now the ship is being “run” by a man who assaulted her. no fucking shit shes breaking down. but jimmy makes it clear time and time again that this is somehow her fault, all this shit of “shouldn’t nurses EARN their titles?” while she’s having a mental breakdown.

similarly, swansea being villainized for holding the cryopod for daisuke and killing him. like, i get it, but jimmy’s whole thing of saying he can fix daisuke is… c’mon man. he’s a hero to himself, he “always” fixes things the same way he “fixed” the ship, and he will fix daisuke and claim heroism even though it’s very clear nothing else can be done for him.

“someday you’ll thank me” while forcing curly to eat his own leg. the incredible confidence that he is in the right even when literally torturing someone.

MOST IMPORTANTLY: the final scene with curly burning. jimmy doesn’t earnestly believe he has anything to be sorry for. even when apologizing to curly he says “we can BOTH be heroes!” despite everything, he still thinks he’s in the right. he STILL thinks he’s a hero, because he’s right, he’s ALWAYS right, surely. he can apologize and grovel all he wants but in the end he still thinks he’s the hero of this story; he doesn’t genuinely think he has anything to right, he’s only doing this to be freed of consequence. and/or believes a simple “sorry” is enough, that it can fix completely ruining the lives of four people with his own inferiority complex.

i do think the choice to put curly in the pod instead of himself is the only time he recognizes his own guilt, if any. maybe it’s realizing that he DOES need something more than a simple “sorry” to even begin to try to fix things, maybe it’s that he thinks this will cement him even further as a hero. even then, does this fix anything? all it’s doing is making curly suffer more. is this actually a good thing?

to him, he’s the hero here. he always is. crashing the ship is a heroic thing, putting all his crewmates through hell is a heroic thing. all because something nobody can control is somehow a personal attack on jimmy.

not to mention all the “hallucinations” he has- it’s what he thinks should happen, it’s what he wants to hear. curly still calling him a friend, the dead corpses of his crewmates praising him, even in the final cutscene with curly burning where he says “no, YOU take the pod”. none of it’s real. it’s just what jimmy thinks is “right”. despite everything, he thinks everyone should thank and praise him, because he can do no wrong.

conclusion: jimmy is a narcisstic piece of shit.

[firehose118]

that's not me anymore

Buck is laying on Tommy’s bare chest, pleasantly warm under the covers. Tommy is more asleep than not. The movements of his thumb rubbing back and forth over Buck’s arm are slowing down the further he drifts off.

After a normal day, Buck would be right there with him. Usually, Buck lays his head on Tommy’s chest and he’s out within minutes. Tommy’s strong chest is comfortable, his arms around Buck are safe, his big bed is cozy, and Buck loves it.

But it doesn’t matter how nice this all feels. There’s no way he can sleep after the day he’s had. After what he did. Or, really, what he thinks he meant to do. Might have meant to do. He’s not sure. He thinks maybe, for the first time in his life, he just got lucky. Stupidly, incredibly, incomprehensibly lucky.

Well, for the second time, actually. He smooths his hand over Tommy’s stomach. Definitely second.

Tommy’s body jolts at the touch. He’d definitely been more asleep than Buck thought. He hums happily, like waking up to find Buck laying on him fills him with joy and contentment. He presses a kiss to the top of Buck’s head and runs his hand up and down Buck’s arm for a moment, then stills.

“Evan?” he mumbles, not quite awake. “Y’okay?”

“I’m fine,” Buck says reflexively. Tommy has a shift in seven hours—Buck doesn’t want to keep him up. “You can sleep, it’s okay.” He rubs his hand over Tommy’s stomach again and kisses his chest.

“You’re tense,” Tommy says, a bit more awake, and Buck realizes he’s right.

“I’m sorry.”

Tommy takes a deep, rousing breath in through his nose. “Nothing to be sorry for. Do you wanna talk about it?”

Buck hesitates, tracing a finger around the edges of the scar on Tommy’s ribs. He just can’t get it out of his head. He’s spinning in circles about it, and Tommy is a good sounding board. Buck isn’t worried about scaring him off. He’s calm and smart—nonjudgmental. Buck knows he won’t have the answers, but it might help to talk it out.

“I don’t know that I meant to save him,” Buck admits quietly.

“Gerrard?” Tommy asks, and Buck nods against his chest. “Fuck him.”

Buck doesn’t disagree, but that’s not what this is about. It’s not about Gerrard; whether he deserved to be saved or not. It’s about Buck. It’s about his intentions, his reactions, and how he feels like there’s a big hole blown in the personal progress he thought he’d made since he joined the 118.

Maybe. Or maybe he just has great instincts. What are the odds?

“I’m serious,” Buck insists. “I don’t know that I meant to save him. Not for sure. One moment, he’s berating me—and I mean, really going in on me, like, he just kept going and going, and it all turned to static because he just wouldn’t stop—and I’m getting angrier and angrier and more frustrated, and it’s getting more personal, and the next thing I know, I’m tackling him onto the concrete floor.”

“You didn’t notice the saw blade?”

“No. Not- not consciously, anyway. That’s the problem. I don’t know if I- I saved him or…”

“Attacked him?”

Buck nods.

Tommy starts running a hand through Buck’s hair. “I can’t tell you what you meant to do, but I can say I know it’s a lot, being yelled at by him like that.”

A lot. That’s exactly how Buck would describe it. He’s never experienced sensory overload like that. He’s never felt someone’s every word pierce into him like that. Eddie had said, you gotta stop letting this guy get under your skin like this, Buck. And Buck had tried as hard as he could, tried to get his skin to thicken up and not let every barb scrape to the bone, but he’s felt paper-thin all over since Bobby left. After months of being ground down to nothing under Gerrard’s uncaring and heavy boot, he didn’t stand a chance.

Gerrard was inside his head, punching thought after horrible self-thought directly into his brain. If everything he’d been saying weren’t things Buck had thought about himself before, it would have been different. But it felt like Gerrard was the physical manifestation of every one of Buck’s insecurities, telling Buck that he would never be good enough; that he was right to feel like he was inadequate for all those years. To still feel that way now, sometimes. Hearing it all finally said out loud with such cruel confidence was almost an out-of-body experience.

And then all of a sudden it was too much, too much. He couldn’t handle any more of it and his body was moving without his permission, like he was possessed. He just doesn’t know if the saw blade brought his mind back to his body before he could register it, or if he snapped at exactly the right second and got more lucky than he could possibly deserve.

“Yeah, it was a lot,” Buck says. He takes a deep sigh. “It’s not like I’m not used to being yelled at. Growing up, my parents yelled at me all the time, but it was never like that. They were always mad at me, but I could tell it was because they were scared. This was just… hate.”

“I’m sorry, baby. That sounds like Gerrard.” The way Tommy says it makes it clear to Buck that he’s been on the receiving end of one of Gerrard’s tirades before. “So, after you tackled him, what did you do next?”

“What do you mean?” Buck asks, confused. The point is the tackle—the why behind the tackle. Who cares about what happened next?

“Once you got him on the ground, what did you do? Did you hit him?”

“No,” Buck says quickly, a little horrified at the thought. “I rolled to the side.”

Tommy hums thoughtfully. “That’s what I thought. Now, I know you hate basketball, but bear with me for a second, okay? The key to shooting baskets is followthrough. You don’t just throw the ball and put your arm down: you make sure your arm follows through the shooting motion all the way. Same with baseball.”

“Same with football,” Buck offers. He doesn’t hate all sports.

“Exactly. But from the sound of it, there was no followthrough once you had him on the ground.”

Tommy is right. When they hit the ground, Buck hadn’t been thinking of anything but the flying saw blade.

“No, I- but by then I must have seen the saw blade. I was, uh- I understood the situation at that point.”

“Maybe,” Tommy concedes. “Do you think you could have stopped yourself from hitting him that quickly, though? If that’s what you’d meant to do in the first place?”

“I-” Buck hadn’t considered that. It had been a matter of seconds—fractions of seconds, really. “Probably not, no.”

The fingers that Tommy has been softly carding through Buck’s hair come down to caress his face. “I can tell you how it sounds to me, but I think you’re starting to hear it for yourself.”

Buck gives half a shrug. “I hear what you’re saying, a-and it makes sense but… I still don’t know how I could’ve reacted that quickly. My body would have had to start moving before my brain told me what was going on. That’s like, superhero shit.”

“Mmm, my Spiderman.” Tommy pinches his cheek lightly.

Buck smiles despite himself. “I’m serious. That kind of thing doesn’t happen in real life.”

“Evan, you know damn well that it does. It’s rare, but it does.”

Buck remembers that time a few years ago when Lucy caught someone falling off a building on pure instinct, and he has to concede that Tommy’s right about that, too.

“But even if I’m wrong,” Tommy says. “Even if we put aside the fact that this could be explained by you having some sort of a spidey-sense, let’s say you did mean to attack him. He pushed you too far and you snapped. It happened. What then? Where do you want to go from there?”

There’s no disgust in Tommy’s voice; no fear or judgment. Just pragmatism and warm support. If there’s a problem, let’s figure out how to solve it together. Let’s move forward from this instead of wallowing in it.

“Probably back to therapy,” Buck says. “I don’t… I don’t want to be the kind of person who does stuff like that. I- I feel like I’ve regressed, working under Gerrard. I used to be kind of hotheaded, when I was younger, but I thought I was past it. I thought I was more grown up.”

“Regression is Gerrard’s specialty. He wants to live in a very particular, regressive world, and he’ll do his damnedest to drag everyone back there with him.”

“Yeah, I know, but… I- I don’t think I can blame all of this on him. He pushed me over the edge, but I let him get me there. Everyone else is handling it. They told me not to talk back, not to rile him up, not to let him get under my skin, but I did. I couldn’t let him be wrong about me. I need to figure out how to not be this guy.” Buck takes a quick, shuddering breath. “I don’t want to be violent.”

Tommy presses another kiss into Buck’s hair. “You’re not violent. You’re stubborn and emotional, and maybe you let things go too far sometimes without processing your feelings, but you’re not violent. You’re just not used to someone treating you like that. If you snapped—and that’s still an if—it must have been really bad.”

Between the high emotions of the day and Tommy’s gentle understanding, Buck can feel the tears start coming.

“Yeah,” he says wetly. “Yeah, it was really bad.”

He tucks his face into Tommy’s chest and tries not to cry, but he can’t stop himself. Tommy holds Buck in his strong arms and murmurs small comforting things until Buck calms down.

When Buck can breathe again, he feels drained, but he feels relieved too. He’s not so caught up in guilt and the unknown. It’s all a little clearer now.

“I don’t think I attacked him,” Buck says, “but I couldn’t stop pushing. I needed him to acknowledge that I was right. And he was never going to.”

“No, he was never going to,” Tommy agrees, dropping a kiss to Buck’s head. “I’m proud of you.”

Buck’s heart flips over a little. “For what?”

“For recognizing that. For wanting to grow and be better. You’re already pretty damn great, in my opinion, but still.” Tommy’s fingers stroke softly, almost reverently, over Buck’s arm. “I’m glad you’re not letting him pull you back. You’re strong and you’re smart, and you’re gonna be an even better person on the other side of this.”

Buck is a little overwhelmed. This is the praise—the validation—he’s been missing at work for months. He feels supported. He feels encouraged. He feels seen. This is what Tommy gives him: this is what Tommy always gives him.

“Thank you. I really…” He wishes he had the words to convey how grateful he is that Tommy called his bluff instead of letting him spiral all night. He settles for snuggling deeper into Tommy’s chest and squeezing his arm around Tommy’s waist. “I really like you.”

Tommy laughs fondly. “That’s good to hear. I really like you too.” He runs his hand up and down Buck’s arm softly. “Are you feeling any better?”

Drained, relaxed, cared for, and with a clear direction to point himself in next, Buck can already feel himself dropping off. He’s warm and safe in Tommy’s arms.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I might be able to sleep now.”

“Good,” Tommy says warmly.

He presses yet another kiss into Buck’s hair and, god, Tommy is so gentle with him, like he’s something precious. Buck has never been treated like this before. Is this how it’s supposed to be?

They’re still getting to know each other, but it already feels right. Buck has shown Tommy almost every one of his negative qualities and Tommy still wants him. Tommy sees something in him that Buck wants to live up to, and the way Tommy treats him makes him feel like he can. That calm, sure confidence relaxes Buck. Tommy shows him that one step back isn’t a total failure but a path towards something better. Tommy supports him, respects him and his flaws, and wants to be there to hold him steady while Buck continues to work on himself.

Buck told him he might have attacked his boss at work and Tommy wasn’t horrified, wasn’t shocked—he just asked what Buck wanted to do going forward. He let Buck talk it out and get to the conclusion he needed, but he never once believed that Buck had really attacked Gerrard. Or if he had, it was because he was pushed past the point of reason. He gives Buck the benefit of the doubt. That’s been rare in Buck’s life.

Trust. Tommy trusts him.

And Buck trusts Tommy too, he realizes. He’d barely hesitated before allowing himself to bare such a horrible, easily dealbreaking vulnerability. It’s still early, but this feels stable. It won’t be the last time they get rocked like this, Buck is sure, but for once Buck isn’t worried about being left.

Buck squeezes his arm around Tommy’s waist again. “Goodnight, Tommy.”

“G’night,” Tommy mumbles back, half asleep again. “Wake me up if you need to talk some more, okay?”

“Okay,” Buck agrees breathlessly; his heart pounding with something suspiciously close to love. “Thank you.”

Tommy hums. “Anything you need, sweetheart.”

{give me kudos!}

[lexirosewrites]

Slick Sunday!

Since you're making the move to be a middle school teacher and I myself am in the process of getting my license and doing my student teaching I've been thinking about Teacher Alpha Eddie and Family Resource Room Coordinator Omega Steve this week.

Steve who doesn't get into any colleges and doesn't really have the desire to pursue college anyway but wants to support the pups he babysits (the party) when they make the transition to middle school (they're a couple years younger than in canon for plot reasons) so he uses his parent's money to donate some new equipment for the AV Club and some board games the kids like for the library.

To his surprise, his parents are completely fine with this development because they can mark those off as charitable donations for tax purposes so Steve just...keeps doing it. His parents aren't really around and the pups are the only pack he really has since he stopped hanging around Tommy, Carol, and the rest of his jock friends in his Junior year so he's extra attached to them, and sometimes his instincts so a little haywire and he's prone to overdoing it when it comes to taking care of his pack.

So he starts spending more and more money on the school. New desks and science equipment and books and he starts to think, hey, I've been trying to think of ways to help the Byers, Hendersons, and Mayfeilds who struggle financially sometimes but they never let me, what if I just...let them think the school is providing resources for families without my contributions. So he does. He starts a food pantry and a clothing closet and starts going out to meet people in the community who provide other family support services and makes a resource kiosk for the office with flyers and applications for family services.

Eventually, the school reaches out and offers him an office and a small salary to do his work full time since at this point his parents are still making him work a part-time job so imagine what he could do full time! He jumps on the offer and gets to spend his days applying for grants and helping families and pups who need him and he feels like he finally has a purpose. He moves out of his parents' house and stops using their money and finally feels content with himself even if he doesn't have the mate and pups he dreamed of having at this stage in his life.

Que the hiring of one Eddie Munson at Hawkins Middle following a failed try at the rockstar life in Chicago. He crashed and burned hard and he's come home to lick his wounds in the familiar comfort of his uncle and only pack mate Wayne's home. He sulks for a good couple of months before Wayne pulls him up out of his depression den by the ear and formally introduces him to the Omega he's been courting for the past year, Scott Clarke, who works at the middle school and is helping set up an after school music program at the school and has recommended Eddie as the guitar instructor.

Eddie is hesitant at first. School and him don't exactly have the best relationship but he agrees to come to an informal meeting with all the potential instructors and he is surprised to find that they are all really cool actually. Chrissy is sweet and excellent at the piano and Robin is a total badass and can apparently play just about any brass or wind instrument out there. The thing that seals the deal though is the arrival of an absolutely stunning Omega. He's tall and built with freckles and beauty marks placed by the hand of a loving god all across his body and Eddie is immediately smitten. He is disappointed to learn that he won't be one of the instructors and is just stopping in to pick up Robin to take her home to their shared apartment, but his hope is renewed when they leave the room and Chrissy leans over to tell him the mystery man, who he discovers is named Steve, works in the school and is single.

He accepts the job before he leaves the building.

I could go on and on but this is already long so I'll leave it here lol.

this so sweet i’m gonna die😭😭😭💕

[applestorms]

i love near so goddamn much. i finally read the c-kira and a-kira post-canon one shots all the way through last night and AAAAAAAAA my heart. nate river 🫵🫵🫵

c-kira in particular hits me hard bc you can really see that he's still reeling from the events of the main story. it’s a very specific era of near that’s so horribly awkward and insecure about his place in the world, about his role as L, and has so very few people left behind to support him-- really just lidner, rester, and gevanni. so much of that story is about near struggling to figure out who he is and who he wants to be in the wake of Everything, scrambling around in the shadows of all these false gods and blown up egos, trying to grow up and be a Person in the smoking remains of all these people who killed themselves with their own hubris. i mean, just look at this page:

LOOK AT THIS. near is almost shockingly expressive in this story, his grief and regret is fucking Palpable in a way that you very rarely see with a guy like him. it really gets to me that this is the story where near actually opens up about his mixed feelings surrounding the original L, about the interview he held where he picked near & mello out to be his two successors, and all while hiding himself within these massive card towers that you only see to be these giant L's at the end-- a kid barely out of his teens already getting dwarfed by the enormity of the history he is expected to continue and represent. the winner of the game who's only prize is the legacy he now holds on his shoulders, the grief he is cursed with as the only one left behind. this kid barely has anyone now, never even got the chance to truly, fully know what he lost in the first place, these all-powerful figures that have dictated every inch of his life from the moment he stepped foot in that damn house.

and i mean, goodness. what did we expect? i can talk all i want about the cinematic parallels of light & L as opposites, but look at near & mello in literally every piece of official art-- near truly loses his other half when mello dies, and you can just Feel the discomfort, the deep-seated, underlying imbalance in his soul through this shit.

a-kira near, on the other hand, has had the time to grow a bit more at ease with himself, but he still gets to me in a slightly different way. i cannot emphasize enough how utterly fucking perfect the decision to make his hair longer is-- for so simple of a detail, it really sums up so much about his character. this version of an older near feels like a guy who's been stuck outside of time for ages, barely even noticing the constant shifts of the outer world as he holes himself up in his room, hardly aware of the way that his own body stretches and grows and changes with each passing day. doing his job, all just for a bit of entertainment. there is still that distinctly privileged, childish part of him that hides in his forts of toys and makes whatever demands he pleases, but it's more smoothed over, more exhausted, more Done.

he's packed away the grief by this point. dealt with it properly? not necessarily. but the wound isn't as raw now so he can set it aside to be ignored or looked over more easily, focus on the things that he wants to. blow up his toys when they don't meet his standards.

i strikes me as important that near's view on the new kira's shifts so much over the course of even just these two little stories. in the c-kira story, near is so Quick to shit on the new guy as fast as possible, literally snarking him into submission with the fear of his presence alone until he writes his own name down. we never see this "cheap" kira, this pathetic fake that couldn't possibly stand up to the original. (projecting a little there, nate?) he's barely more than a panel or two of hands, and then he disappears from the story forever.

in a-kira though, you get something a little more desperate, a little more hungry-- near really fucking wants to meet this new guy, purely for the sake of talking to him, and is a lot quicker to respect him & the depth of how well he's thought through this plan. at first it seems like he's intrigued by the idea of finally finding yet another equal, someone to match his freak after years of standing on his own, and knowing DN you're inclined to trust that the mind games will eventually happen. but, in the end...

he loses. and doesn't he seem so happy about it?

minoru really is the perfect match for near in a way-- a new, passive kira, uninterested in the bullshittery of killing and shinigami and evil murder diaries, to reflect and match the tired, new L who was done with his job before he even started doing it. RIP minoru dying due to shinigami bullshit, but i'm genuinely happy that this is the ending near gets, the chance to finally lose at something without having to pay the price of human lives for it. winning has almost never been a truly positive thing for near-- his winning wammy's house only gave him the many pressures & stresses of a job as L, his winning against light only gave him a dead mello and a notebook to quietly burn, hell, all of this shit happening at all is what made mello resent him so much in the first place.

but now he can lose. and i think he's all the better for it.

near is immature, yes, he bossy and snarky and blows up his toys without giving a fuck what anyone else has to say-- but he doesn't get ahead of himself in the way that light and L and the others did, a trait which ultimately lets him win but also leaves him behind to shoulder the grief of a generation. but now he can lose, he can let the fate of the world fall of his shoulders for just a moment, and everything is still going to be okay. it's good to see him getting older. it's good to see that you can still move on and grow, even when it seems like the legacies of the past are locking you away in a cage. i'm glad these manga exist, and i'm glad near can still make it out alive.