#but seeing as how we get nothing the rest of the time those just do not fucking land. and it extends all the way to his fumbed ass ending

[insidekatmind]

Rainy day~Jobe Bellingham

The rain was softly drumming on the window panes, creating a soothing melody that enveloped the room in a sense of peace. The gray clouds outside made the atmosphere cozy and perfect for a day of cuddling at home. You and Jobe Bellingham were on the couch, wrapped in a soft blanket, while the aroma of hot tea filled the room.

“I can’t believe we finally have a day all to ourselves. No training, no commitments… just you and me.”

You held him tighter, resting your head on his shoulder. His strong arm wrapped around you, offering you a feeling of security that only he could give you.

“It’s perfect like this. I missed spending time with you without rushing.”

You heard him sigh, while his fingers gently brushed your hair.

“I know… Sometimes I think time flies too fast. I want to be able to stop every moment with you, enjoy it without thinking about anything.”

You looked into his eyes, your heart beating faster for that sweet and sincere smile.

“I wish time would stop too. With you I feel safe… I feel at home.”

He slowly approached you, placing a light kiss on your forehead. That simple but loving gesture made you smile.

“I promise that I will always try to find time for us. Even when life gets hectic, even when I’m far away… you will always be my priority.”

Those words warmed your heart. You looked at him with affection, moved by how sincere he was.

“You don’t have to promise anything. I know how much you love me, I see it in your gestures, in the little things. And I love you for who you are, with your commitments and everything else.”

Jobe smiled and held you tighter. After a moment of silence, he got up from the sofa.

“Where are you going?”

He turned around, with an amused expression.

“I have an idea.”

He disappeared into the kitchen for a few minutes and returned with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate and a tray of cookies. He put everything on the coffee table and sat down next to you again.

“There’s nothing better than a hot chocolate on a rainy day.”

You took your cup and smiled sweetly at him.

“You’re too sweet.” you say softly

“Just for you.” Jobe replies with a sweet smile .

As you sipped the chocolate, the conversation flowed naturally. You talked about your dreams, your fondest memories, the future you wanted together. Every word made that day even more special.

At one point, Jobe took your hand and intertwined his fingers with yours.

“Do you know that every time it rains I think of you?”

You looked at him with surprise and curiosity. “Really? Why?”

“The rain makes me think of how you bring calm into my life. You are like a sweet rainy day… relaxing, enveloping, and incredibly beautiful.”

Your heart seemed to burst with emotion. His words were sincere and full of love. You slowly approached, placing your lips on his in a sweet and delicate kiss.

“I love you, Jobe.”

“I love you too, more than words can express.”

The rain continued to fall outside, but inside the house there was only warmth and love.

[danyasblogsblog]

MY LIVING LEGEND KEEGAN RUSS

warnings : SUICIDAL THOUGHTS, death, grief, gunshots, sad ending, SOO angsty, probably more

- after y/n’s best friend, ajax’s death, they havent been the same. in the end, all they want is to die. until they dont want too.

based off the lana del rey song, living legend

a/n: magpie is your codename!! finallyyyy im doing a gender neutral reader!! hope u guys enjoy. sorry if it all moves too fast. im not very used to writing long fics.

‘tangos. next building.’

the afternoon horizon glistened as gunshots reverberated through the air. the burgundy hats worn by federation soldiers fell off as they dropped to their knees, crimson blood rippling out of their chests. you held your sniper scope up to your eye, holding your gun in a white knuckle grip. as soon as you spotted one of those maroon hats, your trigger went off. the gunshot was loud, but your headgear stopped the sound from blowing out your eardrums. you watched as the solider fell backwards, blood pooling out of his bullet wound. a sigh escaped your mouth as you pulled the scope away from your face, holding it against your chest.

‘nice shot kid, almost getting better than me.’ keegan’s voice was like an angel call from behind you, and his calloused hand went to grip your shoulder. ‘almost? wow, could you be more narcissistic?’ you chuckled.

‘just watch and learn.’

you stared as keegan removed his firm grip on your shoulder and pulled out his gun from his back. he brought it close to his face, and his hands lingered over the trigger. of course, you thought to yourself, safety is already off. his eyes scanned the nearby buildings for federation soldiers, and within a matter of seconds, he spotted one. pulling the trigger, the man was dead on impact. the death rattle shook his body, as a pool of blood circled itself around him.

‘thats how its done, kid.’

keegan looked down at you, waiting for your approval. ‘wow, mr living legend. that was a beautiful shot.’ you quipped, silently clapping for him. before he could respond, merrick’s voice erupted out of your radio. ‘everyone, move forward. enemy contact ahead in further buildings.’

you huffed out of your mouth as you and keegan made your way out of the abandoned house. you thought about the memories that were once created in the very room you and keegan were killing people in. were those people who lived there even alive anymore?

‘whats on your mind, magpie?’

keegan’s voice slightly startled you. ‘nothing.’ you muttered. it really was nothing- you didnt have time to be worrying about the people who once lived in the houses you and your team ended lives in- especially when your life was at stake.

keegan looked bothered by your answer, but nevertheless, you two continued walking. side by side, arms lightly grazing eachother when you wandered a bit to his direction. soon enough, you met up with the rest of the ghosts.

‘keep working with the people you’re with now, don’t split up. there are too many of them for us to risk it.’

merrick’s barked orders were copied and obeyed as everyone slowly split up with their partners. keegan’s footsteps echoed yours in a rhythmic manner.

you knew why he told everyone to not split up.

‘theres a building up there- high enough to see everything. we set up there to prepare. be quiet though, because sometimes federation soldiers are surrounding the building.’ his words were confidently spoken, and you followed pursuit.

*+:｡.｡　　｡.｡:+*

‘imagine falling off this thing.’

you looked down through a broken window in the building, the ground seeming so far away.

‘well you better not, im not dragging your dead ass back to fort santa monica, y/n’

‘you’d cry if i died, i know you would.’ you imitated a crying face, and wiped imaginary tears from your cheeks. you chuckled and keegan rolled his eyes. your hushed voices could only be heard by each-other as the shuffling of footsteps from keegan echoed off the walls, bouncing back to you two quietly.

the sound of gunshots and spanish orders being screamed frantically switched a flip in the two of you- your joking demeanours suddenly serious and concentrated. you pulled your gun out of your back sling, taking off the safety. you glared as you stared into the scope, searching for the familiar burgundy hats that you had learned to hate.

‘see anything, magpie?’

keegan pulled up close behind you, and you could feel his breath on your neck as he leaned down to your ear. his silent whispers to you were like a mantra you wish could be repeated thousands of times. ‘nothing. not a single solider in sight.’ you mumbled.

he leaned back up, straightening his back.

you put your scope down, your eyes finally resting, and the tension in your jaw relaxing. you sighed. spanish was heard below you and keegan. you immediately pulled a pistol out of your holster, your reflexes making your body move fast. footsteps and creaking floorboards could be heard, and to say you were on edge would be an understatement.

‘its fine, kid. they wont come up.’ keegan’s hushed voice soothed you, but you were still unable to shake the feeling of the need too protect him and yourself. ‘did you hear me? its fine.’ he was a bit louder now, but there was still not a chance in hell the enemy could hear him. the floorboard creaking and quiet voices stopped after a matter of seconds. ‘better safe than sorry.’

silence.

you raised an eyebrow at keegan, wondering why he was suddenly muted.

‘i know you still blame yourself, y/n.’

first mistake.

your silence indicated you knew exactly what he was talking about. something that killed you inside. ajax’s death.

you had blamed yourself for it- you took one minute apart from him and when you had returned, a bloody trail and a missing ajax were all to be seen. the multiple nightmares you had had the days following his disappearance plagued you, even to this day, it still did. thinking about how, maybe, his death could’ve been avoided if you had just listened to your gut.

you still remembered the day he died. when keegan held him as he died in his arms. when you guys had gone between hell and earth to find him- just for him to die the minute you got your hands on him.

you still remembered sobbing in keegan’s arms with your head pounding, blaming yourself and wanting to just die. since that day, suicidal thoughts carried around you. you just wanted ajax back. he was your best friend- the first ghost you met. he was the first person you told about your crush on keegan. you would do anything for 5 more minutes with him- to tell him how sorry you were. to tell him how much you cared about him.

‘it wasnt your fault. you know that.’

you were silent. the way keegan’s smooth voice talked about it made something rattle inside of you. you felt weak. you were distracted. your airway felt tightened- as if you were being choked. tears threatened to fall but you couldnt dare yourself to let them roll down your cheeks. you had to focus. you had too.

keegan thought about what you had said earlier, about dying. come to think about it, he liked you a bit to much for your death. he didnt want you to be just another funeral he’d have to attend. he wanted you to be alive. he’d miss the concentrated face you made when you were on a mission. all the memories you two had together.

*+:｡.｡　　｡.｡:+*

‘i saved you a chocolate bar, kee.’

‘how healthy.’

‘i know, right?’

*+:｡.｡　　｡.｡:+*

you fell silent. gunshots could still be heard, and it was the only thing that was stopping you from falling apart. the fact that you were on a mission, and it wasnt the time to fuck around.

‘keegan, this isnt the time.’ you huffed. you so badly wanted to talk about it, but how could you? it simply wasnt the moment, and both you and keegan knew this subject wouldnt come up again for a long time. you thought keegan would stop pestering you with questions, that maybe, he would just leave it. but oh, how wrong you were.

his strong, broad frame walked over to you, and his wintry blue eyes stared down into yours. his hands firmly gripped onto the back of your elbows, not too tight, but he had a stable grip. god, you thought, i forgot how stubborn this man is.

‘i wanted to talk about this with you, and i know its not a good time too right now, but i dont get another opportunity like this again.’

keegan was a man of very few words- his eyes and actions speaking more than his mouth did, but now, you could tell he was serious. you pulled your eyes away from his, but the intense glare he carried still was focused on you.

‘keegan-’

a louder gunshot could be heard- one closer to you and keegan’s position. immediately, you felt on edge. but keegan’s grip on you tightened, and you felt compelled to stay where you were. that was your second mistake.

‘ajax wouldnt want you to blame yourself. you.. you doing this to yourself is hurting you. its distracted you for months i can tell. you’re always on edge, you just arent the same. the jokes you make arent the same. you just aren’t right.’

‘keegan stop. youre not.. youre not a fucking therapist. just leave me alone, i dont want to talk about this.’

third mistake.

your annoyed tone set something off in keegan- you’d never been like that with him. you had always been even-tempered, something the rest of the ghosts admired. your words, enunciated by the way your voice seemed sharper to him now, made him furrow his eyebrows as he stared down at you. he let go off your arms, but for some reason, you longed for his touch still. you shook off the feeling, and stepped away from him.

*+:｡.｡　　｡.｡:+*

you didnt know how it happened.

the spray of blood sprinkled itself over the walls as it erupted from you like a fountain. the ringing in your ears felt like the devil screaming at you as you fell back, your head hitting the wooden floorboards.

a wail of pain escaped your lips as your hands travelled your stomach trying to find the bullet wound, and when you finally laid your fingers on it, your body felt stiff.

suddenly, all your fantasies of dying and killing yourself were gone. now, you just wanted to live. your life was fading, and it was fading so quickly.

keegan had rushed over to you, screaming into his radio, telling merrick you got hit. over the incessant ringing in your ears, you could hear the panic in his voice. his trembling hands went to your wound, examining it. birds sung as he begged you to open your eyes- the sun’s light slowly fading, just like you.

‘magpie, y/n, open your eyes, open your fucking eyes, please.’

keegan’s eyes were horrified when he saw what he was looking at. blood trickled from your mouth, falling off your chin, and your uniform was stained with crimson.

‘kee-’

you tried to say his name, but only half came out. blood spluttered out of your mouth as you wailed in agony. ‘speak to me, y/n, solider. come on, talk to me.’

keegan ripped open his medical pouch, taking out some gauze in an attempt to prevent more blood from spilling out your wound. it pooled around you as you tried to speak. ‘i- i just want to..’

you were appalled at how difficult it was to talk. it was like your vocal cords had been ripped out, and all that was left to leave your mouth were gasps that made your lungs ache. ‘keep going, magpie, come on.’

‘i- i always wanted to.. die, after aja..ajax.. but i just want to- to live.. now’ every few seconds you had to pause your speaking so you could cough out blood. it blocked your airway as if it was trying to silence your cries. ‘i dont- i dont wanna di..die im not- not ready.’

keegan’s hope of you living was slowly disappearing. the bullet was still lodged in your stomach, ripping at muscle and letting its molten heat play with your flesh. ‘you’re not gonna die, im not letting you, im not. youre gonna live, for me and for merrick and the other ghosts and ajax, especially him, okay?’

even though keegan was trying to calm you, he could barely keep calm himself. his breathing felt difficult and forced as he watched the life escape from you. your eyes were still fluttered closed, but tears ran down your cheeks, mixing with blood as they went further. ‘please.. p-please keegan, i dont want too di-’ ‘stop talking like that, youre gonna be just fine, i promise.’

it was a ridiculous thing to promise. oh, how keegan wished he hadn’t said that. he knew. he didnt want to think about it, but he knew deep down what was gonna happen. ‘im not ready, god. god.. im not ready… i wanna.. i wanna..’

‘come on, keep talking to me, please.’

keeping you talking has keegan’s way of making sure you were still awake- that, atleast your body could keep your lips moving with phonics.

keegan felt so weak. wrapping the gauze around you felt like covering your corpse with a cloth. ‘i wanna live.. and be.. with- with you.’

keegan was taken back by what you said, to say the least. his heart thumped against his sternum, as if it was trying to escape. blood mixed with phlegm coughed and spluttered itself onto his balaclava from your mouth, but he couldnt care less.

he tightly wrapped the once white, but now, deep ruby red gauze around your waist. he stared at your face as your lips trembled, his hands tying a tourniquet at the end of the gauze.

‘i.. i wanna be with you too, y/n.’

*+:｡.｡　　｡.｡:+*

they say hearing is the last sense to go. however, speaking was the last thing you ever did.

‘you re..really are, my living legend.’

[ahsoka-in-a-hood]

Crawling out of my cave for one more round.......

Eh, for that I'd have to subscribe to the idea that they didn't work at all in the outer rim as hard canon, which I don't. See I'm far too fond of Quinlan Vos. A character that has grown across multiple continuities from a random tall dark and handsome guy in the background on Tatooine in the phantom menace to beloved star of my heart. What exactly was he doing on Tatooine? Who knows, he is mysterious as the dark side of the moon. He works in the shadows. Why did he not interact with Qui Gon in TPM? Aside from the fact that he wasn't really a character then… maybe he was in deep cover. Maybe he had whole networks of lives on the line. Maybe he was helping an underground railroad. Maybe he was rescuing toddlers from the jaws of death while I Need A Hero played in the soundtrack

(it's not like there being no activity in the outer rim is an unfair extrapolation from just the film, mind, it's not just not a given. "the republic doesn't exist out here"- Shmi. "i didn't come here to free slaves"- Qui Gon. But Shmi did say the republic and can hardly be omniscient, and Qui Gon was talking about himself, as a guy on an entirely different mission with a ship full of political refugees being actively hunted down who ended up stranded entirely by accident on random planet number however many thousand that he nevertheless knew enough about to be the giver of exposition to the literal ruler of a neighboring planet and now that I think about it, that's sort of funny. The film is pretty clear on the jedi not being able to maintain justice across the entire galaxy, for sure, but it also doesn't argue that they don't do anything at all, and there's a pretty big difference between doing nothing and doing a bit, in my book.)

Anyway, on Mandalore. Is there an implication that Mandalore at that time wasn't worthy of aid? Obi Wan is sometimes loose with the truth, but even if he was exaggerating when he said that most of Satine's people were killed in the civil war, that's still a major level of brutality and civilian death. If more than half a world's population is getting killed, that's a huge crisis and tragedy. Is that alone not enough of a motive?

And then let's consider Deathwatch, the major faction that was active at that time. We get to know deathwatch in tcw. We see how they operate- they conquer a settlement, steal all their resources, kidnap all the young girls as hostages and force them to serve them. It's dark as shit. And they are explicitly imperial revivalists. I'm going to make a silly comparison, but imagine if like. Britain was in a civil war, and there was an army of far right extremists who were gaining ground in a reign of terror under a banner of rebuilding the british empire, with like maps of imperial britain on their flags and plans to take back the colonies etc etc. Would it be politically motivated to protect the leaders of the opposition to that when they were in exile with assassins after them? Sure. But like. Maybe the rest of the world doesn't want to have to deal with an attempt at british empire number 2.0, if they won their internal war. And I would say that's fair enough, actually. So maybe the "potential resource" they would gain is not having an army of mandalorians trying to invade planets and enslave people in 10 years time.

Intervention is a tricky thing though. We're all familiar with the damage missionaries can do, and with how 'soft power' is often exploitative. If this were a history book, the basic assumption would be that there's very little altruism in politics. But this is a story. The thing about Satine and Obi Wan is that we get a strong sense, from the very first arc about them, that Satine is not a client queen/puppet/corrupt and Obi Wan is not there to manipulate her on the chancellors behalf. This is, in fact, the plot of those three episodes. Satine is fiercely protective of Mandalorian independence, does trust the jedi as long as they're acting as an independent body, and Obi Wan actively helps her thwart not only deathwatch, but also Chancellor Palpatine's scheme to get Mandalore under his control. He explicitly does not subvert Mandalore on behalf of those controlling the republic.

And now I'm going to invite you to imagine Quinlan again. Standing on a sand dune, a breeze ruffling his hood, gazing out into the soft light of dawn, with a face that could have been chiseled by the gods,

Okay so I’m thinking about how Satine’s initial reaction to Obi Wan’s visit is really hostile until he explains he’s there on behalf of the jedi council, not the republic, causing her to immediately relax. How that whole arc is about her resisting republic attempts to encroach on Mandalore and the neutral system’s sovereignty and independence, and how she is so consistently insistent on that. And I’m thinking about Obi Wan’s description of his year on Mandalore during their civil war- how they were ���living hand to mouth,’ aka they had little to no funding or resources for the mission, and also just the simple fact that… as far as I know Mandalore isn’t in the republic so how they operate there is fundamentally different to how they would operate on a republic planet?

So anyway I’m now convinced that that mission was not affiliated with or funded by the republic. This was a jedi operate independently sometimes sort of situation.

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FROM FINAL FANTASY VII REMAKE *  assorted dialogue from the game, adjust as necessary

whatever happens, you can't fall in love with me.

promise you'll come and save me.

we need to make the most of the time we have... to live our lives the way we wanna live. every minute, every moment, matters.

i'm glad i met you, [name]. i really am.

i'm grateful for all the words we've shared, for all the moments and the memories.

you've made me more happy than you know.

there's a much bigger threat.

i just want to do everything in my power to help.

can i come?

then it's a date!

a long time ago i used to sell flowers here.

go. follow your heart.

i'm not some princess who needs to be coddled.

sorry i'm late.

this calls for a song.

this is a one time gig. when it's done, we're done.

survival can be a matter of luck or skill. and you can't rely on luck.

if it feels wrong, don't do it.

i'm a light sleeper.

when we were kids, everybody wanted to be a soldier. by the time i made it in, they didn't need heroes anymore.

i'm not cut out for this crap.

quit acting like you know me.

you have to look at the bigger picture here.

nothing worth fighting for was ever won without sacrifice.

hold onto this.

a good man who serves a great evil is not without sin.

i'm a man of modest dreams.

answer me!

would kill for a shower.

i'll be fine. you've seen how much ass i can kick.

it's kinda funny. us going our separate ways, thinking that must be it... that we'd never meet again... and then here of all places we do.

deep down, you're a pretty nice guy.

they took everything from us. again.

i don't care! i don't want anyone else to die, please!

we should totally celebrate!

i'm sick of this! i'm sick of all of this!

are you ignoring me again?

what's with you all of a sudden? like you're losing that hard edge.

you can't do this.

you gotta be better than this if you're gonna play the hero.

is it our destiny to defy destiny?

i am what you see before you. nothing more.

you are too weak to save anyone. not even yourself.

those who look with clouded eyes see nothing but shadows.

that was then, this is now.

you have failed again.

through suffering you will grow stronger. isn't that what you want?

do you fear me?

do you dream of me?

you're not real. you're dead.

you should rest up while you can.

can't sleep?

i heard footsteps.

sorry. didn't mean to wake you.

it kinda feels like i've gone back to my childhood home.

everyone dies eventually.

do i get a say in all this?

i'm coming for you.

did you miss me?

[captainlunaxmen]

Dragon's Healer

Chapter 3

Daemyra x female!reader

Dark!Aemond x fem!reader

This chapter is shorter, mostly in preparation for the next one... which is going to be hard...

Chapter summary: Viserys' death creates more plots than expected

Chapter wantings: none in particular, maybe being locked, threat of forced marriage.

Tag list

@k1ttybean

@tojisrealwifey

@sinarainbows

I walk quickly to my chambers, I can't help the feeling of being watched, the way Aemond talked to me was anything but sweet. Almost terrifying.

I close the door as quietly as possible, hoping to finally get some proper rest, I couldn't even leave with Rhaenyra and Daemon, I did promise Alicent to stay with her.

"Why being so sneaky, my love?" Daemon's voice startles me.

"Shit!" I exclaim and put my hand to my chest to calm my heartbeat.

"Hey..." he says softly, "what's wrong?"

"Nothing." I say immediately, "nothing, where's Rhaenyra?"

"She fell asleep... a lot happened today." He walks closer, "love, is something wrong?"

"No, of course not." I chuckle.

"What did he say to you?" He asks, turning serious.

"Nothing, my love." I say, not meeting his eyes, focusing more on my dress, eager to just take it off and get some sleep.

I can sense him considering me for a moment before he stops my movement, gently making me turn to look at him.

"You're not staying here." He firmly tells me, I let out a deep sigh, turning away from him again.

"I promised Alicent." I say, sitting to take off my shoes.

"Like I give a fuck about that bitch." He scoffs, "you're not staying here."

"I can take care of myself, thank you very much." I snap back, catching myself remembering Rhaenyra's sleeping not far from where we are, I lower my voice, "I can handle whatever crush he might think he has."

"Oh... so I was right, wasn't I?" He smirks, but the clench in his jaw tells me his demeanor is far from playful.

"Yes, fine... you were right." I wave him off, "but it's simply a crush, Daemon, I can handle it."

"Well, I'm not comfortable with you staying here on your own." He says firmly.

"Gods, Daemon!" I whisper yell at him, standing to face him properly, "I'm not a child anymore."

"Exactly." He says, softly. "You're a woman. You're my woman, and it's my duty to protect you."

"I don't need protection here, Daemon." I take his hands, "you taught me how to defend myself, do you not trust your own teaching?" I tease him, to ease his nerves.

"Oh, I trust them very much, I simply don't trust the snakes inhabiting this castle." He makes me hug him, so our faces are closer.

"I know, my love, but I gave my word." I say firmly, "I'm staying. Stop worrying."

He sighs, he kisses me then looks mw dead in the eyes.

"If I hear... that something happened... I will burn each one on them. You hear me?" He tells me.

"I do." I give his lips a peck, "I know you will."

--------------

I managed to sneak into my chambers before someone could notice me sounding the night with the Princess and her husband. We said our goodbyes before they left too.

I also managed to get some more sleep before a bad feeling woke me up suddenly.

I decide to just sit by the window and take some time to think. I feel like something wrong, but I can't seem to put a finger on it.

It could be the conversation with Aemond yesterday, but it doesn't seem to be all.

There's some tension in the air too, I look out the window, down to the stairs, there's no one. It's empty.

My eyes catch movement, I quickly look up noticing I can see Rhaenys' chamber from mine. She too is looking out and she too looks tense.

We lock eyes. There's some warning in hers, she even motions me to look down, to pay attention. Like on cue, people start to walk down those stairs, taken somewhere by the guards.

I look up at Rhaenys again.

"Check your doors." She tells me, a sense of dread invades my body as I immediately rush to the doors. I try to open them.

Locked.

I rush back to the window.

"Locked." I tell her, "what's going on?"

"I have my theories... and I think you'll agree." She says, with heavy tone.

I nod and look down one last time, and when I notice Rhaenys is not there anymore I go back to the doors, giving it another shot at opening them.

I push and pull with all my strength, but unfortunately it definitely, definitely locked.

"Fuck." I curse. I go to my own luggage and look through my things. I must have something to help me open the doors.

Something must've happened to the king. It's the only explanation I can think of. But those people being moved somewhere... something worse is happening.

I stop my movements as I hear the doors opening. Finally.

I turn around, my eyes landing on Alicent, and her look is enough to explain everything to me.

"Lady Y/n." She says, I can hear the grief in her voice.

"Your highness..." I nod, "don't tell me."

"I'm afraid I can't accommodate you." She says, she tries to keep a strong appearance as she gets closer, taking my hands, "lady Y/n, I have a favour to ask."

I see her desperation, I squeeze her hands to reassure her.

"Anything." I say softly.

"I... I'm..." she stutters, "I'm here to ask your support."

"My... support?" I ask, the dreadful sensation is back, so I retreat my hands.

"Your support for Aegon's claim to the throne." She finally says.

"Aegon..? What... what are you talking about?" I say putting distance between us.

"Y/n, please..."

"No." I shake my head, "what..?"

"It was Viserys' wish." Alicent states.

I look at her, shocked, I don't believe her words. It can't be.

"I don't believe you." I say.

"It's true." She insists, walking to me, forcefully grabbing my hands, "please, you have-"

"I don't have to do anything." I grit out, "you want to usurp Rhaenyra's birthright. Are you listening to yourself? That's your father's idea, isn't it?"

"Y/n, in memory of our past friendship, I'm asking you for help." She squeezes my hands, almost scared I could run away, "your marriage to Aemond wou-"

"What?! Marriage?" I finally get my hands free from her grasp and once again distance myself, "I'm not marrying your son. And especially, I'm not supporting an usurper."

Alicent collects herself, takes a deep breath and fixes her dress.

"I'm..." she clears her throat, "I'm sorry, I didn't want it to come to this, but you leave me no choice."

I look at her confused, not having the faintest idea of what's going through her mind.

"What are you talking about?" I ask, putting myself on guard.

"The wedding will take place after Aegon's coronation, I'm sure we could find a dress that will fit you." She says, emotionless. I scoff, loudly.

"Why are you so adamant to make me marry your son?" I ask, "is this a way to make your children love you?"

"It's a good way to show your support in front of the people." She explains.

"I will not be used to support, basically, a robbery." I say, walking to stand in front of her, "I'm not a pawn in your conspiracy."

"You leave me no choice, Y/n." She whispers, forcing herself to move back to the door.

"You always had a choice, Alicent." I tell her before she exit the room. Having it locked. I could hear her say something to a guard, probably to stay put and not letting me leave.

"Fuck." I curse as I pace around the room, trying to find a solution, and maybe not to panic. I want to hit myself for not listening to my bad feelings about Aemond, and for not leaving with Rhaenyra.

--------------

I don't know exactly how long it's been since I've been locked in my chambers, I haven't seen Rhaenys either at the window, I don't if she was let out or not.

Maybe the moment they let me out for the wedding I can take the chance and run. Unlikely. Too many guards. Also, I can't wait that long.

I look out the window for the millionth time probably, and it's still to high for me to jump.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." I mutter under my breath, "why haven't the gods gifted me with wings?"

It's dark outside, if I manage to get out I could easily escape, but I need to exit this room first.

"Fuck!"

Before I can start to panic again, the commotion from outside my chambers startles me. I move closer to the doors, cautiously, to get a glimpse of what might be happening when suddenly the door opens and one of the twins of the King's guard enters, cloak in hand.

"Come, lady Y/n. We don't have much time." He tells me handing me the cloak, I take it confused.

"What... what's going on?" I ask, and in that moment Rhaenys comes into my view.

"Ser Erryk is helping us." She says.

I nod and put the cloak on and follow them out, noticing as I walk out the passed out guard near the doors.

--------------

Morning comes rather quickly as we walk through King's Landing.

"I won't leave Meleys" the Princess declares, "if I could get to the Dragon pit, then..."

"No." Erryk is quick to shut her plan down, "they'll expect you there, princess. You won't get past the gates."

"He's right." I agree, "he's right, and we can't risk losing you like this. Meleys knows you're not abandoning her, and they won't lay a hand on her for sure."

She looks at me, sadness filling her eyes. I can't understand the bond between a dragon and its rider, but I can understand it's strong. I gently take her arm and lead her with Ser Erryk, letting her squeeze me to get some comfort.

"Come, you must make for the riverfront and find a ship. Before they know you've gone." Erryk explains and I nod my head in understanding.

As we walk through the stroll of the city we hear guards screaming, ordering people to move. A sea of people almost surrounding us, we try to find another way, Erryk takes our hands to safely lead us away, but the amount of people pushing and walking separate us.

"Stay close to me." Rhaenys tells me, grabbing my arm painfully tighter. I don't intend on losing her here among the people so I ignore the pain. I try to look back and see if I can catch a glimpse of the Knight, but he's too far and too stuck to get to us.

We have no choice but to follow the people.

"Where are we going?" I ask and Rhaneys looks up and around.

"Dragon pit." She says, I looked at her, sensing the determination in her and I sigh.

"The coronation..." I say, "well... maybe we can use the distraction then."

"Indeed."

So we walk with the rest of the people towards the Dragon Pit. Once we get there almost the entire building is filled with people, curious to hear what happened, what the news is.

"People of King's Landing." Otto's voice resound inside, "today is the saddest of days. Our beloved king, Viserys the Peaceful, is dead" everyone in the audience lets out sad and surprised noises, but Otto continues, "but it is also the most joyous of days, for as his spirit left us, "I roll my eye, always the theatrical one, "he whispered his final wish: that his firstborn son, Aegon should succed him.

I sigh and look at Rhaneys, her having the same confused look as me. The audience is just as confused, but eventually starts to applause while the guards enter, creating a path for Aegon to walk through.

I take an attentive look at him, he seems nervous, almost reluctant too. One thing was certain: he himself didn't ask for it. Though, I'm afraid of what power could do to him. What scares me the most is how easily his dear Grandfather could manipulate him.

"It's our chance." I feel Rhaenys pulling me to the sideand down the stairs to where the dragons are kept.

Not being very familiar with the place I let the princes lead me down and once we get to Meleys I can't help but freeze.

"Come." She tells me as she gets ready to ride her dragon.

"I..." I stutter a little, "is that okay? Will she be okay with me riding with you?"

"You sell yourself short, my lady." She tells me, "you got an affiliation with dragons, they can feel it. Now come, we have no time to waste."

I take a deep breath as I follow her up on her dragon.

"Let's go, Meleys, fly." She orders in Old valyrian and her dragon immediately complies, "hold tight."

The dragon takes off and I close my eyes waiting to be out of the caves... out in the Dragon pit.

The dragon's roar is mixed with screams of terror from the people taken by surprise as they run to safety.

I open my eyes, I look down the the royal family standing there.

"Open the doors!" Otto screams.

"We have to go." I tell her.

She doesn't respond, only stares at them. I loom down again, my eyes catch Aemond's. He looks furious, hurt too, but there's something more sinister in him now, something that makes my skin crawl.

I see Alicent stand in front of Aegon, expecting Rhaenys to burn them all. Instead Meleys only roars loudly, making them tremble in fear, then she turn around and flies out.

To Dragonstone.

[alyslittlehaven]

" Love You Like A Bad Habit "

PROLOGUE -- ‘Turf War’

Whenever faced with a civil war inside of Velaris, Azriel is forced to tell his family about the connections he has in circles he wouldn’t dare normally bring to light. In an attempt to get a better understanding of the problem and how to stop it before it becomes too much, Rhysand accompanies his brother to a meeting with one of the infamous drug lords of the city. Does Azriel keep his true hobbies and private life in the dark? Or does his family finally see what his shadows do in the darkest parts of Velaris?

TW: Drugs, violence, death, talks of gangs, NSFW, prostitution (Only mentions of it), Smut, Angst, FWB to lovers, slight slow burn???, mentions of a drug lord, alcohol, addiction, arcane feels fr.

I DO NOT OWN ACOTAR, All rights and characters except for Rahlia and a few others are owned and made by Sarah J Maas.

"Excuse me?" Azriel's jaw tightened as Rhysand finally looked up from his desk, his brows furrowed as his violet eyes scanned over every feature he could find on the shadowsinger.

"Rhys, the shadows are telling me of an upcoming civil issue within the red light district of Velaris. I've heard whispers of fights between pleasure houses and even worse of people." Rhysand blinked, leaning back in his seat as he ran a hand through his hair.

There wasn't much that the red light district asked for or needed, meaning that during some times of peace, the high lord even forgot it existed. It didn't do anything outside of the district, and if anything having something like it lowered the crime rate inside of Velaris. So as long as everyone was happy with what they were given? Everything was fine-- but hearing that it wasn't fine anymore was worrisome.

"Are you suggesting that there might be something of a turf war in Velaris because of the pleasure halls that are being created?" Azriel slowly nodded. His eyes remain glued to the bottom of Rhysands desk. His mind racing. "An informant of mine in the district has also made me aware that some drugs have been leaked onto the streets due to the higher population in the area. More people are moving out of the district and into places such as the Rainbow. or just regular towns." Rhysand let out a hum, his chin resting on his hand as he looked at the papers sprawled out on the surface of his desk.

"-and why are we just now hearing about this? If a possible turf war is about to break out it must have been simmering for quite some time. I am aware I let the district be but you would think that they would come to their highlord for help, don't you think Azriel?" The shadowsinger carefully shook his head. His eyes locked with his brothers as a cup of tea appeared in front of Rhys.

"Speak, Azriel. You know you are allowed to do so brother."

Azriel's feet shifted, his wings tightening behind his back as he stood up straight, his hands clasped behind his back as he spoke.

"With all due respect Rhysand, the red district isn't the same as the rest of Velaris. You haven't attempted to reach out and create bonds with the lords in high places there due to our...reputation with the people. If it had been simmering we wouldn't have heard it's because the inner circle and the government of Velaris haven't been fully trusted by those in the red court." Rhysand nodded slowly.

Azriel had told him nothing but the truth, no matter how offended he was by the reasoning he understood where the spymaster was coming from. His brother's rigid posture caught him off guard as he looked back up. A brow raised as he leaned back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap. "I see, but might I ask why you seem so tense, brother?" Azriel clicked his tongue, looking at the ground for a moment as he thought of how to word the next thing that came out of his mouth.

Azriel had spent hundreds of years in his position, making sure he knew every crack and crevice of the night court to make his job easier. Rhysand and the inner circle were aware he had informants in the nastiest of places just to make sure the wellbeing of the people and his family was secure. They would understand it, it was only his job after all.

"I have scheduled a meeting with one of the local drug lords in the red district. She runs the pleasure hall of Otaria where the refuge is. I believe you are aware of her reputation." Rhysand blinked, staring at Azriel in curiosity as he continued on.

Azriel took a deep breath, walked up to the desk in the middle of the room, and pointed at the small map of Velaris. "I think it would be a good idea for you to join me, show the people of the court's shadows that you care about their wellbeing as well and not just the people of the rainbow. Form a relationship with the lords and people....no matter how horrible they are." Rhysand's eyes watched Azriels hand carefully as he pointed to the Otaria hall. The pit of anxiety in his stomach only got worse as he thought about traveling to that part of the court. A small huff left the high lord's figure as his thoughts raced. The lord of those halls was said the be a disgusting male who had come from riches to fulfill his worst desires, putting the women in the hall through absolute hell just for some cash. To show the people he cared- he needed to throw all of his morals away to meet one of the worst men in Velaris? How could he do that? How could Azriel live with doing that?

"You wish for me to see an old, vile drug lord to prove a point to the people? Do you know what you are asking of me Azriel?" Rhysands tone was sharp, his words dripping with disgust as he watched his brother pull his hand back. His brows furrowed together.

"I'll have you know, they aren't as bad as you think." Rhysand tilted his head, confusion seeping into his bones as Azriel stared down at him. "Sometimes you need to realize that being High Lord isn't all about reputation, Rhysand. There should be no reason to keep you away from fixing the inner workings of your court." He was taken aback by Azriels harsh words, uncertainty filling his thoughts as his brother motioned for him to get up. "Are you coming?"

Rhysand nodded, standing up and brushing off his pants.

----

Disgusting.

That was the only word Rhysand could think of as he looked around the red district, people sitting on the sides of the street drinking ale out of the bottles, so many homeless people that his stomach turned just thinking about how selfish it was to own technically three houses. Everything he hated knowing about his city right there, was bare before him as if it was it's first day in the world as a babe.

Feyre would hate that he was here, that this place existed. She hated everything about this as well, her people dying of starvation- indulging in bad habits such as drugs that kept fathers away and crippled. The children playing in the road were happy, but a certain thinness to them that he couldn't bear to look at. The kind of bare that reminded him of his mate when he first met her.

Rhysand brought his sleep up to his nose as a man blew some sort f smoke in their direction, his lungs quickly filled with the burning sensation and the skunk-like smell that invaded his personal bubble. Luckily as they continued walking the smell dispersed, Rhysands brows furrowed as he looked at how comfortable Azriel was. He quickened his pace for a moment so he was now walking beside his brother. His violet eyes scanned their surroundings.

"These are the things you are made unaware of as a high lord when you look at the whole court and not just pieces at a time." Azriels voice was low, his words carefully calculated as he spoke to Rhysand. His hazel eyes finding his brothers with a certain kind of pity he hasn't seen in awhile.

Rhysands eyes darted around to the multitude of different things around them, his eyes finally landing on the large building a minute or two away with women and men alike walking in and out. The closer he got to the building the more of that odd stench he could smell. He knew what it was. he was a teen once- rebelling by smoking occasionally with the mirth root they had found in Illyria- but that strong of a smell must have meant something bad right? "How much has the population gone up by?" Azriel raised a brow, smirking slightly as he side-eyed Rhysand.

"Isn't the high lord supposed to know that information?" Rhysand rolled his eyes, a small smile on his face as he gently hit his brother's arm. Chuckling lightly. It wasn't his fault that he had no clue, the red light district worked on its own without any help from him or the inner circle. So many different things happened here that were illegal but were somehow unchecked and working well. He didn't like to admit it, but a good amount of the economy was working solely off of the money the pleasure halls and drug lords in this section of Velaris made from their stores. Hell- even most of the apothecaries and medicinal shops got their stock from the red light district, so as harmful as it was it worked well for all parties.

Azriel whistled slightly as he stepped over a pothole, the door of the Otaria opened up for him. The bell boy curtsying in the presence of Azriel and Rhysand. A smile on his face.

It wasn't like anything Rhysand imagined.

When he thought about the pleasure halls he was expecting cheap hotel rooms and the smell to be unbearable. That it was going to be unsanitary- disgusting- but what he just walked into was the exact opposite.

Booths were lined up on both ends of the hall, a large desk sitting in the middle of the room surrounded by men and women alike who were paying for pleasure. Their hands were in little baggies that carried their coin. Azriel barreled on, his footing never easing as he approached the desk. Rhysand on the other hand, slowed down to admire everything around him, the intricate carvings in what seemed to be the marble pillars were something only he could imagine. The man and women in the booths sitting beside each other flirting away with scandalous outfits on- most blue. Azriel looked back, smiling at his brother with an amused glint in his eye.

"How long has it been since you last visited the Otaria?" Rhysand shrugged, slowly catching up to his brother as he finally remembered why they were there.

"Hundreds of years I'm sure. I wasn't a big fan of the owner Tarly...It seems he has stepped up his game." Azriel let out a hum, stopping in front of the desk as he watched the woman behind it freeze as she stared at Rhysand. Her bright red eyes widened as she took in his form. Azriel slipped her a red coin before the woman cautiously picked it up and examined it. Dropping It back in Azriels hand when she was done and closing her fist.

"Ser Azriel. It's a pleasure to see you but...you are aware of the Masters rules on high lords, yes?" Azriel gently smiled at the woman, patting her hand with his other and pulling away. "She is aware of his presence I assure you. Just a small meeting." Rhysand lifted a brow, looking at the two with pure confusion.

She?

Azriel turned back to the high lord, his smile falling into a thin line as he spoke. "It's probably a good thing Tarly doesn't run this place anymore then. C'mon, we have places to be. Thank you Kashir." The woman nodded, bowing slightly as they walked around the desk and toward the door at the end of the hall.

"She doesn't?" Azriel laughed at Rhysands incredulous tone, shaking his head. "Mother no, he died long ago. One of his employees got tired of his treatment." Rhysand nodded slowly. Carefully eyeing his friend.

"The Otaria is under the ownership of Lady Rahlia. She was the one who killed him but it gave her the respect for her fellows to push her to take the building. Now it's high-end- or something like that." Azriel furrowed his brows, looking away from his brother before clearing his throat.

Soon enough they reached the door, their steps in sync as they stepped in. The smell of smoke instantly hitting Rhysands nose and making him flinch. He could barely see- the dizzying smell coming almost over powering as he covered his nose. Azriel took a moment to get used to it, the smoke filling the room and leaving it in a foggy mess. As the smoke cleared Rhysand blinked quickly. His senses over powered as the large, black hound growled at them. He took a step back, staring wide-eyed at this huge beast who stalked toward them slowly, the hair on its neck standing up in alert. As soon as the hound was about to bark a loud whistle rang through the room. The dog immediately sitting down with it's head tilted at them.

"Down girl,"

Rhysands eyes followed the voice, a woman around his height walking into the room from what seemed to be a bathroom. Cigarette in hand as she made her way toward them. Her blood-red dress clung to her features yet hung loosely, looking like something Mor would wear.

"Forgive her, she's trained to bite." A smirk lay on her face as she took in Rhysand, her brown eyes raking over every part of him as she ignored Azriel. Rhysand swallowed hard, his usual roughness gone due to the new surroundings he was in. His own violet eyes sought out Azriel to help him silently. Azriel crossed the room and sat down in one of the chairs, the woman's eyes following the shadowsinger with a familiar gaze. "I was told you needed my assistance and absolutely wonderful knowledge...when you said your precious high lord would be joining I was quite rushed to clean my halls." The woman walked behind the desk, sitting down in the comfortable-looking chair.

"Yes, we have heard some very disturbing whispers about a possible turf war happening. I thought you might have something to say about it." Azriel crossed his arms as Rhysand sat down. The poor high lord was taken off guard by the variety of pillows and tapestries that decorated the office.

"I might have," She slowly inhaled the contents of her cigarette, maintaining eye contact with the two of them as she laid back in her seat and blew the smoke out. "Depends which kind of turf war you are speaking of. It's not unusual for drug lords to get territorial around these parts but it dies quick like a man meeting a maid- but if you're talking about the turf war going on between the Junes and Crasters..." She smirked, holding out a box of cigs to the both of them.

"The Crasters?" Rhysand finally spoke up, gently shaking his head no at the offer and crossing his ankle at his knee. "Haven't they been passive for years though? What could possibly start them going into a turf war?" The woman eyed him, her usual smirk falling for a quick moment.

"Ah yes- forgive me, high lord. My name is Lady Rahlia. I am not a history book." Rahlia rolled her eyes, setting down the box and sighing. "You are wrong, they are the most aggressive people I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. They have been banned from this establishment since the moment I got it in my wallet." Rhysand stared at the desk. His brows furrowed.

"Is he pouting?" She snickered, looking toward Azriel. A soft clicking noise came from her as she stood back up and rounded the table.

"Oh...big bad Spymaster can't say what he wants because he is in the company of his brother and high lord." She rolled her eyes, her smirk falling into a look of distaste.

"I hate two-faced royals." The corner of azriels mouth twitched, his wings shifting behind him so he got comfortable.

"I'm aware." Rahlia leaned down, grabbing Azriels face roughly in between her thumb and pointer finger. Scowling at the man.

"Then speak, boy." Azriel glared at her. Rolling his eyes as she tore her hand away from him.

Rhysand watched carefully, a hand on the dagger hidden in his belt. He looked at Azriel to confirm if he was okay- his brother just sat there. Staring at her for a moment before sighing and speaking.

"Just a bit, he pouts when he doesn't turn out as smart as he thinks."

Rahlia smiled, mouthing thank you to Azriel before moving to her bookcase to grab a bundle of papers. Throwing them on the Shadowsingers lap before sitting down once more. Azriel carefully looked through them. Brows raised as he looked up at her from the bundle. "What are these?" Rahlia propped her chin up against her fist like a bored child, looking at him through reddish eyes.

"Intercepted letters via bird...news...reports. You name it. everything you need to know about the most recent events. I had a feeling you'd be visiting." Azriel nodded tensely, standing up with the 'gift' and looking at Rhysand. "We are leaving."

Rahlia chuckled, the hound rounding the table to sit next to her. Rahlias nails gently scratched at the animal's head, listening to the huff she gave when Rahlia hit just the right spot. Rhysand stood up, walking to the door with Azriel as dread filled his stomach. A gut feeling that he was missing so much of what was truly happening in the room around him. As Azriel opened the door the woman's voice spoke up once more, a sickly sweet tone hidden behind each word she uttered.

"Come visit again soon, spymaster. Your talents are wasted at a council table."

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

It’s so sad and funny to see ‘fans’ being disappointed by Becky English’s articles. I have always expected that Kate would start as a full time Royal again until September or the next year.

I know many are saying she is using her privilege and it’s a bad look and I get it, but people need to calm down and understand that she had chemo, and not all the patients are affected with the same secondary effects or else. If she ended chemo in August as the articles told us, she just has had 4 months of rest, I’ve read that majority need at least 6 months to start feeling a little bit like their old self and some secondary effects even need 1 year.

And to be fair, people need to understand how KP’s PR works, they have always been focused on: Family first and duty last, I think is genuine but I also think that it’s the way to show the world that the RF isn’t a bunch of cold people anymore, that also helps W to sell his father and husband PR (we know he loves that as a way to show the idiots he isn’t a cheating husband and he is a present parent not like Chuck) and Kate being the ‘nation’s mother’ and nurturing figure of the RF PR. Again, I think it’s genuine and they are lovely people, but that doesn’t mean that their office doesn’t use those good things to sell that image to the nation. So having that in mind, of course we will have at least 1 year of endless articles saying that family is first, that she is focusing on what matters and slowly abandoning such PR until she can come again as full time Royal.

The article of course has some briefs from KP, but other things are guesses, and common sense (it was obvious she won’t fully return in January) but people already believe she won’t be doing a damn all the year, when i guess that she will do at least 2-3 engagements per month + her private work with early childhood + maybe key visits to Wales or Scotland (St. Davis Day and Hollyrood week) + 1-2 army engagement + accepting few new patronages + trooping, cenotaph, big maybe the state banquets, etc…. (So be prepared for only having like 50-60 engagements this year)

William himself said during Earthshot that he expected Catherine feeling better and doing some foreign visits with him, so, I think as English said, they aren’t saying if she indeed will travel or not until the date is near and see if she feels good enough. Only William ‘confirmed’ he will do some of the visits but English is just making the common guess: ‘nobody still knows but she wants to if she feel good’ (which is what W said, so nothing new)

Anyway, the point is people need to stop being mad for something that was common sense and expected for this year. And stop comparing her with Charles, because first, he is the King and second we don’t know what treatment he is taking and while he is older, maybe his treatment plan allow him to not feel too bad

Pretty sure you're on the wrong blog because no one here is upset or disappointed by the article.

Everyone here understands that cancer and treatment is different for each individual case. We're not comparing Charles and Kate's experiences. We're comparing the palaces' communications strategies and how that managed (or didn't manage) the public's expectations.

[aserenecharmer]

Andrew has seen these type of patients. From the outside looking in, they look healthy and fit. But have symptoms no one knows and everyone thinks they are lying. That is a reason why Andrew came to do what he does. His father was sick and Andrew didn't understand it until he got older. His older sister protected him from the mess that was his dad. Doesn't mean he doesn't know how to help now, but now it was too late and he was here in Seattle, and he was going to make a difference. Sure, he wasn't doing anything by himself, but he wanted to help those who didn't have a voice, and those who are fighting for themselves and knowing others might turn them away. Seeing Abigail, she was one of those patients that seems like no one believes because Andrew can admit, on the outside looking in, she looks healthy. But he knew no one wanted to be there if they couldn't help it.

He knew that she was struggling and everyone needs someone who was willing to help. He didn't know the girl in the elevator would be the one he was with Doctor Bailey on. But he knew she wanted to feel comfortable and needed someone who didn't doubt her, he also knew Doctor Bailey had something cooking since she had seen all the signs and she has been there longer then most at the hospital. She had seen it all and that is why he thinks she wasn't fazed when a relatively healthy young woman walks in. She was trying to do her job and Andrew was really trying not to get distracted by her. She was someone he could get to know and really make sure her stay there was good, but he also knew he couldn't cross a line then he wouldn't be on the case and he wanted to really help her figure out just what is going on.

Andrew knew he was going over and beyond with Abigail. But she was alone and she didn't know what was going on. But being alone, that couldn't be easy, and Andrew, he didn't want her to be alone. He didn't want her to feel like no one was there for her or anything else. Andrew was that type of person. He wanted his patients to feel like they are special and everyone is listening and that is just what he was doing. When he had time, and he had time to check on her, he would. Like now, he didn't have to as Bailey was working on getting all of her charts from doctors and realizing what they might have missed. He went peeked into her room, and he leaned against the door frame, and his arms crossed across his chest. He coughed slightly to get her attention.

"Doctor Bailey is calling the hospitals you were at before and getting everything from them. So she can see anything that they missed. Because there is no way there is nothing there. We all know there is something, you know something and we just have to find what is going on." He came into the room a little more and sat down and he rubbed his hands together and nodded his head. "Yeah, once we get everything we will run some test and then we will see what happens from there. But with Doctor Bailey, she won't rest until he runs everything and that is the doctor you have. So you are in good hands."

Continued storyline with @ofvaliantnoble

When Andrew seen his mom get sick and not make it past the sickness, he wanted to help others and make sure they got the best care they could have. That is why Andrew went into the field he was in and just wanting to be that person for someone to feel like they have hope. His mother didn’t have that and he was helpless when all that happened being he was family and he felt like he couldn’t help. So, now, he was in the best program and he was with some of the best surgeons and learning what he was good at to help these patients when they feel like they are alone. That is all it is, making them feel like their voices are being heard. 

Working with Bailey has been an experience and learning from the best. She was the best, and she was the hardest on everyone, but she knows everyone and what they are capable of. But this case today, he was glad he was with her, Abigail was there and she was trying to find answers. Meeting her by accident, he was glad he did, because her eyes were piercing and he knew she was there for a reason. Not that he judges because she was getting help. Andrew as just glad she had a familiar face in the room as Bailey can be a little bit of an intimidating woman. Not that it was a bad thing, he just wanted to do things right around her, and acting like Abigail and him didn’t have a connection was hard. But he had to. 

Just letting Abigail know the room is never the boring, she’d hear things and rumors and he wanted the gossip that was going around that day if it was possible. Maybe that was asking for too much but that is what he wanted. But he wanted her to feel comfortable and just relax as she was in good hands. “As long as you ask me and I can make it clear, can’t have you thinking some sort of thing about me when it isn’t true. Just, some people have a lot to say before consulting me to see if it’s true, so you have been warned on all of that. Don’t take it all to heart.” 

Nodding his head, he can agree to share his day with her if that will help her relax being she is alone. That is all it is right now, she was alone and needed someone and he wanted to be that person. “I will do that. You can hear some of the people who I work with and the patients we get. Some are good and some need help a little bit, but that is why we do this.” Winking at Abigail and he was gone to get Bailey and let her know her patient was ready and in bed and just waiting for her to hear her out. He hated she was alone and Andrew knew that Bailey wouldn’t like that either and want her parents to be there if they had to do surgery. That was the only thing. 

Andrew finally entered again and this time with Bailey and they could get their exam done and see where to start when it came to Abigail and hoping that they can figure something out for her. He knew if she was in good hands it will be Bailey and she would listen and she would take into account that she was struggling just a little bit but wanted their help. That is all they could do. Seeing the change in Bailey’s eyes, he knew that look and she had something in mind. That is when Andrew had to stay back and get somethings for her and that means a little more time with Abigail and getting to know her and hoping she knows she is in good hands. 

“Now, we won’t ever think you’re insane. You are here for a reason and if anyone can figure it out, it will be Doctor Bailey. She is one of the best and she will know just what to do. Now, I need you to sit back and relax so I can take your vitals and she can see where she can start and see when we can get things going. And if things change and you want me to call your parents, let me know and I will get them here for you okay? You shouldn’t have to go through this alone. You do know that right? Just, think about it okay? That is all I ask.” Feeling a grin tug at his lips and he flashed it at Abigail as he got to work and they were ready to start this for her and get her on the right road to recovery and whatever his going on figured out seeing as she has been pushed away before, they won’t do that here. Not at all.

[bromcommie]

so I was digging through the Vast Legally Grey Junkyards of the Internet in search of better quality footage from AoU for my edits, specifically the scene with the CA FASCIST grafitti in Sokovia—which I unfortunately didn't find, but what I DID find was a bunch of deleted/expanded scenes that I didn't know/didn't care enough to pay attention to before. Which is fine. Most of it is techno babble and rushed plot setup. However. This stupid-ass ten second clip makes me literally insane. It makes me. Want to kill and maim and chew on the bars of my enclosure. And not in the sense that the contents make me oh-so-emotional, but because the potential of them could. Because what do you mean.

What do you mean those four and a half lines were cut for pacing/time when it's a ten second difference and the rest of the scene is in the film anyway. What do you mean you cut it because it didn't fit the narrative. It's literally couched in two minutes of plot it could've been so easy to slip it in there. A passing reference that would add at least a smidgen of depth to both the (already fucking incomprehensible) plot + politics of the antagonists, and to one of the main fucking characters. Like you were SO close what do you mean you cut every feeble attempt that was made to scratch the surface of Steve's character outside the whole nightmare scene we're supposed to feel so bad about what do you MEAN.

The fact that this minimal exchange—paired with that graffiti scene where Steve is confronted with the actual legacy of Captain America and what he's come to mean to people around the world and then quite physically discards the identity + him still circling back to the mantle at the end of the film anyway because he doesn't know how to do or be anything else, feels like he's too changed for this idea of a normal life that stems from before the war and the ice and doesn't know how to live without carrying that, without being useful in this one specific way—has more meat on its bones in the whole lead up to Civil War and ultimately Endgame than half of this movie's sledgehammer-over-the-head lines about home and family with Barton's kids laughing in the background or whatever like some fucked up C list hallmark movie is downright infuriating to me because like. You clearly thought about it. It passed through your head. You wrote some version of it into the scene. You shot it and edited it and watched it a few times and then you went "nah off it goes to the cutting room floor, we have enough of that. Add those seven and a half seconds to the 20-minute long, entirely CGI Hulk sequence, that we need more of. Surely that will fix the pacing issue".

Side note: this is me not even getting into the fact that, at this point in the franchise, this would have been one of the few lines we'd get of Maria actually saying something or interacting with anyone in a way that is even marginally removed (which this barely is) from simply delivering plot information. This is the only time we kinda get her view on something or even an inkling that she used to be a goddamn intelligence agent. And how that history informs her view of the situation and how it could possibly clash with Steve's own. And that woman is in every fucking movie. (Not to mention the fact that the two of them were just in a movie together, for Christ's sake, and going through something together you could pretty fairly characterize as traumatic and bond-inspiring to boot—and in AoU we can barely tell they even know each other. I mean the bar is so low and they still managed to limbo right under it.)

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

home from work

[longagoitwastuesday]

I actually like the last chapter. I think the ideas are very good. I have my qualms on how some things were managed, as I always do, but I think shonen authors get tangled in the expectations of a shonen to the point it jeopardises their writing, often even when they're not lacking in skills

[itsalwaysdark]

its so embarassing likee. going to talk abt a feeling you have but you already know ppl will be like Oh that sounds like depression lol and its like. well yes . i know . trust me i am so aware i am depressed . but its still like a thing ive been thinking abt and wanting to talk abt but ik itll just be like Ok hun 👍. idk idk what response i would want tho ig FNFNFNF

[metranart]

Imagine Gojo setting a condition to his Clan for him to give them an heir. "It's HER or no one." The elders aren't happy that he chose a non-sorcerer, but they reluctantly agree... that is, if Gojo manages to convince you.

“Come here-...I’m far from done, kitten.”

God, Gojo still makes you nervous, with his mouth buried between your legs for longer than you can even imagine. Why are you still so nervous? Is it the proximity? Is it the way he leans in to make eye contact while he licks you? Is it those blue piercing eyes? Or that immensely amused smirk that twists his lips just enough so he can keep eating you out?

"Mmmmm... stop moving so much, (Y/N). We are making a mess of my desk..." he purrs, all too pleased to watch your eyes roll to the back of your skull. "That’s my good girl..." the man between your legs, praises, "my future bride to be...-"

"T-...that's still u-...under discussion, S-Satoru." Your quivering protests are sweet chords of music for him, "I already t-.... told you that I d-don't want to be part of the jujutsu world.... nor b-belong to a-.... any clan."

"Not any clan, pretty. MY clan." 

You hear him slurp greedily at your folds and feel a warm trick of saliva run down your ass, and when your mouth is about to throw another protest-... Satoru Gojo makes a vacuum on your quivering clit with that annoying mouth of his. Your thighs tense and the muscles of your stomach follow, a quake that rakes your entire form, making you a pathetic mock of a human.

Both your hands fly to cover your mouth and Satoru chuckles deep, amused rumble that cracks the rest of your self-control. Your cheeks grow in the most adorable shade of pink, and your breathing hastens.

"So CUTE~"

Satoru whimpers, dumb founded, his broad chest puffing with so much fervor, so much blinding endearment that he feels like about to explode. He can see the doubt in your beautifully contorted features, and he dips his tongue inside you, fucking you with that fat tongue to try to make you agree to his terms, to be HIS.

Dammit! You feel… amaaaaaazing. Why? It’s like a flip inside you only he can switch at will—... even so, he’s dangerous, you remember. He’s a special grade sorcerer, you remember. He’s a mystery, he’s unpredictable—he’s invincible, unreadable, impenetrable and lethal with a playful smile, and you really know absolutely nothing about him. 

Yet, he insists that you belong together. He insists on putting his child inside you, he insists that he will take care of you and his life will be yours. He insists that you belong in his world and if you're not there, he won't be there either. He insists on fucking you stupid every chance he gets, bending you over surfaces, of course! Always putting his coat or his shirt or any piece of his clothing, just so your skin never comes into contact with any unworthy surface. He insists, he insists and insists and insists...

“Fuck—” he growls, grabbing your hips, “—why are you... h-how do you manage to always have me wrapped around your little finger—?” 

“I want you, Satoru-u... but I can't-” 

He stops you with a soft but firm, squeeze to your waist. 

“Not like this,” he pants, tipping his head to slowly lick a strip down your sweet cunt, a farewell caress, the whisper of a kiss to his last effort before lunch time is over and he can try again, later. “Let me pretend just for a little longer that you said yes—"

Your gaze drops to his trembling thighs and the warmth that settles in the pit of your tummy is intensified by the clear drop of precum shining at the tip of his gloriously thick and long cock, now achingly swollen and a mouthwatering shade darker in color than the rest of him.  

“I'm yours, Satoru-” you offer in a quiet whisper and can feel him shake his head. “You aren't.... but I’ll make you change your mind. You, just watch me, kitten."

➡️ 👀 NSFW Sneak Peek artwork HERE ;)

➡️ FULL NSFW ART of this story

[gutsby]

Make It Stick

Pairing: Old!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel never thought he’d need a vasectomy. Then, one night, he accidentally finishes inside you.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected-peepaw-p-in-v (I’m sorry). Accidental creampie. Age gap. Cumplay. Breeding kink. Ovulation has led me places I wouldn’t go with a gun.

Note: Convergence is a painting by Jackson Pollock. We studied it in high school and I thought it looked like jizz idk

Word count: 4.7k

Prequel | Part 1 | Part 2

He should’ve gotten snipped when he had the chance.

Should’ve taken the plunge, faced his fears of needles and fluorescent-washed doctor’s offices like any man his age could have done and gotten the damn vasectomy. Now he was here, nearly two decades older and still none the wiser in this cold, dead world with a pretty young thing like you between his sheets. In lieu of elective surgery, Joel Miller had only to grit his teeth, bite hard, and repeat over and over again in his head, desperate:

‘Don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cum, DON’T—’

Words like those normally worked. With women that weren’t you, they tended to serve him exceedingly well.

But you were just so tight. And wet. And welcoming. And try as Joel might to pretend like he got laid on a regular basis, the truth was that he didn’t. Wouldn’t. Couldn’t seem to think straight when it came to this fixation he’d developed for you, so, instead, he let his dick do all the decision-making whenever he found himself around you. Ten times out of ten that ended in:

“J-J-Joel—oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck—I’m gonna CUM.”

And that made it worth every last life-endangering drop.

Feeling how your flushed, lithe body came apart beneath his touch. How you needed him. How your eyes grew to half the size of your face and you gaped up at the man, lips parted, like you couldn’t even comprehend how the friction of seven inches could make you feel so good.

If he had it his way, he would’ve loved nothing more than to show you that feeling every night, and twice the next morning if his hip wasn’t giving him too much trouble.

But, at present, the man had bigger fish to fry. Like not becoming a new father at fifty-nine if he could help it.

With the last two fluttering pulses of your heat, and almost going cross-eyed from the pleasure as he felt it, Joel yanked his big, slippery cock out of your body and made a fist around his member as he always knew to do. Tugged and pulled and grunted above you—‘Sweet girl, you’re so fuckin’ good to me’—and watched your tits and your belly for the milky white ropes to ensue.

Strangely, though, your skin stayed the same.

No cum-spray Convergence appeared before him, no opaque and cloudy fluids dribbling down your ribs, nothing. Your stomach was as bare as the rest of you, save for a few beads of sweat, and that was all there was.

Joel shook his dick harder, confused. Beneath him, you were still coming down from your high smiling ear-to-ear and staring blissfully at the ceiling. Your chest rose and fell, rose and fell in quick succession, and while you endeavored to recollect your mind, Joel was losing his.

Where the FUCK was his cum?

In no naked horizontal tango to date had Joel simply…cum without noticing. Shit like that just didn’t happen to men, least of all to ones his age, so when he’d wrung his poor cock like a sodden towel and still saw nothing come out, he felt his stomach turn and plummet inside him.

He dropped to his hands and knees in less than a moment and lowered his head between your legs.

“No, Joel!” you squealed, giggling. Kicking your feet, “Another round and I’m gonna combust, you old perv!”

But Joel wasn’t looking to get his dick wet again. He was inspecting you. Or trying to, anyway. Quickly realizing he couldn’t see a thing in the darkness, he let out a breath through his nose and lifted you off the bed. Your naked frame thrown over his shoulder, bare hip beside his head and your strangled, muffled cry of, ‘What the hell, Joel?!’ hardly seemed to register with the man carrying you off.

You were toted to the bathroom. Joel was about to ease you down on your feet. Then, appearing to change his mind at the last second, he set you onto the sink instead. Your skin bristled with indignation, anger. A little arousal.

“Last time we did it on a sink we broke the faucet,” you reminded him, feigning more dismay than you really felt inside. If anything, you liked it when your fossil-age fuckbuddy switched things up. You were just exhausted.

Heedless of your words, Joel kneeled on the floor and pried your legs apart before him. When you swatted at his silver-flecked head, he brushed your hand away.

“Hold still,” he grunted.

“How come?”

“‘Cause I said.”

How quickly he commanded that tone of a father.

“Wanna sleep,” you groaned, about to roll your eyes.

But you couldn’t deny you liked being doted on by him.

Joel’s touch was gentle. Probing. Spidering down the most sensitive parts of your bare lower half, between your thighs, and slowly coaxing you closer to the edge of the sink. Your breath hitched when you saw his head tilt.

He appeared to be deep in thought—a rare sight for anyone who’d seen Joel Miller in the postcoital state. Most every time he’d blown his load before, the man was dead asleep within ten minutes. His joints could barely hold himself upright after a half hour of plowing the back forty, much less carry you, too, so you were puzzled now.

He thumbed at the seam of your cunt, and you whined:

“Jo-el—”

“Can ya…push, baby?” His eyes flitted up quickly.

“Push?”

“Yeah, just…” With a look you couldn’t quite read, he placed the palm of his other hand on your belly. Then, pressing, “Like this. Like you’re squeezin’ somethin’ out.”

You cocked a brow in muted confusion but did as he asked. You watched his gaze, and it stayed on you.

Or, rather, on that soft and pliant spot between your legs the old man seemed to favor so much. On any other occasion, in a position like this, he surely would’ve been wearing a smile. Tonight, his lips curled into a grimace.

And twisted even further when you ‘pushed’ like you did.

At first you felt nothing. A gentle clench of your walls supplied little more than a sense of having been stretched—no novel concept to you, who’d spent the last three-and-a-half months or so getting fucked by the finest AARP affiliate alive most every night. It wasn’t until you clamped down again that you got the feeling there was something else. Something thick and warm and slow as molasses trickling out from between your folds.

You let out a low, tender, ‘Mmph’ without meaning to; it felt kind of nice. Beneath you, Joel’s face turned grave.

He watched as his spend oozed out of your freshly-fucked hole and thought of vasectomies again.

You were young—too young to know better. Too sweet and naïve to see any peril in spreading your legs for a man like him, in a world like this. And Joel swore he’d be careful. But no post-apocalyptic birth control method was perfect, or even close to it, and it was clear he’d relied too heavily on reflexes to keep him from cumming inside you. Joel was old—too old to be doing this shit.

Too grown and well-versed in sex to be making mistakes as stupid as that. His brow pinched in, and he drew his next breath as if the air around him was growing scarce.

“Joel, what’s—”

“When’s the last time you— you— uh…bled?”

Hardly more in control of his face than the rate his heart went thudding in his chest, Joel winced at the end. This time, you were the one to knit your eyebrows together. You could tell by that tight, discomfited tone he wasn’t talking papercuts, but were still unsure of his purpose.

“Like two, two and a half weeks ago. Why?”

Well, fuck.

Joel buried his face in his hands. You scooted closer to the sink’s edge, thinking little of his cum leaking out.

“Why?” you tried again. Softer this time.

An old, weathered head lifted to greet you. It was bleak.

“You see this?” Joel paused. Swiping his finger through the viscous white substance that had trickled out on the counter, in a puddle now, “Y’know what it means, right?”

You let his look, and the question, remain suspended in air for a second. Then another. Then you shrugged.

“Yeah. But…you’re old,” came your answer at length.

You’re old.

Joel and you both knew as much, but the former wasn’t quite following your train of thought. Still wanting to try and mitigate damages while he could, though, Joel reached for the roll of toilet paper that was fastened to the wall and tore himself a strip. He bunched it up and, reaching for one of your knees to spread you further for him, took to daubing the tissue across your entrance.

“What’s me bein’ old got to do with anything?” A little sharp, then, seeing you flinch when he drew too close to your clit, “‘m sorry, baby, just— gotta get this out of you.”

You made a face but let him continue anyway. Your eyes followed each movement of his hand, and reflexively, the muscles in your thighs tightened. Why bother with this when the man has so many better uses for his hands?

For a second, your eyes fluttered half-shut.

“Maria says old folks are, uh…infertile. Got something to do with a middle pause,” you said, breaths labored.

Joel stopped just long enough to shoot you a look.

“Menopause,” he corrected, all too matter-of-fact, before returning to his work, “is a woman thing.”

What the hell were they teaching in Jackson’s sex ed classes, anyway? Then Joel remembered how his brother sincerely believed that women peed out of their vaginas until he was twenty-three, and the thought of you not knowing the ins and outs of male virility wasn’t the most far-fetched idea in the universe. Besides, sexual health wasn’t exactly the community’s highest priority when the world around it was in a perpetual state of decay and hordes of fungus-faced fuckers ran rampant in the wild.

He curved a tender, careful finger against the ring of muscles framing your sex, trying to absorb more cum, and your grip on the edge of the countertop tightened.

“S-So, you—” You swallowed, throat constricting a little too, “You’re sayin’…men can make babies…whenever?”

You sounded so innocent as you said it. Joel wanted nothing more than to club himself over the head for being the cause of this predicament—of being such an instrumental part of the perceived corruption, as it was.

Meanwhile, your head was swimming in filthier thoughts.

Deeper, Joel, keep…pushing in…dee-e-per. You would have scarcely had more luck giving a fuck what Joel was talking about now than if he’d just said the room was on fire. By his voice, you knew you should’ve been paying attention, but the dexterity of his fingers was too much. He was caressing the first couple inches of your inner walls, attempting to scrape what bits of his release he could get unstuck from the flesh, but it seemed he was succeeding mostly in just turning you on. Rendering you deaf to the drone of his words as you pictured him pushing something else inside your tight, throbbing—

“—whole lotta problems for us if you’re, uh…ovulating,” Joel finished, expression taut and oblivious. You hadn’t heard the first part of that sentence and didn’t care to.

“Ovulating,” you repeated slowly. Indifferent.

Joel carried on without a hitch.

“Kids just ain’t fit for this world. I know you know that.”

You nodded along, not hearing a word.

“And if you’re— if y’ever did consider, maybe…”

Your lungs took an extra sharp inhale when Joel’s fingers coaxed out a warm, sticky glob of his load, and he petted your folds with his thumb. Then let out a breath himself.

“…y’oughta start a family with someone your own age—”

That part snagged your attention. Too swiftly, it came:

“My own age?”

Sighing, in spite of those welts of pleasure so heightened by his touch that the space between your legs began to throb and ache. Hardly possessed of more sense to form words that weren’t just echoes of his own, you tried communication from a simpler source—your foot.

You nudged his shoulder, and Joel looked up.

“What?”

“What?”

Parroting was, evidently, a hard habit to kill. Your toes curled into the bare skin of Joel’s shoulder, and when he re-inserted his finger, you ground your heel even deeper.

“When’s that ev…ever stopped us from doing it before, hm?” you said, tone strained but laced with some humor too, “Thought you liked sayin’ you’d make me a mama.”

Joel’s face flooded pink at the recollection—as a matter of fact, there had been several such memories. Instead of answering immediately, he just averted his gaze again. He anchored one hand to your thigh, and with the other teased out another string of your shared arousal before wiping his finger on the tissue, clinically, and repeating. All he had to offer in reply after was: ‘That’s different.’

And it was, to some extent. Joel wasn’t blind to the sea of uneasy looks that trailed behind you both whenever you walked the streets of Jackson together. How wide the eyes would get when instead of observing some filial display of affection play out before them, as expected, you’d loop your arms around his waist and take his lip between your teeth as you kissed—‘Can we please go home now, baby?’—that Joel was certain he’d been cemented as the resident pervert among everyone in town. Just how much worse that reputation was liable to get if there ever happened to be a round and swollen belly between that embrace someday was unthinkable. Dirty talk was one thing; parenthood another entirely.

This is for the best, became the low, grating refrain in his skull. Why he dug so hard, pushed so far inside the wet, velvety interior of your body without a thought for his own desires in that moment; he had to cull every trace of himself out of there, before he had half a chance to think.

“Baby, hey, hey, no—” Joel cut in a second later, abrupt.

No, no, no. You weren’t thinking either. Wrapping your hand around his wrist, pushing his fingers deeper inside.

Smiling a little, too.

“What are you— no, honey, don’t— you can’t,” Joel’s words splintered in every direction, watching you plunge his own index and middle fingers into the slick and the warmth he’d just been trying to get his cum out of. He looked up and saw your lids were heavy, about to close.

“What are you doin’? This ain’t…no, baby, it ain’t…safe.”

Back to sounding like a dad in no time at all.

“What’s wrong with leaving it in a bit longer? Feels nice.”

You had no idea what you were talking about. Joel pulled back on his hand and, in less than a second, had it freed.

“I just told you,” he huffed, “You’re too young—”

“I’m plenty old, Joel,” you returned, eyes snapping open, “You’ve shown me that more times than I can count.”

Joel was silent, stunned. He rose to his feet as your eyes seared holes into his, and for a second, he was uncertain whether to take a step back or reach out for you again.

“Baby…”

To his surprise, something like hurt surfaced behind your eyes. You set your lips in a tighter line, and your grip on the counter grew firmer just the same. He would’ve taken that move as his cue to lean in gently, slot his body between your thighs, and venture an apology of some sort, when the next thing you did stopped him cold.

Without a word, you slipped your free hand between your legs—eyeing Joel closely, almost scornfully, as you did.

You took your middle and ring fingers and sank them into your cunt. Not intending to let a drop of his spend leak out, you wedged them in as far as they’d go. Joel watched. Gawked. Once sufficiently pleased with the look of shock taking over his handsome, aged features, you withdrew the fingers. You brought them up to your mouth, wrapped your lips around the tips, and sucked.

It was a rare thing to get a taste of you and Joel together like this, so you savored it. You moved your mouth further down to drink it all in, peering up with wide, indulgent eyes and a look that was meant to punish.

Feels nice.

Tastes alright, too.

You’d licked the last bit of this glaze off your hand when your stomach clenched. You knew it would happen. Full as you were, you feared your body still hungered for more. As such, it hardly came as a surprise when next your muscles tensed, and you shifted closer to Joel.

“Maybe I don’t want babies with someone my own age.”

Either one of your knees were nudging his hips. Drawing him in. Joel appeared to waver for a second, unsure, but the look on his face made it clear this was mostly a matter of a delayed reaction. He couldn’t get his legs to move because the rest of him was still in awe. Staring at your lips, where the residue of his spend was glistening, then to your eyes, which were no less inviting, then up to the crown of your head and over it, to fix his stare on the mirror behind it. You watched him watch his own reflection with a look that was both hard and unkind, breathing slow. When he didn’t stir from that position after a minute, you touched a hand to his lower stomach.

And, brushing the heel of your palm against what felt like a hundred grey hairs in the old man’s happy trail—your favorite ones—you smoothed a caress along his belly, back and forth, before moving it left. Your hand came to rest on a mound of muscle and fat sitting right above his hip. Love handles, Joel had remarked one morning with vague distaste. Love handles, you’d repeated, beaming. You held on tightly now, appreciatively, and used your well-loved wall of flesh to pull him closer. As with any beckoning of yours, Joel didn’t have so much as half a mind to resist. He did, however, refuse to meet your gaze while you tilted your hips and spread your legs wider, before winding your ankles around the backs of his legs.

“Don’t you think I’d look pretty?” You pouted up at him. Your folds made a light, warm suction rubbing along the front of Joel’s cock—of course he’d grown hard again, and you could hold him, point him down to that wet embrace awaiting him patiently at the edge of the sink.

Joel cursed under his breath.

“‘Course I do…” he said, voice hoarse, “Y’always look—”

“I mean…with your baby inside me, Joel. Right here.”

As if to put a finer point on your words, you nestled the head of his cock inside the first inch of your body. Joel had to seize the laminate underneath you and grit his teeth to keep from letting out a groan too loud. That tip may as well have been a first-rate conductor of heat, and your warmth the thing that might send him spilling again

“You don’t—” Joel choked out, nearly incensed, “—don’t know what the hell you’re sayin’, baby. What that means.”

In truth, there wasn’t a world Joel Miller could imagine where a girl like you could give more than a passing thought to getting knocked up by him—a man his age. What good would it do? You had your whole life laid out before you like a four-course dinner spread; there was no sense whatsoever in letting the meal go to waste on him.

He communicated as much by moving to pull out.

You met the effort with a push of your own, sinking down another inch or two on his shaft and smiling when you saw his eyes roll back in his head at the dizzying friction.

“I know more than enough, old man—” Grin stretching ear-to-ear as you dug your heels in his ass and tugged him deeper, “—who do you think taught me all this?”

Of course, it had been Joel.

Always, always him—the only one, in fact.

Your walls drew him in like a hug. For once, Joel conjured up the strength to take a look between your lower half and his, and when he did, the next moan was inevitable. It trickled through his lips. Your body looked sublime swallowing a third of his cock, and it was almost as though a maggot had crawled into his brain, chanting:

‘Make her full. Make her yours. Tell any man who’d even think of looking her way she belongs to someone else.’

He couldn’t.

Joel would never be so selfish. Just think of her youth.

But when his gaze drifted back to yours, every thought and any word besides seemed gently to melt away. Beneath him, your eyes were two pools of desire.

“You like this…don’t you, Joel?” Your voice was tiny.

“I do.”

In fact, he loved it.

“Then why can’t we?” Why shouldn’t we?

Minuscule now, the words that reached him barely exceeded a whisper. It was as though the moment itself had drained all fear from your face—and out of Joel, all common sense from his brain—leaving you both to stare at the other with shared, stupid, anoetic looks of bliss. The man who had you beat by thirty-odd years seemed nearly of the same mind, with almost identical ignorance.

Idiocy.

“Just once?” Joel croaked.

Somewhere underneath, unseen, you smiled.

“Just one?” you murmured back.

He sank in another inch. When your walls contracted around him, Joel’s hands found your hips by force of habit and pushed your back against the glass behind it. The mirror was cool, and inside you, Joel was throbbing.

“Once,” he repeated, not thinking too deeply.

“One,” you said, with a world of more purpose.

Joel relinquished the last three inches, and with it, all of his resolve. The handsome, scarred, and plainly greying features all twisted as one, and the expression that you knew too well to mean that the man was feeling good took on the slightest hint of guilt. He gripped you tighter.

“One?” Joel panted. Confused.

He pulled out halfway just to find his home again. Your pearly slick mixed together with his spend, and both coated over Joel’s shaft in a pretty, generous sheen.

“One more of you, I mean.” You sounded too sweet. There was no way in hell you’d actually meant it.

Joel’s cheeks flushed again, but he didn’t stop, either.

“Baby…” he trailed off instead. He pushed in, pulled out, felt your tender little hole make an ‘o’ around his shaft, and then he kissed the edge of your left cheek—maybe to rein in the need in his words before he spoke again: “One’a me takes and I’m givin’ ya fifteen more, y’hear?”

The smile he received told him as much as he needed to hear. He probably wouldn’t have believed it even if you’d said the words yourself. Joel’s thrusts sped up, and as the pleasure distended in the pit of his stomach with the friction and the feel, his words flowed a little more freely.

In disbelief, “Wanna be a mama that bad for me, huh?”

Your grin grew bigger. You nodded your head.

“Make your old man a daddy, is that it?”

Exactly. Senseless as it was, your look said it all.

To have slipped between the grooves and ridges of Joel’s brain and caught wind of even a fraction of the things he wanted to do to you then, a smarter girl would have run. Would have shoved him back out as swiftly as she’d let him in and told him no, that’s gross, and gone home. And, had the grey matter floating inside your own skull not been so completely dominated by primal need and wanting, that’s likely what you would have done, too. Instead, with a head full of lewd, youthful stupidity, you seized the black-grey curls dangling at the nape of his neck and drew him closer. You spread your legs wider.

“That is what you’ve wanted this whole time, right?”

Under his scruff, a muscle tensed as Joel bit down.

That’s all he’s ever wanted.

Let the neighbors talk.

Let them say what they wanted to say—it was probably all true to the point they were trying to make, anyway. That Joel was a pervert, of course. That you were naïve, also true. That you would look too good not to stare in a white cotton frock with a bump underneath, absolutely. These were the ideas permeating your brain and his while Joel took a firmer hold of your sides and brought his nose to rest against yours. With every stab of his hips, he pressed kisses to your soft, parted lips, speaking low:

“That what you want, too, darlin’?” More serious now.

The head of his cock nicked a sensitive ridge inside you, eliciting a whimper, but you nodded. You nodded again, feeling the brush of his stubble at your mouth and your chin, and nodded again when he bottomed out, stuffing you tight. It felt a little more momentous than any other time in the past, now that you were picturing a fullness that wasn’t just him. Him and you: a concrete being to soothe the sting of his absence long after Joel withdrew.

Something to stick.

“Please say it, baby.”

Someone to call yours.

“I want it,” you said, sounding desperate.

A coil was just starting to form in the place you felt him. Drifting up, pulling tight, making your eyes go glossy and wide while they stuck to Joel’s and begged him for more.

“Want what?” He sped up, and his thrusts got sloppy.

“Want you,” you breathed, “Inside me, Joel, please.”

As if predicting your next thoughts, the man lowered his hand to your belly. You hadn’t even noticed the smallest bulge had taken shape beneath the skin. Joel slowed, momentarily, then rubbed the base of his palm against the mound where your body was obliged to make room for his cock inside you. He drew soft, tender circles there and, with the motion, sent stars flying before your eyes.

“Good girl,” he murmured, “Right here?”

“Ri— right there. Right there.”

Joel adored that sound. The soft, elated look, the gentle knoll of flesh in a bump below his hand, the whimpers rolling off your tongue repeatedly, quicker and quicker the more the pleasure inside you continued to build. Joel’s release was coming soon, too. For the hundredth time that night, he silently wished he were a little younger; so he could fill you up once, twice, twenty more times until your insides were stuffed and painted white. As if reading his mind, as he had for you, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss.

“Hope our baby has your eyes,” you murmured to him.

It shouldn’t have had such a strong effect—but of course, it did. Joel pictured the small, sweet infant with irises that shone a bit like his, and his stomach caved in.

Tonight, tomorrow, or ten months down the line, he was getting you pregnant. He’d clear his whole schedule for it

“That right?” And now he couldn’t stop the smile as he spoke, leaning even further in, “What about their nose?”

He kissed the tip of yours.

“Hope they get this.”

He kissed either one of your cheeks.

“These too.”

You had to fight back a laugh while his scruff tickled skin. Two deep strokes away from the brink of release and he still somehow always stayed in tune with your needs.

The threat of your peak was perilously near. Joel’s spend and your slick, tender glaze made a chorus of sounds at each thrust, and the deeper he went, the bigger it swelled. Your smiles couldn’t stay for much longer when the feeling inside you both was being amplified like that. Sensing this, Joel took hold of your face and slipped his touch to cup your chin. He made you tilt your head up to him, as if to ask again, ‘Are you sure?’ and when you nodded, his lips twitched again. A fleeting hint of a grin, like he couldn’t be more eager to finish now if he tried.

Holding your face, cock swollen and throbbing and desperate between your walls, he felt a familiar twitch.

There it is.

[chastiefoul]

jjk men coming home and finding you crying

ft. gojo, geto, nanami, toji fluff and comfort

gojo satoru

you wiped your eyes quickly as you heard the door opened. you took a deep breath, making sure your voice didn’t come as shaky as you said, “welcome home, toru.” with a big grin and the usual paper bag filled with sweets on his right hand he planted a kiss on your head. “i’m home baby.”

you were just about to let out a sigh of relief when satoru suddenly knelt in front of you who’s on the couch, blindfold off as his blue eyes stared as if seeing right through you. “what’s wrong?” he said softly, his knuckles brushing over your cheek with such a careful gesture. “what do you mean?” you tilted your head, cringing inside at the bad feign. “you can’t fool my six eyes, baby. also what kind of boyfriend i’ll be if i can’t even notice when my girl is sad?”

you tried to form a sentence to say as an excuse but the kisses he peppered across your face wasn’t really helping. you chuckled as you whine softly, “toruu.” the white-haired man cupped your face, a gorgeous smile on his face. “my favorite sound, baby,” he said, kissing your lips. “tell me? pleaseeee.” you laughed once more at his emphasis at the last word. “it’s really nothing, toru.”

“i love listening to nothing. we even have some sweets here as snacks,” he said, opening the paper bag excitedly. “i think you just want an excuse to eat it at 8 pm,” you raised an eyebrow, as he grinned. “nonsense, baby. now c’mere, let me hold you while you tell your story.” he put you between his legs, your back resting on his broad chest comfortably. you sighed out of wonderment, thinking how you could be so lucky, being this loved by the man.

“here, pick whatever. this one is my favorite,” he rummaged through the bag that’s on your lap. you looked at him with fondness as his face leaned in beside you to see better. “yeah? you’ll give me your favorite?”

“there’s nothing in the world that you can’t get, baby.” he kissed the side of your face. “now start from the very beginning.”

geto suguru

“if you thought you were doing a great job hiding those tears i have some news for you sweet girl,” geto’s voice was gentle on your ear as he wipe the wet residue underneath your eyes with the inner sleeve of his robe. “i wasn’t really hiding it,” you frowned, somehow not liking the fact that he noticed your little moment of weakness. “yeah? so you were just rubbing your eyes all rough like that for no reason?” he gave you a little smile.

yeah, it was a battle you had lost from start.

he put his arms around you, rubbing your back in a soothing pattern. “what’s wrong baby, everything okay?” you melted right into his touch, resting your head on his chest right on the calming beating of his heart. “yeah, it’s not really a big deal,” you mumbled, your low spirit was really affecting him more than he would ever let you know. his hand kept moving as he once again kissed the side of your head, a low chuckled escaped him. “you’re cute when you think you have a choice on telling me what had upset you.”

you laughed softly at his playfulness, knowing full well to you’ll end up telling your boyfriend everything. “you’re right. but can i tell you later?” you asked, wanting just this peaceful moment to last just a little longer as you held him tight.

“’course baby, got all the time in the world for you.”

nanami kento

nanami already knew that something was off when the house felt a little quiet as he arrived. and then he found you hunched over as you stood behind the kitchen counter. “honey?” you wiped your eyes with what you thought was the speed of sound but it was clear to both of you that you had been crying. “hi ken, how was work?” you replied with a small voice, a smile nanami didn’t particularly like plastered on your face; only because it seemed forced.

“oh no, we’re not breezing past it. come here my love.” and his embrace enveloped you like a dream, all warm and perfect. he stroke your hair ever so softly as he whispered sweet nothings. when you calmed down a little he sneaked a hand under your jaw, rubbing his thumb on your cheek gently, a gesture with amount of love you could only guess. “what’s wrong, hm?” he questioned you, his eyes shone with adoration; there’s only you in that moment.

“i’m okay, ken. more importantly aren’t you tired from work?” there’s a deep crease between the blond’s man eyebrows he heard you say this, as if that was the most offensive thing he had ever heard from you. “’more importantly?’ there could be nothing that’s more important than you, dear,” he said, knowing that concern was from a good place, like he was worrying over you, of course you would fuss over him who just came home from work.

“still…” you hesitated, but he kissed it out of you quickly. “want me to prepare you a bath, love? you know i can get the perfect temperature for you,” he whispered, coaxing you. and he was right, even sometimes he would get it right more often than you. before you could even mumble out another excuse he continued. “and while you do that i’ll prepare dinner, okay? i’m sure there’re still some ingredients left to make that nice meal you like.”

“no, i couldn’t possibly let you do all the work ken-“

“love, i’m here. you can relax, okay? you always do so much for me, let me do this for you,” he reassured you, cupping your face as he trailed your cheeks with soft kisses. you’re still not convinced, as he smiled over your great concern. “do this for me, please?” he tried once more and there’s no way you could refuse that. you nodded, feeling another wave of tears coming out of gratitude for your boyfriend., “thank you ken, i love you so much.”

“i love you too. and when you’re ready to talk, i’m here okay? always.”

toji fushiguro

he lifted you up, your leg instinctively wrapped themselves around his waist as he grabbed both of your thighs to support you. you tighten the hold of your arms around his neck, resting your head on your shoulder, nuzzling closer to his neck; not wanting him to see your post-crying face.

he sat you on the kitchen counter, putting both of his hands on the hard surface, on either side of your body practically refraining you to run away. “what’s wrong pretty girl?” he asked you who’s currently staring at the fingers on your lap as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world. he kissed your shoulder blade, intentionally lingering a little long to hopefully calm your nerves. “nothing, i guess,” you answered nonchalantly, like detaching yourself. “you’re shit at lying babe, you know that right? look at the frown that you’re wearing right now, it’s almost touching the floor,” he said as he kissed your neck next. “mean,” you meant to frown, and you realized you were already doing that for the past hour. fine, maybe he had a point, so what?

“nah, what’s mean is when my girl won’t even tell me what made her upset,” he said, tilting his head confidently, his big hand on your waist as he rubbed your side. the look on his face was enough to make you relent. “fine… you’ll force it out of me sooner or later anyways,” you mumbled as he smiled, knowing that you needed a little push is all to sound your worries. “atta girl.”

“tell me all ‘bout it yeah? don’t leave out a single detail. then maybe if you’re up for it, i can show you that i got many ways to cheer you up,”

[lunarharp]

more phoenix wright situations