#but we have so little information that it could just as easily be him only caring about the red soul

[hees-mine]

Say goodbye - L. Heeseung

Pairing: heeseung X fem reader

Warnings: mature content.

Genre: 18+, ex’s.

Word count: 3k+

-

Ten at night, you found yourself standing outside your ex’s apartment, an apartment you used to frequent on days off or when he planned dates for the two of you at his place, that used to be your second home, but you messed all of that up when you broke up with him seven months ago.

Thinking back now, you realize just how much of a mistake you made, but you were not in a good head space at the time. That being said, it still wasn’t a valid reason for you to dump him. He was the only person who kept all your little pieces together. Even when you were in tough times, he was able to make everything better. Heeseung was the most devoted boyfriend to you. He was your rock. He was literally your everything.

But at some point, you decided to hide your worries from him and keep them to yourself. You knew he’d always be there for you to help you through everything, but you didn’t want to burden him all the time with your issues.

Clearly, you weren’t thinking straight.

As time went on, it only got tougher on you, and hiding things just became the norm. There was a lot going on, and at that time, it was all just too much for you to handle, and you didn’t want to waste his time while you were still figuring things out.

He deserved someone who knew what they wanted and how to communicate what they wanted, not someone who easily changed with the wind and carried too much baggage. So you decided to call it quits with him so that he could find someone who was good for him because you were far from that.

But after these long seven months, you were regretting your decision to leave him. Hell, you didn’t even want to do it in the first place, but you thought it’d be best for you and him.

And that’s all you ever wanted, was the best for him.

He was clearly hurt and shocked when you told him those heartbreaking words, and the look of sadness and confusion on his face made your heart break into pieces.

And it broke into even tinier pieces when he tried everything to get you to change your mind.

“We can spend some time apart, but I’ll always be here for you.”

“I can give you some space.”

“Maybe a little break is all we need.”

He really didn’t want to lose you, but you had other plans, ones you thought would make his life and yours easier. If anything, it only made it worse. It took you too long to realize it months had already passed, and for all you know, he could have someone new by now.

You’d text him weekly, and he’d never respond. You’re surprised he hadn’t blocked you yet, but a tiny little piece of you was grateful that he didn’t cause just seeing that he left your messages on seen was enough for you to hold out an ounce of hope.

You saw him three times since the breakup to pick up all your things. You quietly entered his apartment, never sharing information about how you were feeling, nor did he, but he didn’t have to cause you could clearly see the animosity he held for you.

But who are you kidding? You broke up with him with no explanation other than you needing to sort things out. You’d be upset if someone left you like that, too. You realize how much of a shitty thing that was to do, and you’re so sorry for it.

All that being said you hoped he wouldn’t be too upset when he saw you standing outside his door this late at night.

You inhaled a deep breath and knocked on his door. Not even a minute later, you heard the latch click, and the door creaked open soon later, revealing your ex, the most handsome, sweet man you’ve ever seen in your entire life.

His eyes widened for a moment, surprised to see you there, but the shock quickly died down. The look of annoyance taking over his features was quite evident. “What are you doing here?” He asked, folding his arms over his chest and trying his best not to roll his eyes at that half-assed smile you gave him.

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Posting more soon! Sorry for the inactivity🩵

[atangledfate]

Lanolin's mind was racing a million miles a second as she was trying to come to a rational decision. If they fought back then it could be disastrous! the people were here to fight Eggman not GUN or even other mobians! It was easy to pull a trigger and blow up a machine but killing poeple? That wasn't so easy was it? But more then that it was the legal ramification. If they defied an official order then they became the bad guys. That was the point wasn't it? In the public eye the president was the leader of the free world on mobius. If they defied him, they'd be in the wrong and he knew that. Even IF Lanolin believed that they had done nothing wrong. It would look bad if she decided to stand defiant against them.

That man had won before they ever spoke, and his information was spot on. How did he get that information? was alot that didn't add up but she made a decision even if deep down she knew some might hate her for it.

" I can't say i'm not angry at you, but that's the least of our worries. No matter what play we make, its going to be bad for us... The President is the leader of the free world no matter how much we dislike that ... or hate GUN. If we go against them it's akin to admitting our guilt... we'd be the villains of the story, and then what? Us vs them? how many die in that cross fire... "

She crossed her arms and looked away from Rowan and Blaze clearly she'd put alot of thought into this. Yet it was tearing her up inside, because she knew the way forward would be hard.

" No, We need to get everyone here who has a stake in this. Belle, Surge, Kit, Miles, Sonic, the Chaotix... I have a plan, my own way to deal with it all. But it's risky and we could lose everything... and i know you mean well Rowan but, i think right now trying to argue with them might just make us look more guilty. "

She pinched her nose as she was really hating this, and her own plan was risky and could easily end with Restoration being disolved. But right now that was the most likely outcome no matter what they did. This wasn't a battle of strength or power but cunning, planning, and playing by there rules.

" We have to defeat them at there own game. That means letting them believe they have won, let there people do there investigation and, beating them in the courts. That wont be easy... and it carries alot of risks... so i need everyone one board. Everyone to agree to the way forward. "

" I'm going to call Sonic and the others here, i can't make this decision alone. We have an hour... let's use it! We'll make a game plan and execute it together! we may not win today... but we'll win this war! "

She made her way to the console, and pressed a key and grabbed the microphone. She took a deep breath as she had to think carefully about what she said, she needed to make it seem official since GUN was listening and watching.

" Attention all Restoration Leadership! This is Commander Lanolin! I'm calling an Emergency meeting of all officers, from all teams in the field. Please report to the command center! double time people! This includes Team Sonic, and all Diamond Cutter units! and the Chaotix! report to the command center at once! "

She set down her mic only for Maggie to zip past Rowan through the portal and practically tackle her! which was somewhat uncharacteristic of her, but Lanolin hugged the little Wisp seeing her back and safe. She sighed and looked up at the others with a focused gaze.

" now we wait, once everyone is here... we can share ideas... and plans and come up with a course of action. "

Blaze only observed closely at the interaction, and this young man was clearly more fearsome and cunning than he was letting on. It was truly a right play. Use charisma and charm to win the people while also having a cunning and strategic mind to win the battles people didn't see. Not to mention all the intel they seemed to have on The Restoration. Surge and Kitsunami are most likely public information, though as for Clutch even she couldn't meet him which meant he was the one trying to avoid being in public eye. And she doubts anyone here would go around telling GUN she was a technical Badnik.

Then the call ended and Lanolin turned to her for advice, something she could understand. "I must say, I wasn't expecting such a fearsome president. He almost reminded me of my mother, and her ability to put pressure on anyone while holding the softest smile she could. I fear he may be above even my skill level despite his age, though I'll try. If the worse comes, we may have to abandon the base." The feline would start to think of a counter argument to try and get him to back off.

A portal would then open near the door as Rowan walked out. "This is seriously why I hate GUN. During the war when I went around blasting Eggman base's to nothing they tried several times to follow me. After the third group I sent back injured they finally backed off," the lemur said walking over to the two. "I've been listening from the Shadow Void, and I have a plan. If you trust me enough to talk to him that is. Though I guess I should let you get your free shot on me first." He was sure Lanolin might still be mad at him.

Blaze was a bit stunned to see the lemur, though it seemed he had been listening and seemed to know Lanolin so she would turn her attention to her. "I'm unfamiliar with him, though he seems to know you. If you wish to trust whatever plan he has then I'll support it. If you wish for him to leave, I shall make quick work of that." The feline could easily dash him out of here. And if he fought back, well, it'd end poorly for him.

"Hey, I'm standing right here ya know. I get the whole shadow portal thing throws people off, though I'm a nice guy. Just a bit odd, which I fully accept." If Rowan remember correctly then the feline was Blaze from another dimension.

===========================================================

The Mother Wisp's eyes change to as if she was smiling. "✋︎ ⬧︎♒︎♋︎●︎●︎ ♑︎♓︎❖︎♏︎ ⍓︎□︎◆︎ ♋︎ ●︎♓︎⧫︎⧫︎●︎♏︎ ♒︎♏︎●︎◻︎ ♍︎♒︎♓︎●︎♎︎📬︎." She would open a small portal, one that would take Maggie to where Lanolin was. "☺︎◆︎⬧︎⧫︎ ⬧︎⧫︎♋︎⍓︎ ⬧︎♋︎♐︎♏︎ ♍︎♒︎♓︎●︎♎︎📪︎ ♋︎■︎♎︎ ♎︎□︎■︎🕯︎⧫︎ ♎︎□︎ ♋︎■︎⍓︎⧫︎♒︎♓︎■︎♑︎ ❒︎♋︎⬧︎♒︎📬︎." If a single child gets hurt she wouldn't be controlling herself anymore.

The Mother Wisp then turned gaze back to all the soldiers, and maybe that should know as well. She would suddenly lean down, looking down at them. "I will only say this a single time. I am a Mother Wisp, and while all Wisp are not my creation I still see them as my children all the same. If any harm becomes of them I will not restrain my wrath." She then leaned back up.

[anthurak]

So with Ghostfuckers providing a fair bit of detail on how our four main characters came together and the formation of I.M.P. proper, I thought it would be fun to dive into the potential timeline of Helluva Boss again. Because at this point, I think we can actually glean quite a bit of information from what the show has stated or hinted at.

First off, the confirmed ‘hard dates and times’ we can look at to establish a broad, overall timeframe for the show:

We have Spring Broken taking place (shockingly) during Spring Break, putting it in March.

We have The Harvest Moon Festival coinciding with the actual Harvest Moon (not some Hellish equivalent, but the proper Earth moon), putting the episode on/around September 17th.

Then we have Unhappy Campers which actually notes a specific date with a poster showing that Millie’s big show takes place on July 17.

Finally we have Apology Tour taking place specifically on Halloween, aka October 31.

And now Ghostfuckers has Millie mentioning that it’s been ‘over a month’ since Blitzo and Stolas broke up, meaning either The Full Moon or Apology Tour, which puts us pretty squarely in early December as the current time of the show.

This means we are looking at a total of one year and nine-ish months between Spring Broken and Ghostfuckers.

Which in turn, given the indeterminate amount of time between the first three episodes, I’d say likely puts us at just shy of two years since the start of the show proper with Murder Family, and DEFINITELY a little over two years since Blitzo’s first night with Stolas, getting the Grimoire and the start of I.M.P.

Something that is actually further corroborated by Blitzo’s comment in The Full Moon about Stolas letting them keep the book for ‘another year’, implying that episode likely took place near around the ‘anniversary’ of Blitzo getting the Grimoire from Stolas. And I think we can all appreciate the dramatic irony/angst of Stolitz imploding almost two years to the day as their first night together.

So with a proper timeframe for the show as a whole established, what other interesting things can we glean?

Well for one, I think a couple of seemingly innocuous lines in Western Energy can actually tell us a fair bit about LOONA. Which funny enough, kind of confirms the official creator statement that she is 22, but also makes it a bit more… nuanced.

You see, Blitzo mentions in Western Energy that it’s taken him five years to get an appointment for Loona’s hellbies shot. Now obviously, we can assume that Blitzo started trying to get this appointment not too long after adopting Loona.

Combined with what we know about Loona being less than a month from turning 18 when Blitzo adopted her, this not only confirms that it’s been about five years since Loona was adopted, but also means that Western Energy actually takes place not too long before or after Loona’s birthday. Given that the next episode is Unhappy Campers, probably in the April/May/June range. And also that Loona is actually 23 at this point.

And what’s really funny about this in regards to the official statement of Loona being 22 is that, if anyone else remembers, we actually GOT that statement sometime between the releases of Ozzie’s and The Circus. Which WOULD be a point in the show when Loona IS 22.

Even though Loona would definitely be 21 at the actual start of the series, then turned 22 likely sometime between Spring Broken and C.H.E.R.U.B.S. then turned 23 sometime around Western Energy.

Admittedly I’m not sure how any of this might be actually relevant or otherwise significant aside from simply having a good idea when Loona’s birthday is, but I think it’s a fun detail nonetheless.

Now speaking of characters with confirmed ages that the fandom has become way too fixated on, let’s talk about Octavia.

Obviously, given that we are way over a year since Loo Loo Land, Octavia is DEFINITELY NOT 17 anymore. Heck, given that we’re clearly close to two years since that episode, Octavia could easily be 19 at this point. Remember that unlike Loona, Octaiva being 17 was mentioned officially before she even appeared in the show, meaning that we really HAVE to assume that she is 17 in Loo Loo Land. Other than that, the only mention we have of Octavia being 17 is in The Circus, which really only means that the present-day portion of that episode (along with Ozzie’s and Queen Bee, given that they specifically take place the night before) takes place less than a year after Loo Loo Land. Like if those episodes take place in early-mid October and Octavia’s birthday is in November, then she would be 19 at this point.*

And while we’re on the topic of Ozzie’s, Queen Bee and The Circus, ANOTHER notable detail that might be easy to forget is that Ozzie’s happens to take place on Moxxie’s and Millie’s one-year wedding anniversary. Which gets particularly interesting given what we now know from Ghostfuckers.

We know, or at least can infer, from Millie’s narration (“that year I spent getting to know your ragtag team”) that Millie joined up with Blitzo, Moxxie and Loona about a year before they formed I.M.P. Which in turn also coincided with Blitzo’s and Stolas’s reunion, given that Blitzo is shown to have the Grimoire in the flashback of the four moving into their new offices.

What makes this interesting is the fact that Moxxie and Millie seem to have been ALREADY married when Blitzo got the Grimoire and set up I.M.P. Which given, again, that Ozzie’s specifically takes place on the M&M’s one-year wedding anniversary, I think REALLY narrows down the timing of a number of events.

Like given that Ozzie’s takes place AFTER both The Harvest Moon Festival and Truthseekers, we have to assume that Moxxie’s and Millie’s wedding likewise probably happened after September.

And we know from The Full Moon taking place shortly before Halloween and the previously-discussed lines from Blitzo implying that it’s not too far off from the ‘anniversary’ of him getting the Grimoire from Stolas, that Blitzo’s and Stolas’s first night together probably happened in-or-around October.

So… putting all of these together, I think we can in fact narrow down Moxxie’s and Millie’s wedding, Bitzo’s and Stolas’s first night together AND the start of I.M.P. all to October.

Millie’s and Moxxie’s wedding, and by extension the events of Ozzie’s, Queen Bee and the present-day sections of The Circus, probably happens at the start of/early October.

Then just a few weeks, or even days, later, Blitzo tries to swipe the Grimoire and has his first night with Stolas. Heck, you want a fun theory/headcanon? What if Moxxie and Millie getting married actually spurred Blitzo into accelerating his ideas/plans for a human-assassination business and going after the Grimoire? Because he wanted to have a better business/life for Moxxie and Millie?

Which then puts the ‘moving in’ flashback from Ghostfuckers and the proper start of I.M.P. in late/end of October. I mean, given that Murder Family and a number of other episodes have released on Halloween, and given the apparent in-universe significance of the date for demons we learned about in Apology Tour, it would be rather appropriate for the Immediate Murder Professionals to have opened for business on Halloween.

And one other notable detail about Millie joining Blitzo's crew specifically a year before the proper start of I.M.P., meaning three years before the current time of the show, is that this gives us about a two year window (really more like a year and a half given Western Energy) wherein Blitzo recruited Moxxie.

Now, will any of this be actually relevant or important to the story going forward? I mean, probably not much. I imagine it's mostly just the hard-dates I mentioned at the start which establish an overall timeframe for the show that are really worth keeping in mind.

I will say that Octavia being old enough to inherit her father’s position and power does feel like a chekhov’s gun that could become important in whatever ‘Goetia Trial’ it’s looking like we’ll see in the next episode or two.

But mostly, this is just some fun analysis and ramblings.

--

*Which of course perfectly lines up with how much Octavia has been emphasized by characters and narrative alike to not be a CHILD anymore. Like as of Western Energy, she’s apparently considered fully capable, at least by law, of inheriting all of Stolas’s position, power and holdings should he die, which was the entire reason Andrealphus wanted Stella to call off her hit. Which would line up perfectly with Octavia having turned 18 sometime between then and The Circus.

[icewindandboringhorror]

Lineup of all of the characters that appear long enough to need a visual representation of them in the game lol

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 2

in which fem!reader is feeling insecure about how inexperienced she is around spencer's friends and seeks his expertise to amend the problem

series masterlist

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: inexperienced reader, oral f receiving, (MUNCH!SPENCE RETURNS), fingering, (very) insecure reader, softdom!spencer, sub reader, nipple stuff, kinda sorta implied age gap, god i'm probably forgetting things pls lmk if i missed something important a/n: i've been laboring at this bad boy every day for so long i had to immediately post once it was completed lol. there will be a part three ... maybe i already started it ..... anyway i love u guys and i hope this is a satisfactory part two!! PLS lmk if you liked it!! hearing from u makes my day :')

When Spencer dropped you off at Penelope’s apartment for your first girl’s night—the hostess had promised you, JJ, and Emily lots of gossip sans 'icky men'—you had been ecstatic. You wouldn’t stop rambling to him about how excited you were. 

When he picks you up two and a half hours later, he can hardly get a word out of you. 

It’s not his fault, of course—well, not really, anyway. It’s just that all the girls had wanted to talk about was sex. A topic on which you held very little expertise and had essentially nothing to contribute. Out of the four, you were the only non-FBI agent, the youngest, and undoubtedly the least experienced. It was like high school all over again, except you actually desperately wanted to impress Spencer’s friends. All in all, you weaseled your way out of sharing without giving away that you were still very much a virgin. Sure, you could have said ‘we did hand stuff two weeks ago’, but you had a feeling these women wouldn’t consider that very impressive. 

But you can’t easily relay that information to Spencer—even when he immediately picks up on your sullen mood. He asks you what’s wrong as you make your way down the echoey staircase, but you hold back, muttering something along the lines of we’ll talk about it later. 

Later doesn’t come on the sidewalk outside. It doesn’t come in the car, or at any point during the twenty minute drive, but you feel it rapidly approaching as you climb the stairs to Spencer’s apartment. He unlocks the door and holds it open for you, doesn’t speak as you kick off your shoes and wander aimlessly into the living room.

“Did you eat?” He finally asks, hanging his keys on a hook by the door and glancing over to where you linger in the center of the room like a ghost. 

“Not hungry.”

You both know that wasn’t the question, but he lets it go. 

“Alright... well, I was thinking—“

“Why haven’t we had sex?”

The question flies from your mouth before you can stop it. It tastes like metal and you wish you could take it back as you stand there, cheeks hot and awaiting a reply. It seems you’ve thoroughly astonished Spencer as he gapes at you like a fish out of water for several silent moments, eventually opting to shove his hands in his pockets and shake his head at the wall as he processes the question. 

“I… I don’t know. We just haven’t. Does that bother you?”

Suddenly your whole body feels intolerably warm. Your fingers twitch against your thighs. Of course it bothers you. 

“Do you just not want to? You aren’t attracted to me like that?”

God, you despise how fragile your voice sounds—how much you obviously care, how insecure you clearly are. Spencer picks up on it, despite your most fervent wishing that he wouldn’t, and approaches, stopping a few feet away. You stare at the span of oriental design on the floor between your feet. 

“That’s not at all what I said, angel. I wish you wouldn’t put words in my mouth.”

“Well, then… say something else,” you plead quietly, childishly, still unable to meet his eyes. Prove me wrong. 

He sighs, which does not bode well for you. You wonder if you accidentally triggered the early demise of your relationship and christ do you wish you could rewind. When he steps closer, when his hands find your arms, you’re not sure where to look. But the low, sweet tone of his voice entices you to finally meet his gaze, charmed like a snake as his eyes dart between yours. 

“You know that’s not how I feel.”

You shake your head earnestly, looking up at him with wide eyes as he slowly rubs your arms. 

“No. No, I don’t know that.”

Spencer frowns, glancing at your lips as he speaks. It’s impossible to not do the same when he’s standing so close. 

“But I’ve told you. I don’t understand how you couldn’t know how far from the truth that is.”

You think back to two weeks ago—the first and only time he’d ever done anything more than kiss you. A different kind of flush replaces the shameful one in your cheeks as you try to make your case and not get distracted by the memories of his hands all over you.

“So why won’t you prove it?”

It’d been intended to come out cool, but instead you sound a little desperate, a little out of breath as you realize you and Spencer somehow ended up so close to each other you can feel the warmth radiating from his body. 

“Is that what you need from me? More proof?”

He speaks so lowly, his fingers press into the flesh of your arms portentously, and you think maybe you’ve poked the bear one too many times. But you won’t back down now—not when you think you might actually get what you want. 

So you look up at him and nod, throat too dry to speak. His eyes are deceptively soft, but you don’t miss the big bad something lurking just beneath the surface of the placid hazel. 

“And how do you think I should prove it?”

“I told you what I want,” you whisper, speaking above your pounding heart. 

“Not tonight, honey. Choose something else.”

“Well—that’s not fair,” you stammer, “the whole point is for you to want to have sex with me.”

Spencer smiles a little, tucking hair behind your ear. “I do want that. I promise you I do. But there are other things I want us to do first.”

“Then I want to do that, too! I just—I don’t know what I’m doing, and you do, and I’m already out on a limb by asking for this much. I know this is what I want but I need you to take the lead here. I trust you, Spencer.” You top off the monologue with an imploring gaze—hoping it delivers even a fraction of the impact that his puppy-dog eyes always have on you. 

He seems to study every square inch of your face as you wait in suspense for him to say something. At long last, his lips part—to no avail for several more seconds as he regards you. 

When the words finally do come, they’re an immense relief of pressure. 

“You’re going to promise me that you’ll communicate honestly. That means telling me if we need to slow down or stop, or if you don’t like something—”

“I promise,” you say, perhaps over-eagerly, offering him your extended little finger. 

An incredulous smile narrows his eyes. 

“Is this a pinky-promise?”

“It is.” You wiggle the finger in emphasis, and he shakes his head, smiling wider as you link pinkies. 

“I left you with Garcia for far too long.”

You shush him, disentangling your hands to cup his jaw and press your lips to his. It’s sweet and smiley until it isn’t—until everything slows down like sticky molasses and his hand is ghosting over your cheek, your neck, the curve of your waist, finally substantiating itself on your hip—the other encouraging you to tilt your head back as he deepens the kiss and you feel yourself melting under the heat of his touch. 

The pressure of his body against yours builds until you’re forced to take a step back, and then another, and another. Without question you allow yourself to be herded toward the bedroom, walked slowly backward as he keeps kissing you and blindly trusting he’ll make sure you don’t run in to anything. The bedroom door clicks shut behind him, and it is in all practicality a pointless gesture—but you find it incredibly comforting nonetheless.  

It’s too warm beneath your sweater and his hands are cool as they slip under the hem, sliding against the curve of your hip. Spencer’s never seen you without a shirt, you realize, as he pulls away from the kiss by only centimeters.  

“Off?” he mutters, thumbing at the knit fabric. And while you’re far from confident, you’ve certainly been making progress in this area. You help him tug it over your head without a word, noting a distinct and surprising lack of terror within yourself as you watch for his reaction to you. Hands glide slowly up your waist and you find yourself enchanted by the slight furrow of his brow, the parting of his lips. He traces down the lacy edge of your bra, skimming sensitive skin as he goes. 

“Pretty,” he murmurs. “You’re… so pretty.”

It seems you’ve rendered him uncharacteristically prosaic. The reaction might be underwhelming if it were anyone else—but Spencer Reid is a man who probably knows every synonym for pretty in the English language. Looking at you, he can’t think of a single one. In an odd way, it’s the highest compliment he could pay you. Your cheeks heat and your stomach flips as he drags a knuckle up the center of the cup, and you can feel it through the layers of lace and fabric. He leans forward, ghosting his lips over yours and continuing to run his fingers over the sensitive spot. “Do you know how pretty you are?”

This is one argument you will not be winning—one he’ll keep bringing up at the most inopportune times until he gets his way. 

“Spencer…”

“Don’t Spencer me. I’m asking you a question.”

The words don’t seem nearly as harsh as they really are when they’re delivered velvet-soft, with his lips and hands on you—when he’s so deftly popping the button on your jeans and dragging the zipper down with all the quickness of a slight-of-hand. It makes it hard to focus, even harder to speak. 

“We have… we have differing views on this matter.”

Generous handfuls of your hips and ass are taken as he helps you tug down your jeans before you kick them off, now left just in your underwear. 

“I thought I argued my point fairly well last time you were here. You didn’t learn anything from that?”

“Mm… maybe you just need to remind me.”

“Oh, I think I have to,” he agrees through a smile you can only hear. Gentle fingers skim up your back and tap the clasp of your bra. “How about this? Can we take this off?”

Any confidence from earlier crumbles and you loose a nervous hum—which is not the enthusiastic yes you’re sure Spencer will be seeking all evening. He pulls away, features etched with the beginnings of concern and a searching gaze. Asking would be unnecessary; the words simply come tumbling out of you. 

“What if you don’t like how I look?”

Spencer doesn’t even blink.

“That’s not going to happen.”

How you wish you could have the same assuredness in yourself that he seems to. 

“But what if… what if you’ve been with other girls who are more, like—I don’t know, just—better? Prettier?”

“Honey, you’re—” a sigh, a pause as he searches for the words—his eyes dart up and down your form, assessing, and when he looks back up at you, they’ve cleared and softened. He pulls you a little closer, rubbing circles into your back with his thumb. “I’m not thinking about anyone else right now. I’m not interested in anyone else right now. I already think you’re perfect, and I’m going to keep thinking that regardless of how you look. When I look at you, I’m not looking for things to critique. Do you understand me?”

As far as sentiments go, it’s a nice one. But the pressure of being seen still feels like an impossible burden. You whine, leaning your head against Spencer’s chest. He accepts your weight and runs his hand over your back as you look up at him. 

“But what if I’m hideously deformed?”

His eyebrows raise. 

“You’re not.”

“But what if I am?”

“Okay. It seems like you don’t feel ready yet, which is completely fine, we just won’t—”

“No!” you protest. “I am ready. I am. But… you have to promise to be nice to me no matter what. Or break up with me if you don’t like what you see so I don't have to wonder.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he says, kissing you, “and the only thing I’m willing to promise is that I’ll think you’re perfect. Me being nice will come as a natural byproduct of that which is very different than being nice by artifice. Take it or leave it.”

A moment of hesitance—but it’s short-lived. This is more important than your insecurities. Spencer is more important. 

“Take it,” you mumble against his lips. His fingers trace up the smooth skin of your back, all the way to the fabric and metal hooks on your bra. 

“Thank you.”

You wouldn’t have thought Spencer’s genius would manifest in being really good at undoing the clasp of a bra, but you can truly say you’re impressed by the ease with which he does it. It falls to the floor, leaving you completely shirtless for the first time in front of him. 

“Well?” you murmur, arms crossed defensively underneath your chest, because you understand overtop would sort of ruin the whole thing. “What’s the verdict?”

“You,” Spencer manages after a moment—you literally watch him memorizing every square inch of your body— “are ridiculously beautiful.”

The way his voice gets quieter makes your stomach flip. It sounds genuine. Too genuine to be faked. 

“So… no breakup?”

It seems that the more vulnerable you feel, the less likely you are to take a compliment. Spencer, who is always seeking patterns, probably recognizes this one, and doesn’t push you so hard this time. After a silent moment, he sighs and cradles your face in his hands. 

“You’re gorgeous. I hate how incapable you are of seeing that. We’re going to talk about this.”

“Yeah, but not right now, right?” you murmur, standing up on your tiptoes to kiss him. 

“Not right now,” he agrees. 

His lips are so soft and gentle against your own it feels like love, it feels like being talked down from the ledge of your own insanity. Somehow the way he strokes your hip feels more nurturing than sexual. It’s like he has sex and chaste affection on tap, able to turn them on and off at will. You’re happy to drown in either. Ideally, both.

After a while, his hands begin roaming farther, become bolder in their excursions over your flesh. Up, down, over your waist and ribs. Clearly Spencer had been trying to ease you into it, but you still can’t hide your sharp inhalation when his thumbs graze the sensitive skin of your breasts. He pulls his lips from yours, hands splayed over your sides. 

“Sit down.”

It’s much too gentle to be a command, but you frown. 

“Without you?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he chuckles, lightly squeezing your waist. “Just sit. Utilize patience.”

You sit on the edge of the bed with an atypical reticence—you’re just a little too nervous for a snippy comeback. Spencer picks up on this, features softening sympathetically as he undoes his tie with nimble fingers. It lands somewhere on the bed and he leans over you, resting his weight on his fists and offering you a quick kiss. His voice is soft and designed to soothe as he speaks, mere inches away from your face, and so quiet it could only be heard at this range. 

“Are you nervous?” Cloth from the duvet pinches between your fingers. For a moment you don’t reply, dropping your head to watch when Spencer runs his hand over your thigh. “It’s okay if you’re feeling anxious, baby. We don’t have to do anything tonight.”

You expel a frustrated huff. 

“I want to. Just because I’m nervous doesn’t mean I don’t want this. I can handle a little bit of anxiety.”

He hums, dropping to a crouch and inserting himself directly in your line of sight. 

“I know you can. But you don’t always have to push yourself so hard.”

“I’m fine pushing myself a little. I pinky-promised I would tell you if I wanted to stop, remember?”

“Oh, how could I forget a pinky-promise?” he smiles. 

How could you forget anything, you think, becoming flushed and silently insolent at his dulcet teasing. 

“Please, do something.” It’s a whisper, brushing his lips as you lean down until you’re nose to nose. His hands are on the back of your legs. 

“I’m working on it.”

“It doesn’t look like it.”

“You’re smart, angel. Tell me why I've got you naked on my bed and I’m kneeling in front of you. Where could I possibly be taking this?”

Oh, you have a pretty strong inkling—but you’re scared to voice it and be wrong. Instead of risking it you shake your head slowly, shyly. What you’re not expecting is for Spencer to duck his head down, slide his hands up the side of your thighs and press kisses to the delicate skin there. It feels good—better than you’d have thought. 

“You don’t know?” he asks, looking up at you through burnished gold-rimmed pupils. “No guesses?”

“No guesses,” you agree breathlessly, hotter than you were when you had your clothes on and all the energy in your body condensed into one point between your legs. Spencer hums like he’s considering your answer, smoothing his thumbs over the soft skin of your thighs so gently it feels like burning. 

“I don’t think you’re being entirely truthful. Lie back, sweetheart.”

You do as you’re told, scooting up on the mattress and falling back on your elbows. Spencer wastes no time in climbing over you, leaving you in much the same position as the last time you’d been in his bed. The sheets feel cool against your bare skin, but he is exceptionally warm and solid over you. 

“I’m being honest.” Lie. “I don’t know what you’re going to do.”

Lips find the most sensitive spot of your neck, dancing over it torturously. The front of his shirt brushes your chest. Your thighs clamp together. 

“I don't like being lied to. Just say it, baby. I know you know.”

“Spencer,” you whine, fists bunching the excess fabric around his waist. Warm breath condensates on the skin of your neck as he chuckles. 

“You don’t like being teased, huh?”

“Please, Spence,” you whisper. You notice the pattern of his breathing pause momentarily before it all comes rushing out at once—and you catalogue that particular plea for later usage. 

“I can’t say no when you ask me like that.”

You push your fingers into his soft hair. 

“I know.”

It was a lucky guess. 

He’s still for a moment, relishing the feeling of your hands in his hair, before darting up to kiss you. 

“I’m going to use my mouth this time,” he murmurs against your lips. Though you knew that was what he intended, your heart stumbles in its perpetual march. “Is that okay?”

“What if I…”

You trail off. This is a very intimate situation which you’re not quite sure you have delicate enough language for. Or maybe you’re just stalling. Either way, Spencer is eternally patient with you. 

“You need to stop worrying so much, pretty girl. I’d love to do this for you. But it’s your call.”

“Love is a pretty strong word.”

“Sometimes I think not strong enough.”

The way he’s looking down at you so tenderly, brushing hair from your face, makes you think maybe he’s not just talking about how much he would love to go down on you. Regardless, it fortifies your trust in him. Spencer is the kindest person you know. He’s so clearly an enthusiastic giver. Why not allow him to give you this? 

“Okay,” you breathe. “You can—yeah.”

As usual, you’re impressively awkward, but he doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, you think he not-so-secretly delights in being the one to fluster instead of the other way around. Rarely has he mentioned his past romantic and sexual exploits, but gathering bits and pieces, you assume he was a fairly late bloomer. He probably knows what it’s like to be nervous and so deeply unsure of yourself. 

“Do you remember what you promised me?” he whispers, pressing butterfly-light kisses to your jaw. Your eyes flutter shut as his lips traverse down your neck, teeth skimming over the delicate skin while your breath catches. 

“Mhm.”

“You’re not gonna break that promise, are you?”

His voice, soft and muffled by your skin, is the most exhilarating and disorienting high. Your entire body buzzes with anticipation, satisfied only where his lips soothe and his body presses against yours. It takes a moment for you to remember to reply. 

“No.”

Reward comes in the form of his thumb brushing over the peak of your breast at the same time as he murmurs, “good girl.”

Your stomach flips at the endearment—you squeak and arch into him slightly. Spencer’s hand slides down your ribs as he chuckles, lips pressed just above your collarbone. 

“You’ve never called me that before,” you shudder as he continues kissing over your neck. 

“It’s not appropriate in most conversational contexts. But I can tell you’ve always been good.”

“Really? How?”

Spencer pauses, pushing himself up to regard you with searching eyes. The places he’d kissed feel cold without him. 

“I just can. You’re thinking too much, baby. I need your focus on me.”

“It is on you,” you huff. 

You watch his expression shift minutely. He loves games. Of course he’d love playing with you. That knowledge is why you’re only partially surprised when his thumb catches on your nipple again. 

“Is it? You’re only thinking about how it feels when I touch you here?”

A stammering nod. 

He toys with the sensitive flesh only a second more, amusement lighting his eyes, before dragging his hand down, down, down until it’s between your legs. Fingers trail over your clothed core, skimming the most sensitive part of you while your breath hitches.  

“Tell me how it feels when I touch you here.”

“Really good,” you admit, a heavy exhale escaping parted lips as he pins you with his gaze. 

“Really good, right. I can make it feel even better. Do you want me to make it feel better?”

Your thighs drop fully open and he adds just a bit more pressure until you’re pushing against his hand in search of more friction. 

“Yes please.”

“Then no more questions. I need you to trust me.”

Your answer is a breathy, dreamy sigh—you’d do anything, say anything for him. 

“Okay.”

Spencer kisses you, absorbing your noises of protest as his hand ceases between your legs and settles on your hip. But you’re trusting him. No whiny complaining. No unnecessary questions. 

Things go much quicker once you’re not interrupting him every twenty seconds to say something. His lips reattach to your neck, retracing their path (albeit quicker) until he’s below your collarbone. You watch in rapt fascination, twisted brows and parted lips as he peppers kisses down over your breast before dragging his tongue over your nipple. A jolted little moan spills out because you hadn’t been prepared to hold one in. Waves of hair fall over Spencer’s face, obscuring him from your vision, but you don’t think to push it away—your body is too busy processing the sensation to be much use on any other front. He darts his tongue over the peaked flesh, eliciting more little open-mouthed exhalations of pleasure from you. Earlier you hadn’t really thought it necessary for your bra to come off—you had no idea this could actually feel so good. A moment later he begins toying with the other nipple and you gasp as a bolt of heat goes straight to your core. 

You curse, further words catching in your throat as he suddenly switches, mouthing at your other breast and letting the cold air chill the other until you have goosebumps. It feels a little like hypnosis—you’re unable to move or speak as his tongue laves over you. Soon he’s replacing his mouth with a thumb again, sucking a mark onto your tit just above your nipple. You whimper a little at the pleasant brutality of it, hoping as he releases that it won’t soon fade. Spencer swipes over the stinging skin and presses a tender kiss to it, almost like an apology—but you sincerely doubt he’s actually sorry. 

Then he resumes his descent, leaving soft kisses down between your breasts, over your ribcage and stomach—when he reaches your hips, he doesn’t pull off your underwear all at once. Rather, he slides the fabric down centimeter by centimeter, kissing the revealed skin like it’s precious. 

This time you don’t need to be told to lift your hips. He helps you slip the final piece of clothing down and off of your legs, flinging it somewhere blindly before getting comfortable between your thighs once more. Your heart pounds with arousal and anxiety as his arms wrap around your thighs and his hands rub up and down the tops of them slowly. 

“God, you’re fucking beautiful,” he mumbles, loosening his hold on one leg to thumb at your folds. They glisten in the dim light of his bedroom as he gently reveals your clit. A soft whine escapes you when he nudges at the aching bud, slipping over it a few times and alleviating a bit of the pressure that’s been building. “Shh, baby. I know. I’m gonna take care of it. You’re being so good for me.”

Fuck. The way he talks to you makes your brain turn to mush—you’re utterly incapable of forming an intelligent thought. Spencer has rendered you a complete idiot, and you’re not upset about it in the slightest. 

He presses more gentle kisses to the creases between your thighs, just above your clit—everywhere except for where you need him most. Everything aches for him in the best way and at least you’re too turned on to be very insecure anymore. All you want is relief. But you’re trusting him. 

Thankfully, he delivers. 

The tip of his tongue grazes so lightly over your clit that if you weren’t this worked up you may not have felt it at all. In your current state, however, the stimulation echoes through every atom of your being. Every muscle is tense, frozen in place—you can’t even breathe for a second. He does it again, a little flatter, with a little more pressure, and you whimper. It’s a delicate thing, almost pained and definitely overwhelmed as he gently begins working his tongue against you. Your head cranes up to watch, your jaw drops. Approximations of curse words try to form, but come out only as, “f-fu—oh,” so whiny and soft it doesn’t even sound like you. He hums sympathetically, but you suspect it morphs into a chuckle as you continue to gasp and mewl. 

There are times where you can hold back sounds of pleasure. When you’re by yourself, it’s typically not a problem. Two weeks ago when Spencer was knuckle deep in you for the first time, it had certainly been a challenge, and you’d pretty much given up. But this—this is something else entirely. It feels like religion. It feels like compulsion. Even if you had the slightest modicum of control over yourself, which you currently don’t, you wouldn’t want to keep quiet. You want him to know what he’s doing to you. 

So you let every cry, every whine and whimper drag from your lungs, unbidden and unshaped. You’re new at this, after all—every broad lick feels so good that you have no fucking idea what do to with your hands or how to stop rolling your hips or how to censor your sounds. 

“Spencer,” you keen in one of the moments you remember to breathe. He moans against you, taking you into his mouth and sucking lightly. Your hips buck. “Oh, my—fuck!”

The hand that’s still around your thigh rubs soothing lines up and down. The one that’s spreading you open pulls your folds apart a little bit further, granting him more access to your clit. He flicks his tongue and you almost come then and there, vision going gray for a split second. 

“Wait, wait, Spence—“ you squeak, writhing and trying not to squeeze your thighs together for fear of hurting him. He pulls back and looks up at you, lips shining with your slick and eyes glazed with lust. Fuckfuckfuck he looks so fucking good. “Please, just… slow down, or I’m gonna… or it’s gonna be over.”

The corner of his mouth twitches as he rubs circles into your inner thigh. 

“It’s over when you say it’s over. You don’t have a refractory period. We don’t have to stop at one.”

“Oh—you don’t—you don’t have to do that,” you stammer. 

“I know I don’t have to. But if you want me to, I want to. You taste so good, angel girl.”

Well, shit. 

He looks absurdly sexy between your legs like this. You have no idea how you got so lucky, but you don’t plan on taking it for granted. Your fingers tangle in his hair. 

“I don’t know if I can do more than one,” you admit shyly, slightly embarrassed by how little you know about yourself and in general compared to Spencer. Hazel eyes sparkle in the warm light. 

“How about we start with one and see how it feels?”

Your voice is breathy when you respond, “okay,” already impatient for him to get back to it. Spencer seems just as eager, immediately kissing between your legs with a passion that makes your lips jealous. 

The flat of his tongue presses circles against you and your hips buck, already ramping up to that point you’d been at before calling a time-out. Slowly his fingers find their way to your entrance and he teases you with them, dipping in to the first knuckle before withdrawing again. If you could form words, you’d beg him to just do it already, but all you can manage is an affronted whine as you tilt your hips down, hoping he catches the meaning. 

Of course he does—pushing two fingers inside you at once. The intrusive stretch adds a sharp edge to the pleasure, makes it more interesting, as your brain short-circuits and you choke out a moan. It only takes a few slow pumps of his fingers in tandem with the pressure of his tongue until your hips are writhing and you’re and mewling desperately, more overwhelmed with pleasure than you’ve ever been. You push his hair back, able to see him for the first time, and fully appreciate the hollow of his cheeks, the way he looks up at you with perfect, glassy half-lidded eyes, the rhythm of his hand and tongue—he takes your clit between his lips once more, sucking lightly, and you’re done for. A pornographic sob escapes from deep within you as you come, but he doesn’t stop. The orgasm lasts longer than you knew one could—although, it’s only your second time, so you don’t exactly have a lot of data to go off of. Your entire body feels warm and floaty, and what he’s doing feels so good you want him even deeper—but you know he won’t give you that yet. Instead you focus on the slow burn of your orgasm, allowing him to carry on for a while until you begin slowly drifting back to earth and it becomes a bit too much. He recognizes the barely-there whine for what it is and pulls his fingers from you carefully, pressing one final kiss to your clit that makes your legs twitch and summons a weak little moan. 

Spencer’s lips find other avenues, over the delicate skin of your thighs and hips and stomach as he slowly drags himself up again. By the time you’re face to face again you’re still breathing hard. You sort of feel like prey underneath his weight, studied so scrupulously, known far more intimately by him than anyone has ever known you before. But there is so much light and kindness in the way he looks at you that you almost can’t make sense of it. 

Maybe it’s possible to be known and still wanted. The possibility spins like a coin on its edge in your mind. An idea you spent so much time trying to nurture and is only just now beginning to sprout. Maybe someone could see you at your most vulnerable, and still find you worthy of kindness. Appreciation. Affection. 

Spencer certainly could, it seems, as he ducks down to kiss you. You dodge it, turning your head demurely. He nudges his head against yours, speaking so, so softly, utterly cloying as he teases, “what? You’re not gonna kiss me now? Is that how it is?”

“No!” you balk, equally as quiet and especially bashful. “Not when you… no.”

“Let me kiss you,” he pleads, so earnestly you turn your head back to face him. His big eyes are hazy, reflecting all the warmth and dizziness you feel. “Let me kiss you. Please.”

You whine.

“I don’t wanna… taste… myself.”

Spencer doesn’t miss a beat. 

“Hm. We’ll need to work on that. Because one day, I’ll make you come just like that again, and then I’m going to fuck you, and you’re really going to want me to kiss you then, angel.”

Something flickers in your core. 

Suddenly you’re not so squeamish. You really want him to kiss you now. But it seems he’s going to have his fun, first. 

“Open.” Without even thinking about it, your lips part. He really ought to be careful with what he tells you to do—you’re all too compliant. Even as his fingers slip between your lips, you’re obediently hollowing your cheeks around them, watching him with big eyes as his own mouth falls slightly open. “Oh, baby,” he croons. “What are we gonna do with you?”

That flicker has returned to a full-fledged throbbing once you open your mouth again, slightly dizzy from lack of oxygen. 

“Can you make me come again right now?” you whisper, grasping lightly at his shirt. He grins like he loves the idea—and you let him have his way, accepting his lips on yours with no complaint. After a few moments, (the taste is surprisingly unobtrusive), he pulls away.

“I would love to.”

-

part three

[bellaphomet3]

Nah something’s up with that fucking goat

[aplaceforstellasscribbles]

Y'know, the plot of WATW relies heavily- you could say is constructed entirely- on the idea that everyone wants to see themself as a good person. No one is the villain of their own story.

Which can be super interesting when writing an unambiguously "evil" character, seeing how they justify and twist things around to frame their actions as morally correct.

It's also interesting when writing a character that isn't unambiguously "evil" or "good." When this person isn't deceiving themself into thinking their actions are good, when they're doing what they were taught is right, when they feel good about what they're doing- they think they're a good person because of course they are, look at all the good things they're doing, look at how kind and generous and thoughtful they are!

And then, maybe, you show them that their actions weren't as universally good as they thought they were, you show them that they hurt people.

What do they do then? How do they move forward from there?

[milla-frenchy]

3 sides of a man

3k3 | Javier Peña x fem reader | ao3 | Masterlist

Summary: you meet the biggest seducer of the DEA. There’s no way you will fall for him. Right? Warnings: 18+ mdni. seducer!javi as we know him, soft!javi, somnophilia, oral (m), piv, creampie. No age specified.

a/n: this is written for @burntheedges 's roll-a-trope challenge. I got secret relationship with Javi 🧡 Thank you for the event Kate 👌❤️

Thank you @aurorawritestoescape for beta-ing 💕 @saradika-graphics for the dividers 🙏 @morallyinept for your Javi's dialogue page 🌻

It was already daylight when you woke up, rays of the sun warming your bare back, the sheets a mess at the foot of the bed. You were facing him, the sun only reaching his hand, placed on your pillow. He was asleep, naked, and his tanned ass was a call to sin. His bent knee was pressed against your bare thigh. You loved when he slept in your bed, which would keep his scent for a few days. A mixture of cold tobacco, cologne, sex. Of him.

Javi.

He sighed in his sleep, rolling onto his back. Revealing his happy trail that seemed to trace a light line down to his bush, and his soft, sleeping cock. Soothed.

You bit your lip, trying to resist the temptation. Your gaze trailed up his body, to his biceps that bore the mark of a hickey you had given him during the night, while he was fucking you slowly, lying between your thighs, keeping you consensually trapped in his arms. Desire overflowed from your folds as you thought about it. Quickly, you raised your gaze to his beautiful face, his carefully groomed mustache, his cheek scarred with the crease his pillow had given him. His messy hair, both from the dance of your two bodies and from the night of sleep.

You were so fucked.

When you joined the ambassador's office, fresh from the US, you didn't expect to break some of your principles. The most important being having a secret relationship with the biggest player of the DEA, who regularly checked out every woman in the department, and used his charm to get around the administrative burden that drove him crazy.

Peña

The first time you saw him act that way, was actually the day you met him. You were sitting in the hallway of the DEA, waiting to be received by the ambassador. You saw this man, wearing clothes that seemed glued to him and a little dated. Dark hair, brown eyes, a cigarette between his lips, walking next to another agent- a blond one. When they passed one of the assistants, the dark-haired man turned around to check her ass, and you hadn't been able to stop yourself from exclaiming a high sigh. He looked at you and paused for a moment before catching up with his coworker.

The ambassador came out of her office at the moment they reached you, and introduced you. Their names were Steve Murphy and Javier Peña. Peña held your hand for half a second too long, and your frown made him smile slightly, until your hands separated. As if you had become a challenge he had to win.

There was no way he would think you would be receptive to his play, even if he was one of the most gorgeous men you ever met.

That man was surely a seducer, but you noticed soon he was a mystery. He loved to check women out, but mostly he seemed to love the power of seduction he naturally had over them. He didn't use flirtatious looks, he didn't have a special or warm attitude. And despite all that, he didn’t have to try hard, they fell for him. You couldn't help but roll your eyes each time you were seeing their eyes sparkle when he spoke to them, or the way they would wrap a lock of hair around their finger.

They did not see that his gaze on them was fake, almost cold. That he just used them to get rid of what was bothering him in his hunt for Escobar. They didn’t realize they were the asset of the moment, forgotten as soon as he got the information or paper he wanted. Replaced quickly by some next asset. You didn’t understand how they could fall for him so easily. 

Of course, he quickly realized you were really not receptive to his play. You didn’t giggle when he spoke to you, you didn’t lean forward when you had something to ask him. You talked to him neutrally at best, but mostly coldly, calling him “Peña”, always. He gave you a piercing look once or twice, seeing that his charm wasn't working with you. 

You even confronted him one day, when you turned towards him on the stairs, and he didn’t have time to look up from your ass fast enough. You started to climb the stairs again, letting out a “no need to look, Peña. You’ll never fuck me.” He raised his hand towards him, ready to answer you, when you cut him off: “and don’t offend me by saying that’s not what you want. You won't pin my name on your list of conquests.” After that, you caught his gaze on you sometimes, but in a different way. Like a burglar searching patiently for the combination to a safe. 

You kept hearing conversations of agents talking about him and how he used his informants to know more about the sicarios. Or even some conversations between him and Steve in the corridors of the DEA:

"Are you fucking her?"

"Sleep with a communist? That would be downright un-American." 

Peña barely hid the sarcasm in his voice.

Nevertheless, you quickly learned that the man you only took for a seducer happened to be one of the best agents of the DEA. Serious, invested, abrupt. Bossy. Never hesitating to speak his mind. He had a bad reputation among some of his male colleagues. He obviously didn’t care at all, and even seemed to enjoy it, but you hated it. Hated the injustice, hated the fact that he was criticized for doing his job better than them. He wasn’t your favorite person in the world, far from it, but his professionalism couldn’t be questioned in good faith.

Another thing his colleagues or superiors might have hated was his sassiness. Sometimes you didn't even know if you should be shocked or amused by his condescending insolence.

One day he saw your half amused, half embarrassed smile, even though you tried to hide it behind your hand. From the day you met, Javi was determined to make you look at him differently. Not even like the other women did. He wanted you to really see him. The real Javi that he never showed to anyone since he moved to Columbia. Step by step, the way you looked at him obsessed him. He didn't care about other people's opinions, except for yours. Partly because you resisted him and he wasn't used to it, but also because he could sometimes see parts of your real personality that you were hiding, just like him, and it was as if he knew instinctively he would like it. So the day he heard your suppressed laughter, he knew how to behave around you.

Javier

What you didn’t know was that the man he was going to show you would make his way into your mind. Offering you sensitivity, even softness sometimes, you didn’t expect. His smile for you was warm. At first, you thought he was playing with you, acting differently just to have you. And there was no way it would happen. You tried to change the way you were beginning to perceive him. But the sincerity he showed, so different from his initial attitude, was slowly winning you over.

It took him months, but you started to call him Javier, instead of Peña. And you realized one day that you liked the sound of his first name on your lips a little too much. 

You didn't roll your eyes anymore when he was talking to you, and he seemed to act slightly differently with the women at the office. After a year in the DEA, he was not only making you smile, but laugh too, and you admired the way he stood up to the ambassador. Or the way he walked down the halls in his leather jacket. Or the way he held his cigarettes.

Your brain tried to warn you that you were screwed, but your heart silenced it. An internal battle your brain was already losing.

He became almost a friend, with whom you spoke about your previous lives. He told you about Loredo, his father and the ranch. You knew that he kept certain aspects of his life secret, but patiently, you were hoping to learn more. You told him about your childhood, in Texas too, your studies, how you had joined the Ambassador's office.

And finally, he became a friend. A friend you suddenly kissed at home one day, before he pinned you against the wall of your dining room, letting out an impatient “I thought you didn’t want me to fuck you?” between two kisses, to which you responded with a breathless “shut up, Javi,” your fingers lost in his tousled hair. “Javi, uh?” he growled, pushing the head of his cock in your cunt.

He fucked you against the wall, and you made him promise never to tell anyone about it, demanding nothing else from him. You really thought it would be a one time thing. Except that the way his cock spread your folds and brushed your g spot was a little too perfect. And the way he talked to you through it, half spanish half english, was way too intoxicating to stop, now that you had tasted it.

And now his tight jeans seemed to scream “fuck me” at you every time you saw him at the DEA.

You saw a clear change in his attitude after the second time you fucked. Probably because he felt you tense up when Colleen showed him her new nail polish. You couldn’t help yourself, even though you quickly pulled yourself together. But not fast enough for him not to notice. He avoided Colleen, and didn’t try to tease you about it. Didn’t play. That night, you told him he could fuck whoever he wanted, just before impaling yourself on his thick cock, after you pushed him against the couch.

“Really? You wouldn't mind?” he smiled, before grabbing your hips and imposing the rhythm he wanted. Or rather, the rhythm he knew you wanted.

You didn’t mention it again, and Colleen never showed him her nails again. He didn’t give compliments in a seductive way anymore either, didn’t turn around to look at every woman he passed in the hallway.

You loved it a little too much, when after you barely opened the door to your apartment, he would slip through the crack and wrap his arm around your waist, holding you tight against him while his lips were already pressing against yours. Your hand resting on his shoulder covered by the leather of his jacket, helped you to keep your balance as he was spinning you around. A spin that made you lose your mind for a moment while your heart didn't know how to stop spinning at all.

It was more and more difficult for you to hear some of his coworkers calling him an asshole. You asked him why he only showed them that side of himself, while you knew how much he had to offer.

“Why would I show them anything else? We work together, they do their job, I do mine, that’s all,” he answered with a shrug. “I don’t care about them,” he added, looking you straight in the eye, which made you swallow loudly, hearing his way of expressing in half-words how special you had become to him.

And on top of his professional skills, he fucked you like a god, making you chant “Javi” in the darkness of your or his bedroom. He was way too hot, enjoying an after sex cigarette, lying on the couch in his jeans, looking at you with his messy hair, as if he already wanted to fuck you again.

Javi 

He respected your choice to keep your relationship a secret, but couldn’t help but let his hand rest on the small of your back for a little too long, when he followed you to the elevator. He was torturing you with his sad puppy eyes when you said ‘no’ to him, for whatever professional reason. Forcing you to frown when someone else was nearby, to make him stop. Then he would stop, smiling, and you would fall a little more for him.

It made Steve smile once or twice, clearly not fooled.

“Are you gonna see Vanessa after work, Javi?” he asked him once, in your presence. You didn’t know who Vanessa was, but the way your heart suddenly curled up on itself made you think that your brain was definitely right, months ago.

“No,” Javi answered, visibly annoyed. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been there.”

Steve smirked before leaving the office.

“You’re ok?” asked Javi, eyebrows furrowed, concerned.

“Yeah,” you replied through gritted teeth, trying to catch your breath after holding it for what felt like far too many seconds. You left for a meeting, while he was rubbing his fingers anxiously.

The thing is, you loved a little too much how he kissed your lips, your nose, your neck. Feeling his moustache move down your shoulder, kissing your skin without stopping before reaching one of your nipples, sucking, nibbling, licking it. Everything about him was sensual and feline. Soft. He was made to love, kiss, fuck. And you realized that you couldn't do without him anymore. And that your heart couldn't bear to share him with someone else.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked you that night, at your place, just after you hung your jacket on the coat rack.

“Talk about what?” 

He tilted his head to the side, and added gently “come on baby, don’t play with me.” 

You tried to smile. Tried to shoo away the invisible hands that were gripping your heart, squeezing it like a lemon.

“Vanessa’s a hooker,” he said, and you stopped him, reminding him softly that he didn’t have to explain anything.

“I just want you to know, hermosa. I don’t want you to get wrong ideas.”

Hermosa. It was the first time he called you that, your little heart starting to beat again and pushing back the pressure that had been increasing on it until then.

“I used to go to that brothel. But I haven’t in a while. In fact… I’m seeing only you, baby.”

“I told you I wasn’t asking anything from you, Javi,” the smile on your lips wasn’t reaching your eyes that were about to burst into tears.

“I know. But there are things we say out loud. And  things our bodies say. I see the way you tense up sometimes. And I don’t want that. There’s no one else.”

Your gaze was downcast as he processed his confession. He gently grabbed your chin, between his thumb and index finger, lifting it towards you.

“Is that ok?”

You nodded, and he gave you the sweetest kiss ever, his soft moustache brushing your skin.

“You still want this to be a secret?” he asked, and you nodded again.

“Okay. It’s hot.” His warm smile was devastating and it was impossible for you not to fall for him. “And seeing you blush and roll your eyes at me in the office… it’s really cute.” This time the smile reached your eyes, and the tears that had been threatening to fall until then dried up. He took you in his arms and kissed you, his hands resting on your cheeks as your arms were wrapped around his shoulders.

You were thinking about it, the morning after having this conversation, lying in your bed facing him asleep, while you could no longer count the number of times you fucked.

Or ignoring how fast your heart was beating for him.

Yeah, you were fucked.

And couldn’t resist the cock in front of you anymore. You wanted to feel it come to life in your mouth, thickening until your lips ached around it.

You settled right next to him, trying to move the mattress as little as possible so as not to wake him. The tips of your fingers lightly ran over his bush, strewn with little white pearls of cum, and your desire from the night that had flooded on him.

The tip of your tongue delicately brushed his cock. Both of your tastes instantly coating your throat. You licked his slit before taking his tip into your mouth.

“Hermosa?” he muttered in a sleepy voice, lifting his head to understand why he was feeling heat spreading from his crotch.

“Shhh, lemme suck your cock, Javi.”

“Damn,” he said, letting his head rest on the pillow, his fingers on his forehead. “You're gonna kill me.”

“I hope not,” you chuckled and took him back into your mouth, your lips focusing on his tip.

And you loved hearing his breathing quicken when you took him deep in your throat.

You loved how his fist tightened in your hair when you licked the thin skin of his balls.

You loved hearing him moan when you sucked his tip, or licked his shaft from his balls to his crown.

You could never have enough and you wouldn't have stopped until his hot cum filled your mouth, if he hadn't placed his hand tenderly on the back of your neck.

“Come here, baby. Wanna feel you against me.”

Your eyes locked with his for a little too long, while you were still kneeling between his thighs, your hand on his shaft, and your lips still rounded around his tip. A twitch of the corner of his lips warmed your heart. You released his cock, letting his precum flow into your throat one last time, and kissed him before laying down on the bed. He settled between your thighs, just like you loved the most. That way you could see him. Lock your eyes with his, while his cock would brush against your walls relentlessly, in the sweetest, perfect way. Like he was made for you. You loved to see that his stare wasn't fake or cold towards you. Day after day, your heart was melting a little more.

And you wanted to keep it a secret, you wanted Javi for you only, for now. You loved this little secret garden that made your story so special, only yours. You loved being the only one, seeing his warm smile and eyes.

His hand brushed your cheek as he asked “what's going on in your pretty head, baby?”

“Just you, Javi…,” you answered.

“Really? Good thoughts, or bad thoughts?”

“Oh, terrible,” you smiled, while your fingers were running through his dark hair.

“Of course. Gonna have to change that, then,” he said, nestling his wide tip at your entrance, the sensation alone making you moan.

“What about those thoughts, now?”

“A little better,” you breathed out, your playful gaze fixed on him.

“Mmmm….” He slid his forearms under your shoulders, pulling you closer to him. “And now?”

You whined and hid in his neck, as he was thrusting in, slower than ever.

“They're… good. Oh my god so fucking good, Javi.”

“I thought so,” he chuckled. “Fuck, baby…” he added, his shaft sinking slowly until your core fully welcomed it. Your eyes were rolling back in the back of your head with every brush against your g spot.

“Keep going, Javi, please,” you whimpered. “I want more, please. I need a little more.”

“I know, baby, I'm not going anywhere. You're always so wet, so tight, so fuckin’ perfect for me.”

He kept thrusting in slowly, like both of you needed it, until you came on his shaft, and he came in your cunt, deep, so deep. Moaning in your neck. Your breaths slowed down, and he kissed your neck and your chin.

You drove to the office in two separate cars, as usual. You went to a meeting as soon as you got there. When you got back to your office and opened your drawer to put a file in it, you found a note in Javi’s handwriting.

“Already miss you. Can’t wait to have you just for me tonight, and feel your skin against mine.”

Javi p masterlist

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[corseque]

Transferring a twitter Dragon Age 4 theory to tumblr:

This is a theory about the very latest DA4 information that people were upset to learn about because they want to wait for the game rather than hear too much, so look elswhere if that is you. I suspect that Rook is called "Rook" for a reason. I suspect their color is purple for a reason.

Rook is associated with trickery and death, a bad omen.

Hmm.... that reminds me a little of a "dread wolf."

I, for a long time, thought the game was called "Dreadwolf" because the main character would be taking on the trials and tribulations and responsibilities of the Dread Wolf onto their own shoulders. This suspicion has expanded hugely in my mind when I think about DA4 because what exactly is the story set-up, here? What is the Dread Wolf?

Solas, who is playing the role in the story of Dragon Age of an ancient trickster deity, has claim and power over the functions that trickster gods. Namely, power over doorways, thresholds, boundaries.

It doesn't matter what Solas thinks about godhood if he has all the trappings and power of godhood. There is no material difference in a fictional story.

(I love that Solas in the prologue is demonstrating exactly what you would expect from a Trickster God in this situation - manipulating boundaries, and then being Just a Little Guy.)

So the game prologue opens on Solas, a trickster god, delicately manipulating the magical boundary between worlds, which is something that you would expect a trickster god to do. Then unfolds a scene in which a tiny figure (Rook) causes a larger-than-life god (Solas) mischief and, with Rook's foolish meddling, undoes the very fabric of normalcy, trapping the trickster god and throwing the world into chaos, upsetting the very balance of power between the gods, threatening the end of the world.

Rook then recieves power over the Veil the trickster god has, the sacred knife that the trickster god wields, the ability to traverse back and forth between the boundaries only easily traversed by the trickster god, the magical mirror teleportation network of the trickster god, the magical floating Lighthouse home of the trickster god, the responsibilities of the trickster god, etc.

Rook also recieves the advice of the trickster god, whether they want it or not (it seems).

Do you see what I'm saying?

"They call me the Dread Wolf, what will they call you when this is over?"

I think this game may be about Rook becoming a trickster god.

As Felassan tells Briala in The Masked Empire, "[Becoming a god] is for the stories to decide."

Tricksters in folklore are very often mortal, human heroes. Very often, they act stupidly and foolishly (like we are said to do by interrupting Solas in the prologue) and somehow win anyway.

And what more powerful figure could there be, to fight with gods? Only a little guy like Solas or Rook, could hope to fight multiple gods and win. A little tiny trickster hero who makes foolish mistakes but is unkillable like Bugs Bunny is actually the perfect challenger to all-powerful deities.

Anyway, so if we get all of Solas' powers and his responsibilities, if we're, in a way, in training to become a trickster god. We may be stepping into myth and doing his job for him, disrupting things the way he does, and there will be comparisons. (the articles tell us that Solas is comparing himself to Rook, and that he doesn't like what he sees of himself in Rook). People always acted like Solas' situation was incredibly easy, but imo we could never actually understand what his story was, or see it from his point of view, enough to judge him. But if we actually walk in his shoes, then maybe we can actually have a part of the conversation. And later, maybe part of the myth.

The little Rook-bird that tugged the Dread Wolf's tail and let the creators free again, the little trickster Rook that destroyed or saved the world. I wonder what kind of trickster they will call us, when it is all over?

[miaoua3]

I Know You…Or Do I?

Pairing: vernon x gn!reader

Genre: fluffiest fluff to ever fluff, a little bit of comedy, first kiss scenario, childhood best friends to lovers (finally)

Synopsis: vernon decides to give you a heart attack and kiss you for the first time.

Note: i always thought that vernon would be such a friends to lovers guy and 2 minus 1 solidified that so here i present to you how i think a first kiss with this guy would go, enjoy!

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

it is clear to anybody who has known vernon for longer than one minute that he’s a bit…on a peculiar side. that wasn’t an insult, but rather a truth acknowledged by a wider audience.

you, of course, knew what was an usual and an unusual behaviour coming from him. this skill didn’t come up all that easily to you, but rather from knowing him since you were but an infant. you both had your mothers to thank for that, considering that their own history goes years beyond your births.

knowing someone for that long of a period is certainly admirable. you’ve always looked up to your mom’s and auntie melody’s friendship, ever since you were a child.

but now, you are an adult yourself, with your own decades long friendship.

you could confidently say that you knew vernon better than the back of your hand. so, as already mentioned, you know what’s usual and unusual for him, even though everything about him is a bit unusual.

for example, for usual behaviours we have his weird thoughts that he would message you at 2am, his weird food combos and his weird way of texting that nobody really gets except you and sofia, his angel sister that you love (sometimes more than him), to name a few.

for unusual behaviours we have the fidgeting when he’s nervous, getting unusually quiet (i mean, sure, he’s more on the quieter side as it is but…there’s just certain times when his quiet is just…off, yknow), trying to hide himself behind you in uncomfortable situations and not answering your messages for longer than 15 minutes.

oh, and kissing you out of the nowhere in your kitchen for the very first time to thank you for getting him his favourite snacks, apparently.

you’re not very sure if this has really happened or if you maybe accidentally did coke and this is just a weird hallucination as a side effect, but it got you so shocked to you just stood there, in your kitchen, with his favourite cookies in hand that you started to unpack and put on a plate before he waltzed in.

see, the reason why this is a really big problem and why it got your heart beating faster than a a racing car is because you have had the biggest crush on your best friend since you were 13. and you did such a good job at hiding your feelings and acting normal around him, even when you wanted nothing more to kiss those plush and soft lips of his.

and now it will all go to waste because how do you go back from this? how do you go back to being his friend now that you know how his lips taste, how soft they are and how much it makes your heart race?

see, you were always under the impression that, other than your friendship, vernon wanted nothing more from you. it seemed like he was perfectly okay with just having you as his platonic partner in crime.

or apparently f*cking not.

after another few second, you quickly finish platting the cookies and go back to the living room, where he’s sat, watching the movie he picked, without a care in the world.

you sit a respectful distance away from him, just watching him watch the movie, apparently feeling perfectly fine.

if only you knew.

with what must sound like the tone of a dead person, you more-so inform him “you’ve kissed me.”

the beautiful bastard has the audacity to not even turn his head in your direction, he just answers “i did”.

pondering over all the possible reasons as to why he did it, you gulp, and with all the courage left in your body, you hopefully ask him “do you like me?”

his answer makes you want to punch him…with your lips against his own, either very aggressively or very gently.

snorting, he answers “have for the last 10 years, thanks for finally noticing.”

you don’t give him any time to prepare or to see it coming for that matter-as soon as the last word leaves his mouth, you are pouncing on him, arms going around his neck, lips colliding with his, clumsily, at first, until you find your balance and climb on his lap.

it is clear that he both didn’t expect you to pounce on him like a wild animal and that he has been waiting for this moment for a very long time.

because as soon as your knees are on both sides of his hips, he’s wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you as close as the universe will allow him to and kissing you back like a starved man, like he’s dying and you’re the only antidote that could save him.

your hands finally-finally-sink into his silky soft brown hair, scratching his scalp to see how he would react.

and his reaction doesn’t disappoint-he immediately groans in your mouth, his hands starting to wonder themselves, squeezing your thighs before they travel over your butt, over your back all the way to the nape of your neck, pulling your head closer to his so he can deepen the kiss.

your own arms tighten around his neck, your bodies so close that there isn’t a single part of your body that isn’t touching his. your thoughts are both running and are nonexistent. thinking “finally, this is all i’ve ever wanted to know-the taste of his lips and the strength of his love”, but at the same time, your mind is nowhere to be found, it’s probably floating somewhere between the cotton candy soft clouds.

after many minutes, your kiss turns from hungry and rushed to intimate, soft and tender, until it eventually comes to a stop, your noses still touching, foreheads leaning on each other.

in what must be the softest whisper you ever heard him speak in, vernon says “took you long enough”.

you lightly pinch his cheek and smile “could say the same thing to you. been waiting since we were 13 for you to finally get your head out of your ass and kiss me.”

his heavy eyes fall on your mouth, inviting him to get himself lost in them again “well, the good thing is that now that i finally did, i don’t plan on ever stopping”.

and he never did.

as it turns out, you didn’t know him as well as you thought you did-there were still some things you had yet to find out about him. luckily, his kiss was officially off that list.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••

(somewhere, not that far away, your mom gives auntie melody 10$ for losing their bet that they had going since you and vernon were both 10.)

[avis-writeshq]

heyyy omg I love your writings so much! congrats on your latest milestone, it's DESERVED 👏 can I pls request track one with spencer reid where he gets an epiphany and decides that he wants to propose to his girlfriend? just superrrr cute and fluffy 😍 thanks a lot!!

glue song – spencer reid

summary: “but you’re here, and so i love you.” in which spencer realises that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you. pairing: s5!spencer reid x fem!reader genre: established relationship, fluff warnings: spencer in a knee brace (tell me why that’s attractive. why does he look good at his worst. face card never declines), he’s genuinely obsessed with you, not proof read oops a/n: thank you so much anon !!!! i’m so sorry it took so long to post; i kept changing and editing it hahaha i hope you enjoy it !! wc: 1.05k

“Careful watch your– no, pivot a little, pivot–” 

“I am pivoting! There’s nowhere to pivot to! Why is it so messy?”

You suppress a grimace as you manage to somehow squeeze your way through Spencer’s tiny doorway and into his apartment, the shoe rack on the side dangerously close to his damaged knee. You stumble a little as Spencer grips your shoulders tightly for support, his other hand holding onto a crutch. 

“Maybe we should move into a bigger apartment,” you muse, helping him to the couch. Your gaze shifts to his injured knee, your face falling. “Does it hurt?”

“Only when I think about it. Which is pretty much all the time,” Spencer says, wincing as he finally collapses against the cool leather cushions. “Thank you for doing this.”

You look almost offended at his words as you brush his hair out of his face and into a makeshift ponytail. “Did you think that I wouldn’t?”

He hums as he feels the way your fingers pull lightly at his hair, your nails scraping against his scalp. “Thought you’d get tired of me. After, you know, everything.”

“None of that was your fault,” you remind him swiftly. “This–” you gesture to his knee– “isn’t either.”

He softens, leaning his cheek on your shoulder. You’ve been there for him through everything and he knows what specifically it is you’re referring to. He could see it from the moment his doctors informed you that he wouldn’t take the vicodin they had prescribed to him to soothe his discomfort. His thought process makes sense; he didn’t want to risk it. Regardless, he was left with a growing pain in his leg that didn’t shake even after taking toradol. 

“I’d never get tired of you,” you clarify, squeezing his hands. “You’re too pretty to get tired of.”

He lets out a proper laugh as he squeezes back. “You’re funny.”

“I’m being serious!”

He laughs again, shaking his head adamantly. “Liar.”

“When have I ever lied to you?”

Spencer beams in your direction, pressing kisses against the soft of your jaw. “You’re right.”

A triumphant smile spreads across your face at his words. “Exactly.”

*** 

From his spot on the couch, Spencer watches guiltily as you hustle and bustle about in the kitchen, grabbing plates and filling them to the brim with the food you ordered from the Chinese place he loves. He feels bad seeing you work so hard looking after him; especially when you have your own workload to take care of. He doesn’t even notice that you’ve already placed his portion of food in front of him until you whack him lightly on his head with some napkins. 

“Stop it. I know what you’re thinking.” You shoot him a half-hearted glare as you snap open your chopsticks. “I want to do this. I truly don’t mind.”

“You’re already doing so much,” he insists, “I’m okay, angel, I swear.”

You are not easily convinced and you point to the list of things the doctor suggested you to do in order to ensure Spencer’s speedy recovery. “I have a responsibility, Walter. What will your team do without you?”

“They’ll live,” he assures, reaching a hand out to massage the muscles by your shoulders. “I think you’ve seen me naked more the past two weeks than you have our entire relationship.”

“Well it’s not my fault that you need to bathe,” you argue, stabbing at your noodles. “You love it really.”

His cheeks burn with embarrassment at the accusation. “I do not! It’s humiliating.”

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” you soothe, smiling at him. “Besides, it’ll only be like this for a little while longer.”

“If you consider five months to be ‘a little while longer’,” he quips as he shovels food into his mouth.

You let out a laugh, not finding offence is his sarcastic blow. He thinks you’re a blessing and he figures that you definitely are. Who else can deal with the problems of him being, well, him aside from you? Spencer doesn’t know what he would do without you. How could he when you manage to push all the darkness and negativity away?

“I’m lucky to have you,” he says finally, his gaze on your face. “You’re so good to me.”

You hum in response, wiping your mouth and curling into his good side, draping an arm over his middle. “That’s true. You’re good to me, too.”

He brings his hand over your waist and kisses the side of your face in an act of reciprocation. “You’re beautiful.”

Heat crawls up your neck to your ears at the sudden compliment and you can’t help the silly bashful smile that pulls at your lips. Your mouth opens and closes, deciding on what to respond with before you settle with a simple, “Thank you.”

It’s the honest truth. There’s a look about you that tells him that you don’t believe it, but he doesn’t say anything more to try and convince you. He tells it to you everyday; he’s sure that you’ll end up accepting the compliments more readily. Your being beautiful might have been what had drawn him to you in the first place. Although he isn’t entirely sure. He recalls a certain folktale about invisible stings and how it was tying him to you. There’s something pretty about that thought, the mere idea that you were made for him and he was lucky enough to actually hold you in his arms. 

You’ve turned the television on now, a romance movie playing on the screen with familiar actors. It’s supposed to be a comedy, at least that was what the description on the DVD said, about the main male lead reminiscing about his year that he spent with some manic pixie dream girl. Spencer doesn’t understand how that could be comedic but you seem to enjoy it. 

Spencer has tuned out the movie now, finding entertainment in the reactions you have. Your face morphs into different emotions with each dramatic scene and in that moment Spencer realises one very important thing. 

“I’m gonna marry you one day,” he whispers, his breath tickling the shell of your ear. 

“What was that?” you ask obliviously and you lift your eyes to look up at him. 

“Nothing,” he dismisses, pressing his lips to your forehead. “Just keep watching the movie, angel.”

reblogs are always appreciated!

events page

[luminiamore]

NEEDY.

brought back to life toji x black reader

warnings: cheating but he offs ur bf so not really?, angst in the beginning, we raised megs with toji, depression in the beginning, this is kinda sad but really cute, no prep just straight sex, reader has locs but it could be whateva u want, overstimulation, soft sex, soft toji, SPOILERS if u haven’t watched the anime.

masterlist

Twelve years.

It’s been that long. Twelve long, agonizing years have passed since you’ve seen Toji. He disappeared on you. Gone. Vanished. One day, he woke you up from a nap and told you he would be gone for a week or so for a job. You understood that his line of work is dangerous. You knew there was a possibility that he could die at any moment.

But he told you not to worry. They were kids, he said.

‘You know me, mama. I don’t die easily.’

He’s a sorcerer killer. He’s strong. It was always apparent to you that he could manage himself. Of course, that never stopped you from worrying.

You began to feel anxious after three weeks. During dinner time, you would cook him meals and fall asleep, hoping that he would come to you stumbling and embrace your body whole as he usually does.

After four weeks, you began to sleep less. The silence in your apartment would haunt you. The sound of every footstep passing by your wooden door and every creak on the floor would make you jump. Imagining that, finally, it would be him who would walk through it. He never did.

After the fifth week, you started calling his boss and friend, but he would never say it out loud. Each time it went to voicemail, you would cry uncontrollably. You may have sent him over one thousand messages, but they all went unanswered. The man probably blocked your number.

You honestly didn’t know what you expected.

Toji tried to keep Shiu and you apart as much as he could. You two were never close. The only thing you had Shiu’s number for was safety purposes, in case you were ever in danger while he was away on the job.

The truth took you five months to accept. To accept that Toji was never going to come back. It took you another three months to come to terms with the fact that Toji was dead.

Throughout all of this, Megumi, his son, gave you comfort. Though it was supposed to be the other way around, you had a feeling he knew what was wrong with you. At times, you couldn’t even get up to cook food and instead chose to order out so he could eat while you lay starving. At the tender age of four, Megumi was skilled in making homemade soup due to your frequent illnesses.

After a year or so, you thought -- you barely left your bed, so you lost track of time, a man came knocking at your door. White hair and bright, bright blue eyes can be seen even with glasses covering his eyes.

You should have fought him, beaten him to a fucking pulp. You’ve always had a keen sense of intuition. You knew he was the one who killed Toji, your Toji. Your gut was screaming that to you.

But what would you be able to do? You had no cursed energy. You couldn’t fight this man even though your husband had taught you some things in his free time. You had no chance against him, and the cocky bastard was aware of that.

He wasn’t here for you anyway. It was obvious to you that when he pushed past you and entered your home, he immediately started to search for Megumi. Knowing that the little boy could see curses, he suspected that his technique was starting to manifest, so he informed him that he could provide assistance.

Hearing the conversation in the kitchen, your breath paused when he mentioned that he would be going to Tokyo. You would be alone, but you refuse to be selfish and force him to watch over you in your depressed state. You urged him to go, urged him to make a change in the world even if it physically pained you.

Megumi made a promise to visit you every year and never leave you. He was truthful to you. Every year, he would spend a week with you, and you would see the boy you helped raise become a capable young man. He would occasionally show you his technique to demonstrate how much he has grown. You couldn’t have been more proud.

It took you 8 years, but you eventually moved on from Toji physically. Your heart still belongs to him emotionally.

Although you never remarried, you did have a boyfriend. He’s a kind man, has a regular corporate job, earns a livable yearly salary, and is not a killer, so there’s no danger of him being murdered. He also treats you nicely, arranging a dinner date every week and a vacation to a nice place every year.

You should’ve been happy. You should love him— why don’t you?

Why is it that every time he fucks you, all you see and think of is Toji? When you respond to his love for you, it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. Because you know it’s not true. You know it would never be true.

Megumi has a liking for him and believes he is a good fit for you. After what you went through, it’s fair to say that you deserve this. Though, it’s easy for him to sense how unhappy you are, that you’re putting on a facade in front of the man you’re supposed to love. If the man really knew you, he would understand that every time you smile and kiss him, it was an effort, especially after being together for almost 3 years.

You’re not sure why you never left him. You think this is better than feeling alone. Even if it wasn’t as good as Toji, you still got fucked every other night. It could never be better than Toji. You think he’s ruined you for anyone else.

October 31st, 2018. 11 a.m.

It’s Wednesday, October 31st, and it’s the week Megumi is supposed to come to see you.

You begin your day as you usually do. Your boyfriend wakes you up with a kiss right before he leaves for work, and you groggily force your body straight to the shower. While the eggs sizzle, you make a light breakfast as you stare into space.

As you’re eating, you feel your stomach drop. There is an odd sensation in your gut, a negative one. You experienced the same feeling when Toji died. You hastily pull out your phone and dial Megumi’s number.

One ring. Two. Three rings and no response.

“..Mom?”

His tone is fatigued as if you had woken him from his sleep. At that, you breathe a sigh of relief. However, the feeling persists.

“Are you okay, Megs?”

He sounds confused, although you suspect he can sense your concern in your voice, “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be? Is something wrong?”

“Do you have a mission today?”

Your frantic questioning without an answer is now causing him anxiety.

“There’s something going on in Shibuya tonight, so yeah.” You don’t answer him for a beat, just breathing as you feel your heart beating faster as his response.

“Are you okay, mo-”

“Please, don’t go. I have a bad feeling again.”

He sighs, “You know I can’t do that. It’s supposed to be something manageable, nothing too ba-”

You sternly cut him off, “Megumi. It’s not going to be manageable, I can feel it.”

“If you’re saying that, then it means I need to go and help even more, Mom.”

You’re trembling, and- Are you crying? You feel the tear slide down your cheek before you can even register it. You have always been afraid of Megumi going out to fight curses, but for some reason, your fear is growing stronger.

Your breath stutters, “What if- what if you-”

The thought of Megumi getting badly injured or even dying is so terrifying that you can’t even finish your sentence. You don’t believe you can endure that. No, you know you can’t. You’re still grieving over your husband. How could you possibly stomach his death?

This time, he cuts you off, “I can’t promise you that I won’t go. But I can promise to stay at a safe distance so I don’t die.”

“You’re so selfless, it’s infuriating.” You chuckle through your tears, using your unoccupied hand to wipe them off.

“I love you too.” You can tell he’s trying to stifle a laugh of his own.

You smile, even though he can’t see you, “I love you so much. Please, don’t die.”

“I’ll make sure to haunt you if I do.”

A gasp, “Megumi!”

“Joking.. sort of.”

He hangs up with another ‘Love you’ before you can scold him. And now you’re forced to swallow the lump in your throat. It’s okay, you remind yourself. You’re gonna be okay. Megumi is gonna be fine. He’ll come see you on Friday like he usually does. But even you’re aware that you’re just trying to console yourself.

The day is spent trying to distract yourself. You had the time to paint your nails and toes, try on some new outfits that you bought last week, and even try reading a book. But the feeling would never go away. In fact, it intensified as the darkness outside increased.

October 31st, 2018. 11 p.m.

Around 11 p.m., your boyfriend arrived and greeted you with his usual kiss on the cheek and casual discussion about both of your days. Every day, you think, today is the day. Today is the day you’ll get a tingling feeling whenever he kisses you. Today is the day you’ll feel warmth whenever he says he missed you or he loved you.

But it never came, and today was no different. You had made some food and decided to leave some for him, he had taken a liking to your cooking.

“I’m gonna head to bed. You’re gonna join me?”

“In a few, I wanna stay up a little longer.” You whisper, absentmindedly watching the plate he’s eating from. You don’t even notice. You’re entirely zoned out.

He kisses the side of your head when he stands up.

He kisses the side of your head when he stands up, “Okay, thanks for the food, babe. Let’s go out to eat tomorrow, yeah?”

“Sure.”

He pulls back hesitantly, hands still on your shoulder as he observes the lost look in your eyes, “Are you okay, babe? You seem.. out of it.”

All he gets is a slow nod and a small kiss on his knuckles. That seems to be enough for him because he hums and whispers a small “Love you.” and walks away.

The sound of the shower running after a few minutes is your cue to clean up. As you scrub the burnt parts of the pasta you made, you hear your phone ringing. When you glance over, it turns out to be Megumi.

11:38 p.m.

‘why the fuck is Dad alive? he just disappeared after helping me with some curse??’

Your hands become completely limp as the plate you are holding drops abruptly and crashes into the wet sink. Your eyes were wide and unblinking as you stood frozen. Your breath is caught in your throat, making it impossible to exhale. Your mind is overflowing with thoughts, each one more anxious than the last.

What?

You haven’t moved a single inch, but your hands are now shaking.

Toji is what?

No. He’s lying. But that’s not true either. Megumi would never deceive you, especially about his dad being alive. Your hands are trembling as you try to reach for your phone, but you’re stopped in your tracks by a loud crash.

You come out of your frozen state, and as if you’re running on autopilot, you run as fast as you can to the sound that hits the cold tile floor. But what you see next almost causes you to burst into tears because there he is, your husband.

Toji is right there, in your room, holding a sharp red wooden blade against your boyfriend’s neck. He’s in a gray sweater, but even then, you can see his muscles and just how big he is through it. He’s not looking at you, but with the way his shoulders raise and his breath hitches— he knows you’re watching.

Hearing him speak brings a tear to your cheek. It’s been a long time since you last heard his voice. The world seemed to stop moving, leaving you in a surreal moment stuck in time. You can’t believe it, you’ve lost all hope, but he is here. Sending the ugliest glare to the man on the other side of the blade in your bedroom is enough to make you shiver,

“Who the hell is this, baby?”

You say nothing, relishing in the sound of him speaking to you. Your heart pounded fiercely, echoing in your ears, while a wave of dizziness threatened to overwhelm you.

It’s when your boyfriend grunts in an angry tone, “What the fuck is happening, (❤︎)?!” You finally snap out of your stupor.

It’s not a surprise you stutter when you speak, but you don’t even say much. You pitifully let out a squeak of,

“T-Toji?”

You want him to look at you, want him to see you. You want to make sure that it’s really him you’re looking at, but he seems so focused and upset? Your eyes move away from his face briefly to take a glance at the weapon threatening to penetrate your boyfriend’s neck.

You speak so lowly, almost as if you’re ashamed to admit your following words, “My boyfriend. He’s my boyfriend.”

Despite boarding on the brink of death, he still manages to harbor a false confidence when you say that, “Exactly, man, so, who the fuck are you?”

“Her husband.”

At that, your boyfriend chokes, and now his anger is directed towards you, “Husband? You’re married?! We’ve been together for 3 years, and you-”

“He was dead!” You suddenly find your voice, a bit hysterically. You turn to Toji, who still isn’t looking at you but presses harder into his neck. You can see a trickle of blood start to drip. “You were dead- You are dead.”

His response is cold, blunt, “I’m about to kill the bastard standing half naked in my wife’s house, so, no. I’m very much alive, mama.”

“How? How are you alive?”

“Long story.” Is all he utters.

“I’ve waited 12 fucking years, I’m sure you can spare me a little more time.”

At that, he has the audacity to sigh as if you’re the one being difficult. You jump back and yelp when he suddenly plunges the weapon into your boyfriend- ex’s neck. You open your mouth, about to ask him what the hell that was for, but he answers before you can, “Unwanted company.”

When he finally turns his head to look at you, you swear he’s more beautiful than you remember. Everything looks the same, but something’s off. His eyes were blackish, or maybe it was a deep purple color in his sclera— that was supposed to be white, wasn’t it? His pupils are purple, too, or was it blue? You’re not sure, but you don’t find him any less beautiful.

“Toji.. I- how?”

He grumbles, and in one blink, he’s in front of you, hands on your waist and lips immediately logged deep in your neck, not quite sucking but just breathing you in. The action makes you shiver, and the feeling of him so close to you causes more tears to fall. “Some old hag did a seance. Wanted me to kill all sorcerers.”

Your breath hitches, but you sternly reply, “Our son is a sorcerer.”

“Obviously, I’m not going to.”

He smiles at the fact that you said ‘Our.’ He can feel the tears on your neck, and he honestly feels he might drop some of his own. Twelve years in hell—because let’s be real, there was no way someone of his caliber was making it to heaven— and he hasn’t seen you. Hasn’t touched you. He’d rather kill you than not fuck you again- he’d have to force himself to do so.

He’s not ashamed to admit he missed you. He feels guilty for putting you through this, through twelve years with him. He said he was coming back, he couldn’t imagine your despair when he didn’t. He hates himself for causing you that pain, for pushing you into the arms of another man.

He muffled out, “D’ya love him?”

It takes you a minute to answer, you feel a bit ashamed to admit this since he just died, “Never did. I only ever loved you.”

“Loved? You don’t love me anymore?”

You break out another sob, “I never stopped Toji.”

This time, he doesn’t answer, but there’s a nagging question in the back of his mind that he needs answered, “Three years, hm? You fuck him?” Your next words give him the answer he needs.

“Toji- it’s been years! You were-”

“Dead, I know. You didn’t look too sad when he died. He could never fuck you like me, huh?”

He knows he shouldn’t be upset. He knows he has no right to be angry at you. You had every right to move on. He didn’t ghost you or just disappear casually. He was dead. The thought never sat well with him, though. It made his stomach churn. He always told you that if you ever cheated on him, he would kill the man and then himself. He could never bring himself to hurt you physically.

But is it even cheating if he was dead?

A whisper breaks him out of his thoughts, “No.”

What an angel you are. Answering him even when he isn’t even speaking out loud. His mind is confused. So he does what he used to do when he needs to let out his frustrations— use your body as a stress reliever.

When his hands grope your hips, you let out a desperate moan. Fuck you are desperate, you haven’t felt your lover in years.

“Damn- I missed you, baby. Missed how soft you are, missed holding you.” His tongue starts slowly, lapping softly at your collarbone.

Your breath starts getting shaky, and the slick that’s been forming since you first laid eyes on him is dripping down your thighs, “Missed you so much more.”

He’s not in the mood to wait. He’d usually tease you before he impaled you on his dick. But it’s been too long since he felt any warmth from you- he’s not stalling any longer.

“Need to fuck you, now. You remember how to take me, right?”

He was quick with his hands, ripping the nightgown you had on to shreds. You’re bare in front of his gaze, and you can see how he was practically drooling— the man was in a trance.

If Toji is as big as you remember, then taking him would be a challenge. You could never do it without some form of prep, be it him eating you out until you cried or fingering you till your legs trembled. Sometimes it was both. But you could tell he wasn’t in the mood to do either of those right now. He just wanted to stuff you, so you’d have to suck it up and let him.

You give him a shaky nod, “Yes, please.”

He lazily rubs on your engorged bud, spreading your slick all over your fat pussy lips. He releases the most toe-curling moan when he feels how wet you are, and it’s all for him. He doesn’t keep the act up for long and dips two fingers inside. They stretch you so wide you can’t help but buck your hips against the wall he has you pressed on.

“Hnng- Toji! Just put it in, p-please.”

He grunts, but he can never argue against you. Toji forces his tip past your tight walls, and you have to hiss it out. You’re wet enough that the first inch slides in easily, but you’re so tight that he thinks you’re about to squeeze his tip right off.

He groans out, seemingly more out of breath than you are, “Relax, mama. Breathe before you break my dick off.”

“M’trying!” Is your only response. More tears are dripping down your face, both from the pain and how close you are to him.

Toji decides to distract you by rubbing tight circles on your clit, and that causes your breath to stutter and your moans to increase in volume. That does the trick because as you’re focused on the pleasure, he doesn’t hesitate to shove everything into you in one go. All nine inches- but shit, you swear it feels bigger.

“Oh god! It’s too much- I can’t-”

“God took me away from you. Made us spend twelve years apart. It’s not God making you feel this way, it’s me. Focus on me.”

You’re nodding before he can even finish his sentence because he’s right. Toji gives you a few seconds- maybe 30 before his patience runs around, and he starts slowly rutting in you. He knows how big he is. Takes pride in it, too. So, he doesn’t stop rubbing your clit to ease the feeling of him stretching you out.

As he instructs, all your focus is on him. Your hazy eyes focus on his face, his brows furrowed in pleasure, and his lips parted as he pants against you. You can’t help but kiss him, suck his chapped pink lips so hard you can feel his scar against your tongue. And he doesn’t hesitate to kiss you back. It isn’t a fight for dominance, Toji easily takes all control of you, and you surrender with no regrets.

You take his cock beautifully, so well. Every time he pushes out, your pussy just pulls him back in, making a wet squelch sound when his hips slap against yours. He can feel the goosebumps on your body whenever his tip presses harshly on your g-spot, and so he keeps the same pace and stroke— determined to make you cum just like this.

You wail out as your eyes roll into the back of your head, “Oh! Right there, don’t s-stop!”

“Never. Won’t ever stop fucking you, baby. Need you to forgive me anyway.”

“For l-leaving me?”

He chuckles against your puffy lips and pulls harshly on your brown locs so your neck cranes to look directly at him, “Yes, mama. I’m sorry for leaving you, for leaving our son. So sorry. Won’t ever do it again, I promise.”

You’re crying again. Tears are flowing freely now, and Toji thinks you’re beautiful and even ethereal. He glances down, and a creamy white paste forms at the base of his cock- getting even more wet each time he pulls out of you.

“I c-cried so much, Toji. For months, for years. You- you-”

“Shh. I know, baby. I know. I’m selfish for doing that, a complete asshole. I’d hate me too.”

You’re nodding, but you could never think of him as such. You would never call Toji anything mean, anything harsh- despite what he put you through.

Your pussy is twitching against him, “Don’t hate you. Could never h-hate you.”

He kisses your lips, all over your face, really, “Yeah? Damn, I love you. You love me?”

“Yes! Yes- I love you. Only you.”

He moans and presses against your stomach, his bulge poking out. Your breaths come in ragged gasps, your body tightening as a wave of pleasure builds inside of you. Your muscles clenched, and an uncontainable rush surged through you. Fuck, you’re gonna come.

Toji can feel it, and his slow pace speeds up. He whispers in your ear, pulling at your lobe, “Cum, baby. Go ahead, I need it.”

Finally, with a shuddering cry, you tipped over the edge. Ecstasy washed over you in powerful, pulsing waves. Your body trembled a blissful release, leaving you breathless and utterly spent. Despite your haze, Toji doesn’t stop, nor do you feel his thick cum flowing past your walls.

He can sense the confusion in you, and all he does to ease your mind is, “3 years, right? How about 3 orgasms for every year I wasn’t with you, huh? Think we can reach 36, mama?”

Your eyes widen in disbelief because that doesn’t even sound possible, but you’re distracted by another toe-curling orgasm ripping through you- your clit pulsing in overstimulation. As always, he knows what you’re thinking, but he doesn’t seem to be backing down with his next words.

“Yeah, I think we can.”

[jokingmisfit]

I Just (Don't) Need Help (Part 1/2)

Yandere Batfam x Disabled Female Reader

Warnings- disabled reader, manipulation, reader is in pain, very light yandere themes

Notes- The disability isn’t named because I wanted to make it as inclusive as possible, although it is heavily based on my experiences because I only really know what I’ve experienced. The reader and Damien are both high school seniors, cause I said so. Reader lives alone because who needs parents?

It was the pain. That God awful pain that made you unable to eat, or sleep, or think. Everything in your body screaming at you to quit and give up, but also begging for help. In the end, however, there was nothing you could do.

You've tried, God did you try. You tried to work through it. You've tried to get help, but person after person, and doctor after doctor ignored your pain, ignored your symptoms and left you stranded in this unbearable hell. 

You just wanted peace. You just wanted to live without this unending pain. You found it confusing how a human can constantly go through so much pain and not die from it.

You were behind in school. You've lost another job. You were so goddamn tired. 

You pulled the phone off your in-stand. Sending a quick text to your friend Damien. You ask him if there were any important notes you missed at school and if he felt like sending you a picture of them. You let him know you’re fine, just sick, and hoping that’ll calm the quantity of texts he has sent you.

You have to be careful with him, Damien, he's easily irritated and highly intelligent. You’ve told him about your disabilities, but  you try to not let the pain show. You know he knows something, because he'll press you for information on yourself and stare you down when you refuse to do certain things. He knows it’s worse than you let on, but he doesn’t press like the others.

The text was only slightly changed from one you sent a few weeks ago. You didn’t have the energy to write a whole new text so you copied an old one, only changing it so Damien didn’t catch on and think the flare up was too bad. 

Despite only taking a minute or so, it already took all the energy you had left in you. Throwing your phone to the side, you tried to get comfortable, and you drift right back to a restless sleep.

~

A loud pounding woke you from your queasy rest. You wondered if you could slip back into that sweet dark nothingness, but with the noise being made you knew it’d be useless.

You’d gathered all the bearings you could, and a blanket for good measure, and made your way to your front door. Before you even got there, however, it was already opening. You stood there deadpanned as Jason looks up at you from his bent position; clearly finishing picking your lock. 

Dick smiles at you with an awkward laugh and greets you. “Heya… sorry for the intrusion, princess.” He chuckles nervously again. “Damien said you skipped school and stopped answering his texts and everyone got pretty worried soo, here we are!”

“Yeah, okay.” You say with a sigh and go sit on your couch.

Jason and Dick share a concerned look at your exhausted form. Frowns perching on Jason's face, and a worried smile on Dicks. 

“Sooo,” Jason started. “You feelin alright there, doll? Ya look pretty… bad?” He awkwardly asks you.

He and Dick sit on the couch with you while Dick quietly scolds him about telling you, you look bad. If it was for the lightness in your head you’d laugh a little at the brotherly behavior, but for now you opt to lay your head on Jason's shoulder once he’s settled on the seat.

“t’s jus a flare up…” You whisper out to them.

You really didn’t want to have a whole conversation. The urge to down all of the pain medicine in your cabinet comes back up. The need to just get the pain to go away. No, you didn’t want to die, but you wanted the pain to stop. You wanted to be able to appreciate your friends coming over to check on you. With all the overwhelming symptoms you couldn’t appreciate much.

With your eyes closed and head on Jason's shoulders, you had missed another look Jason and Dick shared. A mixture of annoyance, concern, and dark thoughts showing clearly through their eyes.

“Didn’t you go to a doctor for that?” Dick asks you with an irritated tone.

“Said he doesn believe me…” You tell him. “Think I wan drugs or somethin.”

Jason scoffs loudly at this. “You’re a drug seeker now huh?”

“‘Mm parently.” You reply.

Dick moves closer and rubs his hand lovingly across your back. You humm with appreciation at the action. Your exhausted form relaxes a bit more into the soft cushion. You move your head and hide it a bit more into Jason's chest. 

“Maybe,” Dick starts softly. “You should come stay with us for a while?”

You sigh in frustration. “Already told you guys ‘m not gonna use you like that.” You state angrily. “You’re my friens not a resource for me ta use.”

“I know, I know!” Dick defends, throwing his hands up in defense and laughing nervously. “It’s just, we’ve got tons of money and can get you an actually good doctor. Y’know one that’ll actually listen to your needs, birdie.” He explains passionately.

“Besides,” Jason chimes in. “You’re like family, hunny. We want to help you out. And Alfred has been dyin to see ya again.”

“I don’t wan to…” You tell them.

Jason scoffs. “Why not?”

This situation was too much for you right now. The pain you felt weighed you down and made it harder to hold yourself together. The little bit of poise you had was bubbling off you like melted flesh leaving you at the barest version of yourself, and that self was angry and confused.

You didn’t get why every time you got sick or had a flare up they got like this. Urging you to come live with them ‘cause “it’s easier” and “they can help” or because “you a kid” and “you shouldn’t be living alone”. What do they know? They were adopted by a billionaire and have a huge family. They don’t know what it’s like to feel the way you do. Of course some things they understand, but a lot of it seems they don’t.

It was irritating for them as well. They want to help you, but you always refuse. It always ends in an argument and you push them away for a while until you forget why you were mad in the first place. It was a tiring loop that everyone was becoming sick of.

You lean forward and out of both the mens touches. “I don‘t know why!” You sluggishly shout. “I jus don’t wan to. I don’t know why it’s always a fight with you guys… Jst let me rest please! I’m in pain ‘n all you wanna do is try and hold a conversation that we all know will only end in irritation.” You breathlessly tell them.

You stand on unsteady feet and start walking back towards your room. The stiffness and anger making you feel even worse.

Why can’t they try and see things the way you do?

Of course, they were wondering the same thing. Dick stands up to follow after you. Matching glares enter the brothers eyes as they mirror your steps. Determined to not give up this time when you clearly need them.

You’ve already buried yourself in the bed by the time the two come to your doorway. Honestly you were a bit surprised when they came to sit on the edge of your bed. Well, at least Jason did. Dick crawled over and layed propped against your headboard next to you.

“Okay… Maybe we’ve been a little too pushy.” Dick says.

“Maybe?” You ask glaring up from your covers.

He laughs at you. “Okay, okay, I get it! We’ve pushed too far… It’s just- it’s just that we can get you the help you need, and it’s not like you’d be staying forever. Just long enough for you to get a proper diagnosis and medicine or whatever to make things easier.”

The change from joyful to melancholy in Dicks voice had you feeling guilty. The way he poured out his heart into people never ceased to awe you. You shift to sit up more against the headrest. Jason’s hand found its way to your calf where it rested casually.

“You know we don’t want to force you to do anything. We’re just so concerned for you. We know you’ve been alone for so long, but you don’t have to be anymore.” Dick says love shining in his eyes. “I know you think needing help makes you weak, but it doesn’t, and what’s family for but to be there for you when you are. Can’t tell you how many times we’ve been completely consumed by worry for you.” His brows furrowed as he explains.

“Just long enough for you to get to feelin better. That’s all we ask, doll.” Jason adds on.

“Jus a little while? That’s all?” You ask hesitantly.

“Just for a little while, princess.” Dick answers.

You nod slowly and whisper an “ok”. The two men were immediately in motion packing you a bag. You sat up more and assured them you could do it yourself but they hushed you in excitement. Jason asked you if there were any specific things you wanted while Dick filled a bag with clothes.

All in all time moved swiftly as the two moved like practiced dancers. Within minutes dresses and sentimental items were pulled from their proper places placed into bags and moved out of your home. Dick picked you up despite your demands to walk and brought you to their car. The two of you were followed closely by Jason who carried the last bag of items you’d be taking with you to their homes. Claims to come back for more were made by all three of you as you left the rest behind.

It didn’t take much for you to fall asleep in the back of the car. The rumbling and pain induced heaviness lulled you to sleep like a baby in a cradle. Because of your peaceful rest your arrival at the manor was kept relatively calm so as to not wake you. Bruce coming out to carry you to your new room while the other two grabbed your items. Tim checks the camera placed in the bedroom to make sure it’s operating and Alfred prepares a simple snack for you to eat once you wake up.

[thewritetofreespeech]

tags: targaryen incest [aemond/younger sister Daeron twin], fingering, masterbation, pinning (equal pinning)

-------------------------------⚔️--------------------------------

Aemond stalked back to his chamber. Still fuming from his talk with Helaena.

How dare she speak to him that way?! How could she not want vengeance after what Daemon did to her son?! How could she sit ideally while every day their doom crept closer and closer to their door?!

His eye set on the maps & plans on spread over one the tables and he flung them off with one swift swing of his arm. “Useless!” It was all useless now!

Aemond’s hands braced against the wood. Staring into the grain as if a scrying pool. Looking for answers. In truth, he was heartbroken. He knew his death was coming for him, one way or another, but to have his sister turn her back on him when they needed her most, when he needed her most, broke him.

“Brother,” Aemond turned to look at the door as his other, younger sister peaked her head in, “are you alright?”

“Yes. I’m fine.” He told her. Standing at his full height again, even as his little sister invited herself in and looked up at him. Those big, pale violets staring up at him until he eventually cracked and told her the truth. “No. It’s all gone horribly wrong. The Pretender has let the dragonseeds claim her remaining dragons. We are outnumbered. And Helaena won’t take Dreamfyre into battle.”

“Oh….” That was all his sister said at first. Seeming to process this information. “You asked Helaena and not me?”

Aemond looked at her in surprise from her comment. “Your dragon is too young. Six times younger that Dreamfyre, and just taken to wing.”

“She’s been to wing longer than Dareon’s dragon.” She snapped back at him. “And you asked him to fight!”

“Mandia,” Aemond replied in a soothing manner as he cupped his sister’s cheek, “Dareon is a young man now. It is reasonable for him to fight for his house.”

“But not women?”

“In most cases no. Women’s duties are suited to other aspects in war.”

“Yet you still asked Helaena?”

Aemond growled and pulled his hand away. Annoyed he’d been so easily circled into a corner by his own logic and irritating little sister. “I wished to spare you.”

“I do not wish to be spared.” She insisted. Her hands reaching out for Aemond’s larger one. “I wish to fight for our family too. To keep us safe. To keep you safe.” She let his hand go and dejectedly looked down at the ground. “Yet you still choose Helaena over me….”

The hand she had been holding lashed out towards his sister to pull her in close. His lips claiming hers like they had many times before. “I would never choose Helaena over you.” Aemond told her.

True, there had been a time when he had wanted his older sister for himself. Her uniqueness and sweet light was wasted on their eldest brother, as well as her common beauty. Aemond loved her, as a sister and then as more, but it was never reciprocated.

With his younger sister, it was different. She loved him. Unconditionally. She had been away with Dareon in Oldtown since a young age. The twins to be in service of his mother’s family for a time away from the capital. When she had flourished into a beautiful young woman, she returned while Dareon stayed to train as squire for Lord Hightower. All his mother’s plan to find her a suitable match from court. To strength their claim & allies for Aegon, but also set her youngest daughter up beautifully in the Realm.

What his sister had found instead was Aemond’s open, waiting arms.

“I need Dreamfyre. That’s the only reason I went to her.” He assured her. “She should fight.”

“Helaena doesn’t have it in her though.” His sister urged. Speaking the truth. “I do. Let me come with you.”

“Is that what you truly want?” He asked. Aemond pulling her close by her hip. Letting her feel, even through his leathers, how thrilled he was that she wished to be by his side. No longer rejected. Openly adored. “To come with me to crush the Pretender and their brood.”

“Yes.” Her voice sounded soft. Entranced, even. “Let me come with you. Let me be your Visenya. Your Rhaenys.”

Aemond swooped down to capture her lips again at her words. In the months since she had returned, that was all he wanted. They talked of secret plans to flee like his grandsires, and wed in secret, should his mother betroth her to another. Their bond not a chore like his brother made it seem with Helaena, but one of true love. Like their forbearers before them.

“Sit up for me.”

The princess obediently hopped up on the edge of the table. Reaching for him, even as Aemond came to her to stand between her knees. “I want to keep you safe. That’s what all this is for.” His hands slid up her skirts. Thin and pliable, as it was the middle of the night, they bunch up around her hips easily. “To keep us all safe. To build our future.” His beloved sister sighed as his hand reached between her legs. Her soft opening there, wet with desire. “Dareon will be with me soon. Do you trust your twin?”

“Yes.” His sister hissed as his fingers spread her open. “But I want to come too. Let me…Let me come with you.” Her voice stammered as his thumb brushed over her nub at the word ‘come’. His fingers continued to play with her until no words were spoken. Just his sister’s needy pants as she clung to him. And a desperate plea now & then of, “take me.”

Aemond wished that he could. Just spread her legs that much further and spear her open on the table where all his plans had been. But he couldn’t. She was still young. Her bloom only just coming upon her. And he would not sully his good sister by claiming her like a whore for his own amusement.

When he bed her, and he would soon, they would be married. She would be his wife. She would be their Queen. And all this, this work, this heartbreak, this rejection, would all be worth it.

His fingers continued to thrust into her with quick succession until her walls quivered around him in release. Aemond drew them out and licked them clean. The taste just as sweet as her disposition. “You should get back to your chambers. Before someone comes looking for you.”

“Will you take me with your to Harrenhall?” She asked again. Clinging to him.

It takes every bit of Aemond’s restraint to just sigh in the face of those bright eyes and tell her, “I will think on it.” Denying her harder than anything he had had to do in recent months.

His sister just smiled and gave him a kiss. She hopped down off the table, righted her skirts, and saw herself out. Aemond watched her go and waited until the coast was clear before opening his breeches to relieve himself across the table. Imagining her still there, under him, and his seed spilling into her instead off across the rich mahogany.

Relieved but not sated, Aemond took himself to bed for the evening. He needed his rest. There would not be many more moments for it soon. As he laid in his bed, he thought of Harrenhall. What would be waiting for him there, and what he might find.

If his death was truly waiting for him, like Helaena predicted, then he couldn’t bring their sister. Subject her to that. She would have to wait for him, and she would pout, but as long as he didn’t have to see it he could remain strong.

[milfloveer]

Proof of love ♡

Sherlock Holmes x fem!reader

Prompt: After y/n gets a little stressed about her and Sherlock's relation and— Well, Sherlock shows her how he really loves her ;)

Warnings: smut 18+ minors DNI, age gap (reader is in their 20s and Sherlock in his 30s), p in v, unprotected sex, fluff, creampie

A/n: I need Sherlock in my life so badly 😩

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚ ⊹ ‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

Sherlock and I just arrived home after attending a high society party so we could unfold more information about this recent case. Enola and Tewkesbury were there too, the first working on her case as well and the later was there on work behalf as he is a Lord and has his duties as one.

Enola was clearly bothered with all the feminine attention Lord Tewkesbury was given. I couldn't censure her as I was feeling the same towards Sherlock and all those ladies around him asking for a dance, their hands all over my man. Enola and I just rolled our eyes and focused on our cases ignoring each woman who approached the men.

•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•

Sherlock opened the door to his apartment and we walked in, I was clearly frustrated and it didn't slip Sherlock's gaze "You alright, darling?" he asks tenderly and cautiously.

I turn to him and see his concern "Yes, love, everything's alright." I say, even though I was lying. Those interactions all night long made me feel easily discarded and replaced.

Sherlock and I relationship was somewhat recent, we were only together for half a year and yet none of us dared to say those three simple words.

I can say that I care for him deeply, I got really attached to his personality, behaviour, the manner he works and thinks, his papers all around his apartment in a perfectly messy way, the way he played the violin when wanted to relax and get lost for a moment.

I truly fell for this exquisite detective, but I didn't dare to say those words to his face as I was afraid he wasn't feeling what I was. So I kept it to myself until now.

Sherlock frowns and follows me to our shared room "Darling, I know you and I can tell something is up." he says with concern in his voice as I try to unzip my dress, ending to ask him for help on it. He gladly does "Please talk to me." his voice wavering a bit making me look at him worriedly.

I sigh seeing his saddened face as I've never seen him like this. Getting closer to him I lay my hands, one on each side of his face and look deep into his eyes with tenderness "It is nothing important of concern, honey." I say softly, trying to brush it off.

But then again, Sherlock Holmes wouldn't be Sherlock Holmes without discovering the truth "It is concerning you and if it is concerning you, it is concerning me." he says pointing between us as he talks "Please, don't leave me in the dark, dove." he says while holding my gaze and I gave in and told him everything I was feeling at the party and when all the female attention is on him, how replaceable I feel, how dischargeable, how ridiculous.

I was now sitting at the end of our bed with my head hanging as my eyes freely released tears while looking at our hands interlocked on my lap "Oh, dear, why haven't you talked about this with me?" he asks caringly, I sniff and he brings his index finger and thumb to my chin, lifting it so I could look into those blue pools "I didn't want to overreact." I say barely above a whisper, he smiles softly "It's not overreacting dear and I assure you here that I have only eyes for you, my beautiful girl." he says as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, caressing my cheek afterwards and cleaning the remaining of my tears with his thumb.

"Prove it then." I blurt out shocking myself with my boldness, but nonetheless Sherlock chuckles darkly making me shiver "With pleasure, darling." he says as he leans over me making me lay down on the mattress behind me.

Now hovering over me he caresses my sides teasingly as his lips brush mine. No words were said as he connects strongly and lovingly his lips to mine eliciting a moan from me. He starts lowering his hands as his lips move to my neck and collarbone, teasing and marking all the soft spots.

I was already on my undergarments making me start to take off his clothes as he's still fully clothed, first his jacket, then his tie and vest, his shirt and belt were now off and he pulled down his pants discharging them somewhere in the room.

"Please, I need you." I say tugging at the waistband of his underwear, he chuckles "Eager are we?" he asks making me flush as I nod. He frees himself as I take off of me the remains of my underwear.

Now both fully naked we scan each others body "You're so beautiful." he growls caressing my side with his fingertips before capturing my lips while aligning himself with my entrance. As he enters me my mouth falls open and a moan echoes through the room "Oh dear." he says against my ear, his arms each on either side of my body, his hands behind my back, flat on my shoulder blades as he moves lovingly in and out of me.

My legs wrap around his waist pulling him closer as my nails dig into his back certainly leaving some scratches over it. Both breathing heavily and moaning into each other's ears; I love this man so much.

Sherlock speeds up his pace hitting a wonderful spot inside me over and over "Yes, honey, don't stop!" I say gasping sensing the tension building up each time he pounds into me. He then gets on his knees bringing my legs up to rest on his shoulders, I cry out in pleasure as he groans pounding strongly "I'm so close, Sherlock." I say, my legs start to tremble with the feeling.

With a few more pushes and I'm taken over the edge, Sherlock following, spilling his seed into me "Ah, Sherlock!" I say pushing him down and kissing his lips eagerly and then softly. As he pulls away he brushes against my lips, whispering "I love you." I froze and look up at him "What?" I breathe out starstruck about his confession, his eyes widen as he realized he just confessed his feelings for me out loud.

I bring my hand to his cheek and caress it, I smile before letting out a soft chuckle as my eyes fill with happy tears. I lift my head so I could reach his slightly trembling lips and close the gap, the kiss is slow, tender and filled with love, as we were telling without words 'I love you'.

Slightly I pull away and whisper against his lips "I love you too." his eyes widen slightly hearing the words slip like honey from my mouth making me smile lovingly at the man still above me.

[moonstruckme]

have a bonfire - send a character + a trope (one bed, fake dating, etc.) and I’ll write a drabble

hii!! first off i wanna say congrats on 5k you deserve it so much!! can i do remus lupin and fake dating please and ty!

Thanks so much lovely!

cw: alcohol

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 969 words

“Your favorite color is green,” you say, passing Remus a glass of champagne. 

His brow twitches as he takes it from you, holding it by the stem like an adult. You adjust your grip on yours accordingly. “What?” 

“Your friend Sirius cornered me by the bar. I panicked.” 

“Ah.” Remus tucks a tongue into his cheek, just shy of the corner of his mouth, and takes a sip. “I’ve always told him I didn’t have a favorite.” 

You chew your lip, nodding. “Okay. That’s okay, we can just say you told me because you’re, like, so into me.” 

He chuckles. “So into you I divulged to you the deep, dark secret of my favorite color?” 

“Mhm. Think he’ll buy it?” 

“He might, actually.” He takes another sip of his champagne, and you remember to have a bit of yours. You could probably use it. Remus looks perfectly composed, and surprisingly dapper in his suit, done up to the top button with the collar just barely brushing a thin, pale scar circling a third of his neck. Contrastly, you’re a jumble of nerves. “Sirius likes to think I’m holding out on them, it might fit into his narrative that I’d kept it a secret all these years.” 

“And if he does figure it out, we could probably just tell him, right?” you ask, and somehow your champagne is half gone. Damned duplicitous, narrow glasses. 

Remus’ smile softens as it bubbles down your throat, and you know he can read what you’re thinking on your face. You’re a shit actress, an even worse liar. You’re going to ruin this for him. 

“We could,” he says, “but he’ll only tell James.” 

“Really?” You look at the man still standing by the bar, now chatting with a blonde you don’t know but suspect in a few minutes will have to pretend you’ve heard Remus talk about a million times. Sirius has managed to wear a leather jacket to a wedding, thrown on right after the reception in what Remus has informed you is typical fashion for him. He grins with one half of his mouth as he talks, flashing canines when he really means it. “He doesn’t strike me as a narc.” 

Remus steps closer to you as someone moves past him, lowering his voice. You can smell his cologne, woody and vaguely sweet. “He’s not. He and James tell each other everything, though.” 

“Oh. That’s sweet, actually.” 

James is the one you’re really here for. It’s his wedding, and months ago when he and his fiancee sent out invitations he’d asked if Sirius or Remus would need a plus-one. Sirius said yes immediately, and by some manner you can’t say you understand but Remus assures you is very typical of them, this evidently devolved into a bet on whether Remus could actually find a date that met his standards and that he was willing to ask to come to the wedding with him. 

As it turns out, Remus is more competitive than you would have guessed. 

According to James and Sirius, no one is ever good enough for him. You’re here to disprove that, though you don’t love that your work crush asked you out because he couldn’t find anyone he wanted to actually date. Still, Remus is your friend, and you were never going to say no to helping him. If you’d known you’d get to see him in this suit, you probably would have said yes even faster. 

“Do you want another?” Remus asks, and you look down to find your champagne glass is empty. 

“Oh my gosh, sorry.” You set the glass down on a nearby table, embarrassment a tickle over your skin. “Yeah, probably best not.” 

“Don’t be sorry.” He tilts his head at you, smiling in that gentle, kind way of his. “You’re here not on a job, love, you should have a good time.” 

“I feel like I am, a little bit.” Your laugh bubbles out of you easily, fizzy like the champagne. “I want to at least act like someone your friends believe you could be interested in.” 

���Just be yourself,” Remus reassures you. “They’ll believe it.” 

Something in your gut flitters at what that could mean. You don’t let yourself think on it. “What if I wanted to dance?” 

He smiles. “Then you should do that.” 

“But would you dance with me?” 

“I would hold your things for you.” His grin takes on a sheepish quality. “Find a chair to watch with all the other lame boyfriends.” 

You tsk. “You’re not lame, Remus.” He looks like he wants to contradict you, but he kisses his teeth instead. “I think I’d rather stay with you, if that’s alright. We can go sit in chairs amongst the lame boyfriends if you like.” 

Remus considers you for a moment. The sky has turned a deep blue around you, the string lights hung up around the space casting a warm glow that filters through his hair and makes it appear more golden than brown. “I would go dance with you if you wanted me to,” he admits. 

You blink. “Really?” 

“Well, maybe not dance so much as hold both our drinks and stand near you while you danced, but I want to stay with you, too.” Remus glances away from your eyes for a moment, a shyness you haven’t seen since you first met in his expression. “If you want to dance, I’ll go with you.” 

You take his hand on impulse, the scars and calluses of his skin alternately rough and smooth between your palms. “I don’t want to make you,” you tell him earnestly, “but I really do want to dance.” 

Remus looks to the side, his smile almost begrudging. “You’re not making me,” he says. 

You end up getting another glass of champagne after all.