#feels like i'm coming back to life in bits and pieces even though i lose a lot of ground often. it's good | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

alchemistc · 1 month

Text

visions are seldom all they seem

an: warning for a hint of dubcon hidden in amongst tommy's memories

They say when you die, your life flashes before your eyes.

That's a fucking fairytale if he's ever heard one. Tommy's had enough friends brought back from the brink, enough experiences of his own, to know that it's a crock.

When you die, you...die. You're there, and then you're not.

Tommy's legs are pinned, and there's smoke filling the cabin, and the last thing he'd said to Evan before he walked out the door was "Tell your father thank you, but I'm happily involved with a younger man."

There's something poetic about all of this, Tommy thinks, as he watches Garrett stumble to his feet, just beyond the door he'd managed to break loose to Tommy's left. Tommy hates poetry. Not necessarily as a general rule, but there's a lot of pretentious shit out there, and this feels pretentious. Maybe that's just the smoke inhalation.

"Kinard!"

Garrett's coming around the other side, lopsided and limping, but still pushing.

Thank fuck they hadn't been carrying passengers. He's pretty sure one of the blades had sliced clean through the hull behind him. He can't really look - there's something caught in his belt, pinning his back to the seat, and he's got one arm too fucked to reach for the blade strapped to his hip, and another that wouldn't reach if he tried. He's losing blood, he's losing time. He's done the math.

"Kinard!" Garrett's not having much luck with Tommy's door, which makes sense. The landing skid had done good work with the whole right side of the bird. Tommy's pretty sure the aftermath of that piece of work is the reason he can't move his fucking legs.

There are tools, somewhere nearby, that might have been useful, if Tommy hadn't used Garrett's clear concussion against him in an effort to get Garrett the fuck out.

It's funny, though. Funny that this is the way he goes. Not in the initial crash, which they'd somehow both survived. Not even from the blood loss, though Tommy guesses the coroner will have something to say about that being a mitigating factor. Probably won't even be the fire, which Garrett seems to have banked, a bit, with the extinguisher he'd scrounged from - somewhere. No. Four tours and a dozen plus years as a firefighter and it's the smoke that's gonna get him.

The windscreen is cracked. If Tommy wasn't in the midst of dying, he'd probably be thinking up the most professional way to tell his superiors that his windscreen isn't supposed to fucking spiderweb out like that, but -

Garrett's got the extinguisher in hand again, which is a nice thought, except he'd watched him drain it earlier. But he's not -

Tommy flinches when the canister makes contact with the windscreen and it cracks a little more.

He wishes he'd texted something better to Evan than a thumbs up emoji in response to his "Be safe" text. Gonna look real fucking ironic in a few minutes, here.

The glass webs out further when the canister makes contact again, and over the crackle as the flames kick back up, Tommy realizes that Garrett's yelling at him. Has been, for a while now, most likely. He can't really hear it, or contextualize it, but he's definitely yelling.

Something cracks. A few shards of glass sprinkle on down towards his knees. Garrett's voice gets louder. "--uckley's gonna kill me if I fuck up your pretty blue eyes, fuckhead, so close them right fucking now, Kinard!"

It's not like he has anything better to do than take orders. He follows his instructions.

The windscreen doesn't shatter - it's built not to - but a second later Garrett's got something wedged into the seal, tearing at it now that the things mangled enough not to be airtight, and Tommy isn't sure where he'd gotten a crowbar, or how the fuck he'd climbed the nose with a bum leg, but he's a little glad he'll be too dead to get the lecture from Garrett's wife on making sure his copilot doesn't do dumb shit.

"-kill you to - little leverage wouldn't - 'mon Kinard - 'mme something to work -"

Tommy's flagging. He can't really breathe, anymore. There's chance the impact shattered a rib or two.

The windscreen actually folds, under the leverage from outside, but Garrett still doesn't know Tommy's pinned. He'd have had a better chance if Garrett had just worked the fire, but Tommy doesn't plan to tell him that. As it is, he sucks in smoke and blinks through the haze as Garrett folds the windscreen farther back. "Hold on, Kinard!"

Tommy laughs. "Not going anywhere," he says, which aren't the last words he'd have chosen for himself, an hour ago, but - seems fitting, anyway. He gets a feeble cough out, and then things go blurry.

"Fuck you, Tommy," isn't the last thing he ever expected to hear, either, but - well. Today's been FUBAR since he took the chopper up, so.

Fuck you, Tommy it is.

---

The field behind his grandparents house is loud, in the soggy twilight - frogs and crickets and cicadas, a cacophony of noise.

Oh, Tommy's absolutely gonna be pissed if all his friends just didn't get far enough into dying for the flashbacks. It's not like he could have asked any of the ones who'd actually kicked the can, of course, and Tommy'd never been actually all the way dead before. Just - on the brink.

This isn't anything like Evan had described.

Tommy turns. And there's nonna, in her sapphire blue muumuu, flicked with gold trim, grey hair permed within an inch of its life. He can smell the romas she must have brought in from the sun at dusk, and the espresso poured into her fancy china next to her porch chairs - a rocking chair he'd never had a chance to fix up for her before she'd been gone, the Adirondack he'd stopped fitting into when he sprouted six inches the summer between sophomore and junior year.

Nonna grins.

Tommy watches a firebug flit by him.

He blinks, and Nonna raises an eyebrow at him - the same way she'd done the first time he tried to lie about where he'd gotten the bruise on his chin, or why his knuckles were scabbed over, or what he thought of the model on her favorite set of dog eared bodice rippers.

Tommy isn't sure what he could possibly be lying about right now, but he doesn't get a chance to ask. Between one blink and the next the night, the frogs, and Nonna's back porch are gone.

---

Tommy fucking hates Dorian Gray. The reasons had changed, over the years, but even more than being wedged into this fucking deathtrap of a desk, with it's lose nuts and bolts and the arm on the wrong side of his fucking body (because Tammy Pritchard always got the lefty desk in every fucking class and not a single one of his teachers had ever thought to wonder why his handwriting on his homework had better penmanship and an incredibly unsubtle smear of ink when compared to his in-class assignments): even more than the scent of Heather Chester's perfume and the reek of weed and Cheetos coming off of Barry Trott, in the seat in front of him; even more than the squeak of chalk against the blackboard as Mrs. Henderson posits the question of the day (What is so horrifying about the painting?); Tommy hates this fucking book.

He sort of wishes this memory had taken him back to freshman year instead - at least he could articulate why Holden Caulfield had been a whiny little bitch.

It's not like he could say -

Well.

Actually.

This is Tommy's death rattle. So.

"It's a mirror," Tommy says, like he hadn't all those years ago. No one notices that Tommy's a few decades too old and more than a few inches too wide to fit in his desk. "It's an indictment on everyone who ever had a hand in creating such a beautiful monster."

Mrs. Henderson doesn't look up. Tommy doesn't know why he expected she would.

She'd never listened to him before, either.

---

He'd been expecting his dad, next, which is his own damn fault.

Captain Turner's zipping his pants back up.

Tommy rises from his knees.

The paperwork is there on his desk. A glowing recommendation for the flight training he's been denied twice already. Tommy's throat feels gummy. He can't remember when Turner stopped using condoms.

This isn't how it happened.

"Open your eyes, Kinard."

Tommy's eyes are already open.

---

"I'm proud of you, son," Gerrard says, and Tommy would very much prefer it if he was just dead, already.

The thing is - the thing is Gerrard looks genuinely pleased to see him - a rare enough thing in general, rarer still because this is the older Gerrard, the one he'd shut the fuck down in front of the very first chance he'd been given to tell him exactly how rank Tommy really thought he was.

"You know when to give up," Gerrard continues. And.

Oh.

Well.

Did he have a choice?

"Of course there's a choice. Make the right one. Keep on making it, Kinard."

---

Pain.

Christ. Tommy's had shrapnel under his skin for decades, now - he's been blown up, and shot, stabbed once, although that was a grazing blow, really.

This is so much worse. He feels like he's hemorrhaging, like his lungs are constricting, like -

"You're no son of mine."

Yeah. That'd been worse than the IED by far.

"Dad," he says, but the damage is done. His room is in shambles, which Tommy thinks is overkill - his dad'd probably found the Blueboy Tommy had tucked under the mattress a long while before he had swept all his football trophies off the shelf and emptied what looked like the entire contents of his wardrobe onto the floor.

On the plus side, it looks like he'd actually ripped his annotated copy of Picture of Dorian Gray in half, too, so small favors.

Only.

This hadn't happened. This was his nightmare scenario, the horrific dream he'd had every day for six years until he got out of basic and the nightmare scenarios turned physically violent, instead. If his dad had ever known an inkling of Tommy's inclinations he'd ignored it until the day Tommy made him stop ignoring it.

He'd never found his dirty magazine - just the one, because he'd been too fucking terrified of having a second one lying around somewhere.

Those words he'd reserved for something else entirely.

His dad had thrown a bitch fit when Tommy'd enlisted in the Army instead of the Marines, but those words - those were the words he'd gotten when the father he hadn't spoken to in three years learned that Tommy'd gone for turnouts instead of a gun and badge.

How do you emulate your father and rebel at the same time?

"Love you too, pops," Tommy says, and waits for the blink.

---

"Oh," Tommy says, and blinks open his eyes. Keith smiles back. It's a charming little grin, the first thing that had caught Tommy's eye across the bar three months before this night. And it's not - the room is all wrong, and it'd been midday, not evening, six hours between shifts and the first time their schedules lined up in weeks. Keith is all lithe muscle and smeared makeup, barely an hour out from his latest shoot.

"Don't say it," Keith says, and shifts his weight against sheets that aren't even the right color.

Tommy had wanted to say it, though. Thirty-odd years and he'd never had the courage to say it to anyone who might say it back in a meaningful way, but Keith -

They'd been all wrong for each other. Conflicting schedules, conflicting lifestyles, conflicting expectations. Keith would spend the next six months flying back for hookups, jet setting around the world on a campaign for Dolce & Gabanna, and then text Tommy to let him know he should get tested and never reach out again. Tommy would fly his chopper over the aftermath of a tsunami and wonder how it felt to drown.

The hands on his skin are wrong - rough with calluses, working hands. Tommy slides his thumb across the palm of one and thinks it feels like home.

"Don't go back to sleep," Keith says. There's something playing on Tommy's TV, which had never been in his room when he was with Keith.

That had been a recent development, actually, and technically it wasn't even his TV, but when Evan's lease had been up it had just made sense to the both of them to -

"Monster truck rallies, really?" Keith says, but the volume on the TV is too loud to make out what he says next. His mouth moves, and the words don't make it to Tommy's ears, and when he blinks again he thinks he can hear sirens.

---

The chicken barely moves as Bobby passes it off to Officer Grant, and there's some sort of significance to this moment, Tommy knows, but Sal is too busy making smooching faces at Tommy, his laugh deep and bracing, for Tommy to figure out what that significance is.

Eddie is staring at him from the passenger seat when he swings up into the rig.

"You need to come back," Eddie says, and that stupid fucking mustache twitches. "You stupid bastard, you have to come back."

---

"Just like that?" Tommy asks, staring at the transfer papers, and Nash looks at him like he knows too much.

"Have you changed your mind?"

Tommy's uses his middle and ring finger to pull the transfer papers closer to himself. Bobby hums, satisfied. "Good. I've got my eye on one of the new kids in training - hate to pass up on him."

Tommy shakes his head. "You still haven't replaced Sal. Who's even gonna train this new guy?"

Bobby's in his civvies. He's holding his rosary beads. Did he start out like that, or is this death knell just fucking with him now? "Not your time, yet," Bobby tells him, and Tommy doesn't -

---

"Just a little something I learned at the 118," Donato says with a grin, while Jerry eyes the blown up photo of Tommy and Evan kissing in the hospital lobby that's been hung up on the announcement board right next to Jill's kids butterbraid order sheet. One of the nurses must have taken it. Donato must have bribed one of the nurses to take it on the ride to the hospital. "We're, like, a base and a half away from wiener cousins, you know," she sing-songs, and Tommy tilts a raised brow her way.

He's still staring at the picture. When had Evan's hand made it that far into his turnout?

"I'm just saying, having been on the your end of those lips - congrats."

"Does it smell like smoke in here to you?" Jerry asks, and Tommy tries to swallow, tries to respond, but there's something stopping him from -

---

"Hey," Evan says. He's on nonna's rocking chair. The cicadas and the frogs are loud, against a backdrop of misty fields. It still smells like sundried tomatoes, but there's an antiseptic scent underneath it. There's a firebug perched on Evan's birthmark. "I'd, uh, really hate it if the last conversation we ever had was about my dad's weird obsession with you."

Tommy would also hate that. He goes to say so and can't speak. His chest is on fire, and his leg feels like it might give out if he takes a step forward. Evan's too far away, but he can still feel the calluses on Evan's fingers on his wrist, steady against his pulse.

"So, if you could just. If you could just open your eyes. Twitch your fingers. Um. I have a ring, and a speech, but I'd settle for like, you waking up to tell me you're leaving me for Andrew Garfield."

He's thinking of Andrew Lincoln, but Tommy can't get his throat to work to tell him so, or to remind him that Tommy actually hates that plot in Love Actually. Now Colin Firth...

The fingers slide from his pulse point to his ring finger. His leg screams. The cicadas drown out whatever Evan says next.

---

The lights in this room are too fucking bright. It smells of sterile metal and the cedarwood soap Evan uses. His hand is stuck to the bed.

"Tommy."

Tommy's pretty sure he's imagining the firefly perched on Buck's brow as he slides into his sight line, but the rest of him is real, and solid - his ridiculous fade and the curls askew atop his head and the slow blooming smile across his face, the hand sliding up his arm and the suddenly wet corners of his eyes.

"ey," he says, or tries to say - it comes out as croaky as the frogs that'd guided him through whatever strange dream he'd been having. He's losing the edges of it already, trying to grasp details even as they slip way. Evan's going to be so fucking disappointed they can't trade coma dream stories.

Evan hovers while a nurse looks him over, demanding ice chips from someone out in the hallway, and Tommy can't stop looking at him. He'd been dead. He'd been sure this was it, this time.

Tommy gets three ice chips down before he's allowed to speak.

"Why's the chicken important?" Which is - great. They've got him hooked up to good drugs. He'd meant to start off with the basics - I love you, and don't propose to me in a hospital room I know it's a Buckley special but I'd like to limit our significant moments here until they actually dedicate a wing in your honor. "Did Eddie shave the mustache while I was out?"

Jesus Christ.

Evan's laugh is wet, and his hand is wrapped around the cup of ice chips, instead of around Tommy's, which seem unnecessarily cruel.

"I love you," Evan says.

They say when you die your life flashes before your eyes. Evan informs him, eventually, that he'd crashed twice on the med-evac and been gone for a total of one minute eighteen seconds ("There's no significance to that. A coincidence," Tommy tells him. Evan doesn't fight him on it. Not then, anyway.) The flashing thing is still a crock of shit. Tommy's lost most of it before Evan gets around to 'you'.

Tommy finally gets Evan close enough to grasp his hand - slide his finger over the rough pad of his thumb, dig a nail into the forking lifeline in his palm. "Hey," he says, when Evan's grip goes tight, and tears well up in his eyes again. "Were you watching monster trucks while I was out?"

#bucktommy #bucktommy fic #tevan fic #why did rereading one of my fluffiest fics inspire this

247 notes · View notes

janiehellion · 3 months

Text

Rising From Embers

ONESHOT

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: When an argument with Carol leaves you feeling betrayed and jealous, Daryl’s anger and frustration reach the point of no return. What starts as a fight for understanding turns into a confrontation that changes everything you thought you knew about him—and yourself.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: DARYL DIXON X FEMALE!READER

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: SMUT / LANGUAGE / VIOLENCE / CONSENSUAL NON-CONSENT / ANGST

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 3.185

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ's ɴᴏᴛᴇ: Non-Con Elements (it might be interpreted this way — even though the scene seems to be consensual)

MASTERLIST

You had been angry for days, full of jealousy that had only worsened with each passing moment when you saw Carol and Daryl together. The way they laughed together, the way they hugged each other—every bit of it was like a stab to your already wounded pride.

But it had reached a boiling point tonight. You stormed into one of the houses in Alexandria and searched for Carol, wanting to confront her once and for all. When you finally found her, she was sitting on a bed, reading a book.

"Carol!" You yelled out harshly, full of anger and hurt.

She looked up from her book with a small smile on her lips, not even bothered by what was happening, nor was she interested. "What is it? Is something wrong? What happened?"

"You know exactly what the fuck it is," you snapped back at her, your frustration boiling over. "I know why you’ve been avoiding me for weeks! And every time I see you, you’re all over Daryl, like he’s the only fucking person in this world who even matters to you anymore!"

Carol’s eyes narrowed, but she remained nonchalant and quiet. "What are you talking about? Sure, we are a family, but we have our own lives. Daryl has been busy with his own stuff and things, just like I’ve been with mine."

"Busy?" You scoffed. "Like spending time with you only while I’m suddenly a piece of shit in your eyes?! Oh, yeah, I wonder why!?"

Carol’s smile didn’t go away, but she looked down on the floor for a moment. "Is this really about me? Or, rather, about you and Daryl? Because if you have a problem with him and your relationship, you should talk to him directly, not me."

"Oh, I will," you answered. "But I need you to understand, okay?"

Carol looked up at you again, seemingly confused. "And I’m supposed to care because?"

"Because we’re supposed to be a family!" you shouted angrily at her. "Or does that only apply when it’s comfortable for you?"

Carol shrugged. "Life’s hard, I guess. We all deal with it in our own ways."

"Dealing with it by throwing away your friends so that you could have Daryl by your side only?" You snapped back at her.

Carol stood up, her patience finally fading away slowly. "This isn’t just about me and Daryl or you wanting to spend time with me like before when we were still out there. It’s about you trying to make everything revolve around you and your relationship with him because you think you might lose him. And you know what? I’m done with this conversation."

Before you could respond, she grabbed her jacket and headed for the door. "Like, do you even trust Daryl? But what do I care? So, whatever, go ahead with your self-pity."

The slam of the door behind her left you standing there with anger and jealousy, and in your rage, you didn’t even notice the knock on the door until it got louder.

Opening the door with a scowl, you were met with the sight of Daryl; his eyes narrowed. "Was lookin’ for Carol. Asked me to come over. She around here?"

"She just left," you answered back harshly. "But you can come in and wait for her to return if you want. I’m sure you two have a lot to talk about!"

Daryl hesitated but stepped inside the house. "What’s wrong? Ya' look angry."

You tried to swallow down the lump in your throat. "I’m fine. I'm just tired of being ignored."

Daryl’s eyes searched yours, and he seemed to sense your hurt. "Wanna talk 'bout it?"

"It’s Carol... and you," you scoffed at him. "You... You've been so distant lately, and it’s like you’re all Carol cares about."

Daryl’s eyes narrowed again. "Nah. She has her own life here. We all do."

"Yeah, I get that," you snapped again. "But... forget it! I’m so sick of this bullshit!"

Daryl looked at you for a long moment. "So what?"

Your anger flared up again, and you slammed your fist down on the coffee table in the middle of the living room as you sat down on the couch. "It’s not just about her or you being busy, Daryl! It’s about how you've been treating me like I don’t even matter shit to you anymore!"

Daryl’s face seemed somewhat frustrated by your words, but he stood his ground, not wanting to let it get to him too soon. Deep inside, your words did hurt him. "If ya' got a problem with me or with us, then just say it."

"Maybe if you had actually spent time with me for once instead of Carol, it wouldn’t be this way, but clearly you couldn't give less of a fuck," you answered bitterly.

Daryl took a deep breath, trying to manage his own temper, and he grabbed your arm roughly. "Ya' know what? That's bullshit! Ya' wanna yell at someone? Fine, but don’t expect me to just sit here and take it."

His hand tightened on your arm. “Ain't together with ya' to argue with ya'. I’m together with ya' because I care.”

His words only fueled the anger in you, and you struggled against his strong grip. "Care? Really? Because it feels like you’re only interested in Carol! Like always!"

"Fine. Ya' wanna let all the damn anger out, huh?" Daryl started, but before you could react, Daryl pulled you into a harsh, rough kiss. His lips crashed against yours, and his hands were all over your body, as if he were trying to make you feel every bit of emotion through the force of his touch.

Your hands gripped his shirt, pulling him closer as you kissed him back immediately, while his hands moved to your waist as he pushed you backward and toward the bedroom without you even noticing at first.

"Daryl," you gasped out, your heart now racing.

But he didn’t respond to you with words, only with actions. His hands were rough, his touch harsh, as he tore at your clothes and tried to get them off. "Ya' wanted to fight?" he growled at you. "Then let’s fuckin' fight."

You could barely even process his words as you desperately tried to regain some control of the sudden situation, wanting to pull away from him quickly.

"But not like this, you fucking idiot! Let go of me, Daryl!" You shouted at him and tried to push him away.

Daryl’s grip only tightened, his eyes narrowing as he looked at you. "Not until ya' let it all out."

"No! I won’t let you just fuck me like this, thinking it might calm me down!" You struggled against him, but deep inside? Deep inside, you were secretly wanting more.

"Then make me stop," he said back, and he simply smirked at you. His hands were rough as they gripped your wrists, now pinning them above your head.

"Daryl, that's bullshit! Just stop," you cried out, your voice turning into a moan.

But Daryl was too far gone already. He kissed you roughly again, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth all the while ripping your clothes finally away from your body until he pushed you back onto the bed. "Ya' think ya' can tell me what to do?" he snarled. "Ya' think ya' can just push me and get away with it?"

You tried to fight back, but his strength was too much. He forced you under himself, his body pressing down on yours.

"Daryl, no—" you tried to protest, but he silenced you with another rough kiss, his hands gripping your thighs and spreading them apart.

"Ya' wanted to fight," he growled, his fingers sliding along your pussy. "And ya' think you can just win a damn fight with me?"

You tried to pull away, but his grip was too strong, his hard cock pressing into your belly and leaking precum all over it.

"Please, Daryl," you begged, your voice shaking. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to..."

But he cut you off with a deep, passionate bite on your neck, and his tongue quickly delved into your mouth right after, silencing your protests. But all of a sudden, he grabbed your thighs and lifted them up a little bit, wrapping your legs around his waist. You could feel his cock pressing against your pussy, and you knew that there was no turning back.

Daryl thrust into you hard and deep, making you cry out in agony and pure lust. He fucked you roughly into the bed, your bodies slamming together with each thrust.

"Fuck, ya' feel so fuckin' good," he groaned, his lips finding your neck. He bit and sucked greedily at your skin, leaving marks all over your body. All the while, he fucked you faster but slower.

"Harder," you begged him, your nails digging into his back and scratching all over his scars, as if you were wanting to leave new ones that would hide the ones of his past. Scars of something that would be worth remembering. "Fuck me harder, Daryl!"

He obliged, his thrusts becoming more frantic and desperate. You could feel the orgasm building inside of you, your pussy clenching around his cock.

"Yes, yes, yes!" You cried out, your head thrown back in ecstasy. "Daryl, fuck!" You cried out, gasping and shivering.

His fingers dug into your skin. "Ya' think ya' can just throw that damn jealousy in my face?"

You struggled beneath him, trying to resist his hold at least a little bit, but it was no use against the strength of his body. "No! This isn’t—"

"No more games," he snarled.

You gasped and moaned beneath him, the feeling of him hitting you just right making you scream. He increased the force of his thrusts, soon enough driving you to the edge.

"I want more," you cried out, your voice barely above a whisper.

"That so?" he growled. "Ya' want more, huh?"

Without waiting for a response, he pulled his cock out of you, his fingers gripping your hair and forcing you onto your trembling feet, sensing that you might fall down onto your knees. You stumbled slightly, disoriented by the sudden change out of nowhere, but Daryl didn't care and pulled you towards a full-length mirror in the room.

"Look at ya'," he demanded, shoving you in front of the mirror. "Look at us."

You stood there, your body trembling, your eyes meeting your own reflection as his fingers dug into your shoulders. “Ya' see that?” he asked, watching you nod slowly.

With a sudden, forceful push, he pushed you against him, spreading your legs for him in front of the mirror. "Ya' gonna watch," he said harshly, "ya' gonna see what I'm doing to ya'."

He pushed you a little further towards the mirror, his grip tight on your hips as he roughly pushed his cock into you from behind.

"Ya' like this, don't ya'?" he growled. "Ya' like it rough and hard."

Something inside your mind tried to protest and push him away, but he was just too determined. And as much as you tried to deny it, there was a part of you that was enjoying it. The way he was fucking you and claiming you, it was like nothing you had ever experienced before.

"Yes," you finally gasped, giving in to the feelings. "Yes, fuck! Yes, I love it! Don't stop!"

He fucked you harder, and you could see your reflections in the mirror, his muscular body pinning you slightly against the glass as he took you from behind. It felt so dirty, somehow even wrong, and yet you couldn't get enough.

"Look at ya' in the mirror," he commanded. "Look at how ya' getting fucked. Look at us."

In the reflection, you could see the lust in his eyes, the way his muscles tensed with each thrust, and the way he held your body close to his. "Tell me ya' want it. Tell me ya' need it," he said, his hands gripping your hair to expose your neck.

You moaned, your body trembling around him. "I want it," you let out in a shaky whisper.

"Louder!" He demanded.

"I need this! Please!" You cried out, your voice now desperate.

Daryl let out a growl at your words, his fingers leaving bruises on your body as he fucked you even deeper. When you finally reached your orgasm, his body pressed tightly against yours, his hands finding your tits and playing with your nipples as you came hard. But before you could even catch your breath, Daryl pulled out of you with a final, forceful thrust, your body collapsing against his as you desperately gasped for air.

He quickly threw you back onto the bed and positioned himself over you, with his head buried between your thighs, his face just inches away from your soaking wet pussy, and his leaking cock only inches away from yours.

"Let’s see how much more ya' can take," he said, and he was soon enough grinding his hips against your face, the tip of his hard cock pressing against your lips.

"Mhm," you moaned out, running your tongue over the tip and licking off the precum. "Fuck, I want to taste you."

As you heard him groan, you knew that you were driving Daryl as crazy as he was driving you. But instead of taking his cock into your mouth right away, you were wrapping your hand around it.

"Oh, fuck," Daryl groaned, throwing his head back, just as he was about to suck on your clit. "Oh, fuckin' hell, that feels so damn good."

You smiled, pumping your hand up and down his shaft. "Yeah? You like that?"

"Yeah, I fuckin' love it," Daryl said, his voice trembling a bit, and you decided to use your other hand as well, placing it on his balls to massage them as you continued to stroke his cock.

Daryl was panting and moaning, his hips bucking wildly, and soon enough he lowered his head, his mouth sucking on your clit as he began to kiss and lick your pussy to eat you out. He made no attempt to be gentle; instead, he devoured your body with pure hunger, his lips and tongue exploring and tasting every part of it.

You moaned loudly as he continued to tease you before his hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place while his tongue licked along your pussy folds, tasting you even more before he began to push his tongue in and out over and over again for what felt like an eternity.

Soon, he shifted his position a little bit, his mouth focusing on your sensitive clit again, his tongue flicking over it and circling it, now more gentle but still with lust.

He grunted and groaned against your pussy while you were still playing with the tip of his leaking cock, the vibrations against your clit making you arch your back as you finally took him as deep as you could into your mouth, with your tongue moving along the underside of his shaft, wanting to feel every little twitch of it around your lips.

Daryl’s hands gripped your thighs harder, his fingers now digging into your flesh, which was sure to leave bruises over the next few days as he still held you in place. "Fuck," he mumbled against you. "Suck me off... Just like that, don't fuckin' stop. Suck my cock."

His words only turned you on even more as you took him deeper into your mouth, wanting to feel his cock pulse against your throat, his body trembling while he struggled to hold back.

"Fuck, yes," Daryl groaned, his hips thrusting against your face.

You were both moaning and groaning, and you could feel yourself getting close to coming all over again, and you knew that Daryl was close, too.

"I'm so fucking close! I'm gonna come," you gasped, your pussy clenching around his tongue.

"Same," Daryl grunted against you, his cock twitching in your mouth, and finally, with a loud and low groan, Daryl came hard, his thick load of cum shooting into your mouth and down your throat while you greedily swallowed every drop of it and wanted to suck him dry.

After a while, he pulled himself up from you, but soon enough, he pinned you down under him again. "Ya' wanted a fight," he said quietly, looking at you with a smirk. "Well, ya' got one now. And if there’s a next time you’re jealous, over bullshit," he murmured in a whisper, "just remember that I’ll claim what’s mine."

But before either of you could really catch your breath, the door creaked open, and Carol stepped into the room. Her eyes widened slightly, but instead of a shocked gasp, she let out a laugh.

“What the hell!” you yelled out loud, quickly pulling a blanket over the both of you.

Daryl froze beside you as well, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Carol. "What ya' doin’ here? Thought ya' were out."

Carol showed off a knowing smile but ultimately turned away so you and Daryl could feel a bit more comfortable. "Just checking in. It seems like my plan worked better than I thought it would."

You blinked in confusion, your heart still racing. "Excuse me? Plan? What plan? What the hell are you talking about, Carol?"

She leaned against the wall next to the door, her arms crossed over her chest. "Well, you two needed to sort things out. The jealousy and all that—it was only a matter of time before it blew up into something. I just gave it a little bit of a push."

Daryl’s jaw clenched slightly as he looked over his shoulder. "Ya' set this up? That's why ya' asked me to meet ya' here?"

Carol shrugged her shoulders. "Yeah, and now maybe you two can finally be honest with each other and more open about your relationship instead of trying to keep it hidden away from everyone else."

You felt anger, relief, and gratitude—all of these emotions suddenly flooding your mind and heart. "You... Wait, you manipulated us?"

"Call it what you want," she answered, seemingly unapologetic about it. "But look at where it got you both now. So, yeah, sometimes, a little push is all it takes and needs."

Daryl glanced at you, his expression softening slightly. "Guess we owe her, huh?"

You managed to laugh, still processing the situation and what was actually happening. "Yeah, I guess so."

"I’ll leave you two to... talk things out, you know? Maybe next time, don’t let jealousy get in the way of what you really feel." With that, Carol turned around and left, closing the door behind her.

Daryl sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Shit, that was weird as fuck."

You nodded, but you felt the awkwardness slowly fading away. "Yeah. But maybe she’s right. We needed this. You and me both."

And without another word, Daryl's fingers traced the marks he'd left on your skin—each bruise, each bite, and each scratch.

227 notes · View notes

michelle-is-writing · 7 months

Text

Doubt, Spencer Reid

Word Count: 1k~

I've noticed Spencer avoiding me lately and looking rather sad. He doesn't reject me when I give him attention, but its almost as if he never returns the favor. I commonly see him reading a book for a few minutes before losing focus or interest in the work of literature and putting it down with a sigh. It's unusual for Spencer to lose interest in something so quickly, and it's strange for Spencer to not talk to me as much as he usually would.

After returning from a day of work at the BAU, Spencer does what he usually does and places his bag beside the door along with his shoes before stripping off his coat and hanging it up. Walking over to me, he plops down on the couch beside me and plops his head beside my legs. Happy to see him, I smile at down him, moving my hand to lightly drag my finger across his cheek. He doesn't smile at this, but he doesn't pull away from my touch either. This is my moment to ask him.

"Spence, baby," I say his name, causing him to glance up at me. "Are you okay?" I ask, furrowing my eyebrows. "You haven't been your usual self, and I'm kind of worried."

Staring up at me, Spencer stays quiet for several seconds before sighing and answering me. "I'm okay, yes," he answers, sitting up. "I've just... I've just had a few things on my mind lately," With his back facing me, I move closer to him before wrapping my arms around him and pulling him into me, his head laying back on my shoulder.

"Then tell me," I say to him, leaning over and kissing his cheek. "Tell me what's on your mind."

Spencer shakes his head in a way that says he doesn't think it's a big deal; we've been dating for so long that we know what each other's movements mean. I know when he purses his lips and shakes his head that he doesn't think something is a big deal. I also know that when Spencer's eyes stare straight ahead instead of meeting mine that he's afraid to tell me something, or he's a bit hesitant in what he's about to say. Even though he's doing all of these, I don't stop asking him until he finally sighs and begins to speak, his voice low.

"I'm not good enough for you," Spencer tells me, making me a little confused. "I can't do a lot of things with you like travel or take you on planned dates without stupid work cutting in," he sighs, closing his eyes. "Besides, I'm never home with you for more than two or three days. Not to mention I'm socially awkward and I sometimes don't know what to say... sometimes, all I can think about is how you're too good for me, and you deserve someone so, so much better."

After hearing his confession, I don't know what to say. I wait a few moments to respond as I slowly process through everything Spence just admitted. I never knew he thought this way, but now it all makes sense. The way he's avoided me for the past few days... the way he constantly apologizes for silly mistakes even though it's not that big of a deal... it all pieces together now.

"I wish you wouldn't say such lies," I finally answer him, placing my hand on the side of his face. Turning him toward me, I push my lips against his, smiling as he kisses back before pulling me into his lap and close to his chest. It's moments like these that I live for, that I dream about. I crave these moments day and night, and when they happen, nothing around me matters. All that matters is my lips on Spencer's, and his heart beating against my own.

Pulling away from the kiss, I rub my thumb against his cheek before finishing my sentence. "But you're all that I've ever wanted in my life," I continue, sighing blissfully while tears come to my eyes. "And if I'm being honest, you're perfect for me. I know that sounds selfish, but-"

Before I can keep on, Spencer's lips reattach themselves to mine again before his hands find their way into my hair. With Spencer finally making the move to kiss me after what feels like forever, I tearfully smile and wrap my arms around his neck, linking my hands together. Soon, we're both lying down on the couch with my body beneath Spencer's own perfect body.

Pulling away to breathe, Spencer smiles softly and sweetly at me, the entire room lighting up as he does so. "You're perfect for me too," He confesses, his voice gentle and calm. "I can't live without you. If you'll have me, I-I'd like to marry you one day," Spencer further concludes, making my eyes widen as everything around me comes to a halt.

"Are you asking me to marry you?" I ask, staring up at him with wide eyes. In response, Spencer gently smiles and nods.

"I don't want it to seem like this is a split-second decision I'll regret later because it isn't, and I know I'll never regret this," He begins, taking my hand in his. "But this feels so right. When thinking about being with you for the rest of my life, I thought maybe you wouldn't want me, but now... it just seems like the perfect moment to do this,"

Leaning back down, Spencer's lips hover over mine as he continues, my full name falling from his lips as I smile with tears in my eyes once again. "If you'll let me, I'd like to make you (Y/n) (M/n) Reid instead," he confesses, smiling. "The only thing I'd ever want to change about you is your last name," his comment makes me giggle before leaning up and attaching my lips to his, holding him closer once more.

"Yes, Spencer," I answer him, pulling back to stare into his beautiful hazelnut orbs. "A million times yes," I add, placing my hands on the sides of his face before kissing him again, my fingers running against the light stubble of his cheeks as his hands find their way to my waist. Once again, my lips are on Spencer's, and our hearts are beating against each other's, although this time, it feels as if our heartbeats are one in the same.

358 notes · View notes

broshot · 1 year

Note

Ooo can you also do Nanami and Sukuna for the near death reader? Loved the ones for Megumi and Gojo!

a/n: hello!! of course I can do that♡ thank you for the request! I'm just a hater when it comes to sukuna so I'll be making him the most ooc there is! (I've never really written stuff for these two so I hope they're not too bad) also I'm so so so sorry for writing this so late, I've had a big writing block recently so this isn't my best writing but I just needed to post this for you all

here's the one with megumi and gojo!

cw/tw: gn!reader, hurt w comfort (angst to fluff), hurt reader, mentions of death + blood, confession in sukuna's part, probs a bit (or very) ooc,

♡♡♡

nanami kento

he wasn't a person who talked about his feelings, and he definitely didn't show them. he was polite and professional, not so polite when he was fighting but that didn't matter. he always had the same blank and bored expression on his face, sometimes it turned into annoyed and angry but he never smiled or looked sad.

until he met you. he fell in love with you instantly, though he tried to convince himself that he definitely wasn't in love. he wanted to share his life with you, both his good and bad days.

you made him smile and laugh, you made him happy. he swears the day he confessed to you was his luckiest and happiest day and he never ever wanted to lose you. he swore he would protect you.

but his promise didn't seem very true anymore. you were sitting against a wall with your head in an uncomfortable position. he rushed over to you and tried to wake you up as you seemed to just be unconscious, probably fainted and nothing worse.

"can you hear me, sweetheart?" he asked, softly lifting your chin up. that's when he noticed the deep cut on your neck. it was bleeding a lot, how did he not notice all the blood before?

"wake up," he said, feeling the panic rush up faster and faster. you need to stay calm, he thought to himself but it wasn't really working.

his hands seemed to work on their own as he softly pressed a piece of cloth onto your wound, trying to stop the bleeding.

"what's up? I'm in a tight spot right now." he heard gojo's unusually serious voice on the other side of the phone. when had he called gojo?

"uh, I need help. (name)'s bleeding a lot. could you send someone over?" he couldn't recognize his own voice, it sounded distant and a bit too high to be his.

"I'll be over in a second," was all he heard gojo say before a familiar frame arrived right next to him.

---

you opened your eyes and quickly tried to get up. the fight was all you had in mind, you couldn't waste even a second, you had to be there.

but you were stopped by a huge wave of pain all over your body. your head was hurting and so was your neck, and you were suddenly aware of how sore all of your muscles were. you were laying in a bed, probably in a hospital somewhere. before you could even think about what happened yesterday that got you in this position, you noticed nanami sleeping on the chair next to you.

"honey?" you whispered and to your surprise, he immediately wake up.

"sweetheart. you're alive." he breathed out before rushing over to you. he pulled you close to his chest, softly wrapping his arms around your body.

"yeah, I was-" you started but a sound stopped your words. you heard a quiet sob from him. he was crying.

"I thought I lost you," he sobbed, his voice wobbly and weak.

you didn't say anything. you just hugged him back.

"I don't ever want to lose you, love, never," he continued. "if you die I'll never love anyone again. please don't leave me like that."

"I'll do my best to stay alive for you," you whispered. "I love you.

"I love you too. I'll make sure you're protected next time."

♡♡♡

sukuna

the king of curses shouldn't fear anything, right?

so why was he shaking from fear right now?

"I'm not scared, I'm just angry," he repeated for the nth time in his head. he could never be scared, really. but still, being scared was the only thing that felt acceptable for him right now. he was scared he'd lose you, the love of his life, all because he wasn't careful.

he had been practicing to control his cursed energy in different ways and had accidentally hit you with a huge energy boost. it didn't fully hit you, but it made a deep cut on the right side of your neck. and you were bleeding. you were bleeding a lot.

he stood next to you as you laid on the ground. he couldn't fully process what was happening, but soon enough his knees gave up and he fell down next to you.

curses are able to cry.

he had never cried before this, he never had any reasons to cry before this. but he was fully sobbing while looking down at your body. he could almost see the life bleeding out of you and he couldn't do anything about it.

then he remembered a thing or two.

---

you felt a stinging pain on your neck as you woke up. you groaned and tried to sit up, but you were quickly stopped by a pair of hands.

"sukuna?"

"(name), you're alive," you heard him say.

"yeah, why wouldn't I be?" you asked. he stayed quiet. "sukuna.. what happened?"

he sighed before explaining the situation fully. "I'm really sorry for that, I swear I didn't try to hit you and I didn't do it on purpose, I feel really bad about it and to think that I almost killed the only person I truly love, I'm such a disappointment," he rambled.

you were speechless. the fact that he almost killed you was shocking enough but on top of that he also loved you.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what took over me. I was just.. thinking out loud and I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable-" he kept rambling but you cut him off by placing your hand on his cheek. he looked up at you, clearly surprised by your action.

"relax, you didn't make me uncomfortable. and I forgive you for, you know, almost killing me. and I love you too."

"wait what? you.. do you really?" he asked, clearly not believing his ears.

"more than anything."

♡♡♡

this is WAY worse than the last one omg I'm so sorry AAAAAAAA anyways, recommend characters you want me to do this with (if you want to see more characters w this prompt)

you can also recommend other stuff for me to write! :D

masterlist is on my profile but I haven't updated it in a while

#ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #nanami imagine #nanami kento fluff #nanami kento angst #ryomen sukuna fluff #sukuna angst #sukuna fluff #sukuna jujutsu kaisen #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami jjk #nanami x y/n #gn!reader #sukuna x y/n #ryomen sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader

1K notes · View notes

maltesejjong · 4 months

Text

after being ia for so long, and losing the passwords to my original tumblr and wattpad accts, i am happy to say i am BACK, even if you don’t know who i am lmao. For now, imma be doing reposts of my old tumblr and wattpad posts before i start new content. Enjoy!

꒰ঌ(⃔ ⌯' '⌯)⃕໒꒱

What’s Really Going On?

Summary: you and you boyfriend Minho have been together for a while now. Years, as a matter of fact. There’s no reason for there to be secrets, especially when it comes to your body. But after missing an appointment you had been anticipating and tension from an argument nights prior still brewing, the truth comes spilling out

WARNINGS: dom!minho, afab!reader, oral sex (both receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it please y’all don’t be stupid), use of traffic light system, fingering (reader receiving), swearing, mentions of pregnancy complications, i think that’s it? Please lmk if i missed anything

Wc: 5971

MINORS DNI, THIS CONTAINS 18+ CONTENT

5:30 pm

You sigh and pocket your phone. Fifteen minutes. He's fifteen minutes late.

Of course, he's been late before, but never like this.

Fifteen minutes, you normally let slide. You just can't imagine that he'd be late when today is so important.

"Y/n! Babe!"

You turn at the sound of your name, and somewhere in you, even though it's not fair, you think eighteen minutes.

Nevertheless, you pocket your frustration and smile the smile only he can draw from you.

"Minho!"

He comes up to you, putting his arm around your waist and kissing your cheek. "I'm so sorry, baby. Traffic was horrible," he explains.

You understand, of course. It's a random Wednesday, but a major band is in town, and 500 lucky people in the area got free tickets.

But that isn't why today is so important to you.

"Why didn't you leave sooner?" You ask, slightly miffed that he ignored your suggestion to stay the night with you, so you would both be on time.

Minho doesn't answer, but you're sure you know what he's thinking. "Babe," you say, holding his arm to make him look at you, " I'm not mad, okay? It was just a bit...much." You bite down in the apology trying to jump from your lips, knowing it could just do more damage.

"What?" He looks slightly confused, as if he forgot the argument you two got in a few days ago. "Oh," he says as the memory resurfaces, "I know. I'm just thinking. Nothing bad, y/n. Just work stuff."

"Okay..."

You arrive your appointment with ten minutes to spare, feeling thankful for the cop that had created a barricaded lane for people not going to the concert, making it easier to navigate the traffic-choked streets of your usually quiet city.

"Wait here," you whisper to Minho. "Hi," you say as you approach the lady behind the desk, "I have an appointment with Mia Loffe."

The secretary, who you've never seen a day in your life at Mia's, types something on her keyboard. "Of course... Let me see... Okay, what's your name, dear?"

You swallow the reaction trying to escape at being called "dear" by someone so young. "Y/n Bang."

"Bang... Bang..." she mumbles to herself, searching what must be a busy schedule. You know Mia's been slammed with work, but she made sure there there was at least an hour for you to come in.

You even booked an appointment, something you never do with Mia, just in case.

"Okay, um, Ms.Bang?" Dread fills your stomach. "It says here that some things had to be rescheduled, but Ms. Loffe has maybe ten minutes, if you'd like to pop back there real quick."

"I, uh... No, that's alright," you say, knowing that Mia is probably getting ready for her next appointment. You don't hold it against her for not letting you know that between last night and today, there was a shift in schedule. "Can I leave a message with you? I don't want to call her while she's working. Will you please just tell Mia to call me when she's not busy?"

The secretary scratches the note onto a pieces of paper and sticks it onto her computer. "Of course. Is there anything else I can do?"

"No," you say, trying to fight the sinking feeling in your chest. "No, thank you though. Have a nice day."

"You, too, Ms. Bang."

You round the corner to see Minho scrolling through his phone. "C'mon," you say quietly.

Minho looks up at you. "Hey." He stands up. "Did Mia kick you out or something?"

You don't answer, except to say "There was a change in schedale, so i'm comine back another You don't answer, except to say "There was a change in schedule, so I'm coming back another day." You can't help but feel annoyed at your boyfriend for his lateness. Mia had even said to make sure you were there at least thirty minutes beforehand, just in case. This, you feel, is largely Minho's fault.

Minho picks up that you don't really want to talk, and doesn't pry as you drive back to your place together.

"Babe," Minho says softly once he's closed your front door, "What's wrong?"

You keep your back to him, trying to contain your feelings. "Nothing, Minho. I'm just a little tired," you lie.

"Why don't you change, and we can watch a movie?" He suggests. "I'll order takeout later, okay?"

You agree, and go change into one of his hoodies and a pair of shorts. When you come back to the living room, you see that your boyfriend's hands have not been idle. He set up a little nest of blankets and pillows on the couch, just the way you like it when you watch movies together, snuggled in close and pressed against one another.

"Is this okay?" He asks when he hears you behind him. "I wasn't sure how much you wanted snuggles, but..." he trails off as he turns and takes in your outfit. No matter how often Minho has seen you wear something of his, it gives him a rush every time.

Clearing his throat, he says "What do you want to watch?" Your ongoing agreement is that you get authority over movie snacks, and he gets authority over what food gets ordered. You both always pick what the other likes most, though, and you switch off who gets to pick the movie.

"I don't really care," you say dismissively. "You can choose. I just want muddy buddies and popcorn."

He smiles warmly, hiding his concern behind deep chocolate eyes. "Choi's alright?"

You nod, as he knew you would. "Don't forget the crab ran-goons and crispy beef," you say, putting a bag of popcorn into the microwave and nuking it.

"Oh, and egg rolls."

"Babe, I got it," he teases. "You act like I haven't known you for twelve years."

"And loved me just as long," you say to yourself, remembering the day your older brother, Chan, came home with his newfound friend, someone named Lee Minho. It wasn't the fact the he was Korean. No, Chan had lots of Korean friends, and you had you fair share. It wasn't his name. It wasn't his age or complexion.

It was his eyes. The way his nose crinkles when he smiles. It was how he acts like the mom of the group, even to the guys older than him, reminding someone to put on sunscreen, or, more often than not, cooking for everyone.

Later, it was also the way he started to look at you, like you weren't "Chan's kid sister" but a girl worth his attention, even though you're three years younger than him. It started as getting more "older brother" attention than the others. Then, you learned what flirting is. It became shy touches and bold smiles. Inside jokes and feeling jumpy if Chan was there when you were together. It became hidden kisses and climbing onto one another's rooftop in the middle of the night to watch the stars and talk. It became Chan walking in the room right when your lips touched Minho's, blouse slightly unbuttoned.

The microwave beeps, bringing you out if your trip down memory lane. Carefully picking the hot bag up by a corner, and reaching for the bowl you had put on the counter. You sigh as the smell of butter and salt taunts your stomach. You hear sounds from the TV as Minho skims past different movies.

Minho glances over his shoulder at you while you shake some ttekboki into a bowl. You can feel the worry and questions rolling off him. It took years for you to recognize the care, hidden beneath such a brash and forceful facade. He always plays his emotions close to vest, but knows how and when to pull back. That hasn't changed, except now, he has a heart that's completely open to you.

"What did you choose?" you ask, coming into the living room.

He's standing in front of the TV, arms crossed, remote pointed at the screen. "Action movie?"

"Okay," you say, setting the snacks onto the ottoman.

You lose yourself in the movie, and eventually, you don't even notice what's going on in the plot, because, as always, you re more tuned in to the Minho show. Every point where your bodies touch, his warmth, this feeling of security. You smile as his lips touch your neck for what must be the tenth time.

"I'm gonna put the order in," he says, his words warming your skin.

"Okay," you mumble, somewhat sleepily. "I'm taking a bathroom break."

He nods, his phone to his ear.

When you come back, you decide to get some water. You go to the kitchen and reach into the dish rack to get a glass. You aren't really paying attention, and nick your finger on the knife you washed this morning, after cutting an avocado. In your preoccupation with your appointment with Mia, you had left the knife pointing upwards.

"Shit," you yelp, waving your hand.

Minho comes into the kitchen. "What happened?"

"Nothing. Just cut my finger," you say, sucking on the cut, blood staining your tongue.

He gently pulls your finger away and examines the cut. "It's not deep," he says, sounding relieved. "Here." He turns the knob on the sink, and water starts flowing from the faucet.

You gingerly put your finger under the water, hissing at how cold it is. Minho stands behind you, his chest touching your back as he massages your hand under the chilly water.

"You gotta be more careful, y/n," he says with a slight laugh.

You ignore his words, and instead focus on the feeling of his fingers kneading your hand, his breath on your skin. Your pulse quickens predictably. As it always does with him.

"Thanks, babe," you say, gently pulling away, trying to calm yourself, but not entirely sure you want to.

Minho opens the medicine cabinet, searching for a band-aid. "Food'll be here in about half an hour. Maybe 45 minutes," he says, his back to you.

Something in you says "fuck it" and you go over, hugging him from behind.

You feel his muscles jump, but his voice is steady as he says "Hey, pretty girl. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," you say, your cheek pressed against his back. You know you should talk to him about the appointment with Mia, but you don't want to. Not yet. You have other things on your mind.

You stand on your tiptoes and press your lips to the back of Minho's neck. He brings his arms down, abandoning his search for a bandage. "Babe?"

"Minho," you say quietly, in the same tone you use every time you're feeling a little naughty.

You can hear him swallow. "Y/n?" He turns to face you and you look into each other's eyes.

After a moment, you lean forward and kiss him, keeping your lips closed. You know he finds this as both an annoyance and a turn-on.

When you pull away, you see confusion in your boyfriend's gaze as he tries to decide which route to take. You know that he's going to wait to see what you do first.

Looking him dead in the eye, you say "Stop being such a gentleman." The code word you use to let him know what mood you're in.

You know he's decided to go with it, that he wants this too, when he says "I've never known a lady who doesn't wait for the man to make the first move."

He kisses you, hard. No playing around, no lead-up. You know this is going to get rough. Just how you like it.

He's still leaning against the counter, and you wrap your arms around his neck, feeling his tongue meet yours. You make some vague noise at the back of your throat as he somehow manages to kiss you even deeper. His hands grip the hem of his hoodie that you're wearing, and he pulls it over your head.

"Thought so," he murmurs against your mouth.

You aren't wearing a shirt. Somehow, no matter what, he always knows. One of the Minho mysteries you have yet to figure out.

Not wanting to waste any time, you yank his shirt over his head. He laughs, tousle-haired and swollen-lipped. You trail your fingers over his lean torso, one of the many results from years of dance. You love that he's a dancer, that he couldn't give less of a shit about stereotypes. It's sexy as hell.

You lean into him, forcing him to practically bend backwards, kissing him as roughly as you possibly can. He slips a hand into your waistband, his fingers teasing. You bunch his hair into your fists, knowing he won't go any further.

Not after the other day.

Not unless you tell him to.

His touch is like fire, burning into your skin. You moan slightly against his lips as his fingers slowly move to your clit, waiting to see if you'll stop him.

You don't.

What you do do is drag your fingers down his chest to his jeans, and start to unbutton them. Something you've done so many times that you could do it with one finger and your eyes closed.

Except.

There's a nervousness zapping your spine and bubbling in your stomach that hasn't been there in a while, making you fumble.

Thinking that your slip is due to him, Minho starts to pull back, but you grab his wrist with your other hand, leaning back to look in his eyes.

"Don't stop," you say.

He swallows, seeming to feel the same nervousness.

He nods and places his lips on yours, kissing his way down your jaw and to your neck, his lips gentle while his fingers are anything but, making your walls clench like crazy.

"Damn, y/n," he mutters.

"Minho... the couch. Please," you say in a strained voice.

He gathers you up and moves into the living room, a short transition in the small apartment.

You lay on your back, biting his neck, his lips, his tongue, as he works a second finger into you. Your hips lift off the couch.

"Y/n."

You look at him, seeing the question in his eyes.

You nod slowly, feeling your stomach jump. You watch him pull his fingers out, covered in your juices. He pulls your shorts down your legs, followed by your panties. He runs the same fingers that were just inside you up your ankle, your leg, to the inside of your thigh.

Minho makes eye contact with you again and you nod firmly. Yes. The green light.

He kisses the inside of your thigh, working his way to your entrance. When he gets there, you re clenching so hard around nothing it hurts. You ball your fists, trying not to make the noises so desperately trying to escape.

You wait, anticipation racking your body until he pushes your legs a little farther apart. Then he gets to work.

Finally, you can't take it anymore. "God, Minho," you moan.

"That's it, baby. Let it go. Sing for me, I want to hear that angelic voice if yours."

It feels so good. Perhaps too good. You can barely believe that you picked an argument with him over this.

You arch your back as his tongue enters your body and he makes some noise when your walls tighten even more. He pulls back and says "Relax, y/n."

"I'm trying," you mutter through clenched teeth.

As if to help, Minho starts rubbing your thigh. "No, babe, that doesn't—-" you cut yourself off, trying to get a grip. "Minho- I can't- agh-"

"Just let go, babe"

That's exactly what you're trying not to do. It's what you got so upset about on Sunday. The way you just lost control, how he encouraged it. He was a little confused, because you used to love it, the rush, the feeling, and now, he said, you're acting like it's your first time all over again. He was hurt because you called him greedy. You regret it, and you know he's going to make sure to make you such a mess and so needy that you really regret it.

One strong suck is all it takes to make you come.

You moan, grabbing at the couch as he pulls away, a devilish smirk on his face. He comes back with his fingers, shoving three fingers into your pussy, his thumb stroking your clit.

"Minho, I can't... You're gonna make me- uh!" You exclaim, coming all over his fingers.

"You know you want me," he hisses, but not maliciously. You shake your head, trembling. "Don't you?"

Again, you shake your head.

"Are you sure?"

"No. I don't want—"

"I can't hear you." He pushes his fingers even deeper.

You bite your lip, trying to pull him closer so you can kiss him, but he just raises an eyebrow in that way that drives you wild and pushes his fingers against your walls.

"One more chance, y/n. You know you want me, don't you?"

Yes," you gasp out. "I want... so bad..."

He smirks. "Who's the greedy one now?"

"Me," you pant. "Greedy bitch. I know. I'm such a dirty-"

"Keep going," he says.

"Dirty ho." Your clit aches painfully against his fingers as a fourth stretches it out. "So... such a- a slut,” you pant, somewhat hysteric.

"Mmm. You can do better than that."

You push him onto his back, yanking his jeans and boxers away.

"There you go," he says.

"In me," you beg. "Please?"

"Hmm.. I don't think you've said 'thank you' yet."

You start kneading around his dick. "Why should I?"

“I require payment," he says, his voice still so steady.

You cup your hand around his erection and start moving up and down. You take the tip of him in your mouth, tongue circling as you suck gently.

"Good girl."

You decide to show no mercy and suck as as you can, making him groan.

"Y/n. I can't-"

"To bad," you snap. "Try."

"God, you're so hot when you're fired up."

"Stops fighting."

"Oh, but then there'll be nothing left for you."

"There always is," you reply. "I’ll even be nice and help you," you say, right before he lets go and comes all over your hand and chin. "There's a good boy."

He pretends that he didn’t whine at the pet name. “Shall we call it even?" He asks, even though you know he's in no way finished.

"Oh, no," you say. "I'll let you choose."

"On your back," he orders. You comply. "And get the bra off. Stop acting like you're some innocent angel."

You drop your bra to the ground, right before he starts kissing your neck, his hands squeezing your breasts.

He moves to sit on your stomach, and you know what's coming. He holds his hand under your chin, and you spit into his palm, obliging. He uses your spit as a lubricant for his dick before he positions it between your tits, moving them back and forth, rubbing against him.

You feel him go hard almost instantly and smile inwardly. You knew he wasn't done yet. He's never down for the count that early on.

"Minho. Stop wasting time."

He raises his eyebrow again. "Who's in charge here?"

“Asshole,” you spit out. “I just fucking tolerate your orders.”

He hums in consideration. "What do you think?”

You stroke the tip of his dick, making him shudder. "Fuck me, Lee Minho. Show me what you've got."

The second you say it, you wish you could take it back.

"Challenge accepted."

This is going to be a long night.

ଘ(´•3•)⊃━☆ଘ(´•3•)⊃━☆ଘ(´•3•)⊃━☆ଘ(´•3•)⊃━☆

You're leaning against the arm of the couch, watching your boyfriend enthusiastically eat a bucketful of shrimp lo mien the same way he had eaten you out not too long ago.

"You hungry?" He asks, using his chopsticks to gather the noodles into his mouth.

"Mmm. Maybe later. I'm just exhausted. Tired."

"But not tired of me, right?"

You flash him an amused look. "Unfortunately not." Your entire body is sore, your legs are weak as hell, and your clit is pounding with pain. You give him an appraising look. "You seemed to hold your own longer than usual."

Minho shrugs, mouth full of noodles. His hair is a tousled mess, his bare chest and neck covered in hickeys and teeth marks. You're sure that you're no different.

You tug the sleeves of his hoodie down over your hands and pick up your phone. "Oh, fuck," you say, realizing that you have a missed call.

"What's up?"

"Mia tried calling me earlier," you tell him. "But..."

"You were a bit busy," he supplies with a shrug. He twists away from you to grab another carton of lo mien, and you see that his back is bright red and covered in scratches. You reach out and trace a puffy red line, feeling him shiver under your touch.

"God, babe. Your fingers are freezing."

You trace another line, realizing that there are tiny beads of blood on his back. "Holy shit. Minho. Baby. Why don't you ever stop me?"

He shrugs, opening the lo mien. "I'm fine with it. I like it. You seem to like it. It also kinda kills the mood.

"But if it hurts—"

"It dushnt," he tells you, noodles hanging from his mouth like octopus tentacles.

"Still. What if I scratch too hard and actually cut you instead of just scraping the surface of your skin? Stop acting like 'the mood' is more important that your health."

He doesn't meet you eyes as he quietly says "Are we really going down this path again?"

You sigh and push your fingers into your hair.

"Maybe. Yes. I don't know!"

"Babe. I don't really know what you want me to say anymore. I told you not to worry about me."

"I'm not just worrying about you, Minho. I'm also thinking about me."

He twirls his chopsticks in the lo mien container. "Do you, y/n? Because you seem to have a tolerance the size of fucking Kilimanjaro. You never tell me to stop, even if, quite frankly, I'm exhausted and can't keep going. But I do. I do for you."

You feel your neck getting warm. "Well maybe it's your own fault for not telling me you need to stop."

"I do, though. I do, and you listen when I tell you I'm out. I'm more so a bit ticked off that you never tell me to stop. Do you remember what I said to you all that time ago? Did you even care? Because that was me, caring."

You close your eyes, remembering the color system that he devised for you, signals as to when to tell him to stop, if something he's doing hurts. "Yes, Minho. I remember. But I said that also goes for you! And you-"

"Use it when I really need to," he interjects.

"Well... well maybe I just don't really need to, then," you huff.

He cocks an eyebrow, and you tell yourself it's just an eyebrow, not a sexy move from your boyfriend. Definitely not something that turns you on.

The truth is, you've always been scared to use the light system. It's always green. Green means go. Even though you and Minho had had feelings for each other since you were in primary school- the last year, but still— that didn't stop him, who was three years older, from meeting other girls and going out with them, and you didn't try to stop him. You yourself went out on dates, kissed guys and did everything short of getting fucked for real. You wanted Minho to be the one to get your cherry. And he didn't disappoint.

Through it all, though, he had plenty of experience, experiences that you couldn't compete with unless it was oral. He told you green light means all good. Yellow is "I need a break" and red is stop. No questions asked. Whatever you're doing ends and you do something that doesn't involve sex. Red and yellow both mean "this hurts, I'm uncomfortable" of some degree.

Though you've definitely needed to, you've been worried about how Minho would react if you tell him to stop. It's one of the other reasons you argued with him on Sunday, but he doesn't know it. You made it seem like he just takes and takes, when really, it was that it hurt. You couldn't keep going, even though it hadn't even been 15 minutes when the pain kicked in. You were embarrassed. He was able to go on for God knows how long, and you weren't lasting anywhere near as close as him that day.

The look Minho gives you tells you that he's calling BS.

"Y/n."

You look at him. "Minho?"

"Look." He's always down his container of noodles and shrimp. "I know that's not the case. Why don't you try telling me what's actually up."

A spark of frustration heats your chest. "What's up, Minho, is that, thanks to you being late, we missed our appointment with Mia!"

Minho leans forward, massaging his temples. Finally, he drops his hands, his elbows balancing on his knees, and he looks over at you. "Is that what this is all about? I'm not ignoring the fact that you're dodging my question, but why didn't you say something to me?"

"Because... because it's just-"

"Not worth it? Babe, clearly it is. You wouldn't even tell me why this appointment was so fucking important to you. So important that I had to be there, which I found odd, because you usually tell me you want to see Mia alone. Which is fine, because I know that's the only girl time you two get together, so I found it strange that you wanted me there."

You clench your fists, hidden from view by the long sleeves of your boyfriend's hoodie, trying not to explode.

"And," he continues, "you still haven't told me the full story as to why you were actually upset on Sunday. You just called me greedy and said you weren't in the mood anymore. So please, please, will you tell me what's wrong? What's been going on?"

"I..." you look into his amber eyes, trying to fight the truth.

Minho puts a hand on your knee. "Y/n. Baby. Please."

The words come spilling out. "It's not that you're greedy. It's not that I don't enjoy the sex anymore. It's that... it's that I'm scared," you blurt. His expression is startled, incredulous as you go on.

"I'm scared to tell you no. To tell you to stop, that something hurts. It makes me feel like shit, when something hurts and I start to feel tired by the fifteen minute mark when you haven't even gotten started. It's not every time. But that's what was happening on Sunday. Sometimes it makes me ashamed, how much I just... it's like I'm a different person when we have sex. Sometimes I don't recognize me. Like, I turn into a mess. You turn me on like that" —you snap your fingers— "and somehow, you get me to cum four times in less than half an hour. I needed to feel justified in my feelings of 'I can't anymore' and I was scared to flat out tell you to stop, so I told you that you were being greedy and it was a turn off. And I'm sorry, Minho. I'm so so sorry for calling you greedy and disgusting. The truth is, I feel greedy and disgusting, wanting so badly, wanting so much, when I can't go on, or when you need a break. Sometimes I feel annoyed that you need to stop." You bury your face in your hands. "God, I'm such an asshole." You try to prevent the tears prickling behind your eyes.

"Y/n. Look at me. Please." You lower your hands to see Minho. "I'm sorry. Babe, why haven't you said something? If it hurts, if I'm hurting you, then you should tell me. If you can't anymore, tell me. Yellow light. Red light. Doesn't matter. Don't feel ashamed, okay? To tell you the truth, sometimes I can tell you're tired, but I'm never sure whether or not I should slow down and stop because you never tell me to, and I worry about accidentally offending you. I don't want you to think I'm assuming you're weak."

"Anyone that can ride Lee Minho for even fifteen minutes cannot be weak," you joke.

"Point taken. As for being a totally different person during sex? Well, yeah, you're gonna act differently when you're fucking. Think about it: do you go around constantly calling yourself a dirty ho and greedy bitch when you're at work?"

You don't say anything.

"I mean, unless you're getting it on with a coworker. Then we might have some problems."

That gets a laugh from you. "God, no. No, Minho. I understand what you're saying. It just... I feel ashamed and dirty after the fact. Like 'was that really me'?"

He smiles gently. "Yes, and I get that. But you have to know that there's no reason to feel that way. I don't think any less of you. And, in case you don't remember, you aren't the only one yelling and moaning and talking dirty, okay? You also aren't the only one that gets turned on instantly and cums a billion times. Then again, I, personally, can't really help it."

You smile again, that special smile that you save for him.

"Now. What about this appointment with Mia?"

The smile drops from your face as a slight panic sets in. "What about it?"

"Baby, please don't shut down now. Keep this going, okay? Why were you so upset to miss a meeting with Mia?"

You bite your lip, contemplating. "I... I'm maybe... something came up, and she... she's had a few times dealing with this with other people and knows what to do and I wanted you there so we were on the same page."

"Okay," he says slowly.

You feel your hands start to shake. "I guess it has to do with why I was so punchy these past few weeks..."

"Oh. I though it was PMS."

You shake your head. "No. Maybe a little bit, but mainly no. The truth is.." you hesitate, trying how best to go about this. "I have a rare immunodeficiency."

Minho looks at you with disbelief. "What?"

"I... I have a rare immunodeficiency," you repeat shakily.

"What is it? How did you find out?"

"Well... I actually found out from... from us having sex."

Minho's eyes widen. "Have I somehow gotten you sick? What happened? Does this have to do with why it hurts you so much?"

"No, I'll explain in a second, and possibly." You look down at your hands. "Let me ask you this: you'd say we're usually pretty... careful, right?"

He nods. "If I remember correctly, told me to download that app that tracks your cycle so we both have a record of your ovulation schedule and know what days to avoid completely. And you regularly remind me to make sure I have condoms both here and at my place and you have some sort of birth control, but you stopped taking it because it was causing some sort of issue, so no more of y/n's birth control. Correct?"

You nod. "But we're only human, and even technology can't predict something that fluctuates like a woman's period. Because it does change."

Again, he nods. "True... Wait." He looks up at you, lips parted. "Are you..?"

You shake your head. "No, babe. I'm not pregnant. Not anymore."

"Anymore?"

You nod. "Yes. I've technically been pregnant five times in the past two years."

Your boyfriend stares, mouth agape.

"After the fourth time, I went to the doctors. Do you remember how I had that constant bout of sickness?"

"I remember."

"Well.." you squeeze your fingers, preparing yourself. "I was getting so sick because my body was thinking that each fetus was actually a virus. At the same time, my body was naturally like 'okay we've got a life force in here to grow and protect'. Essentially, my body was waging a two-sided war on itself. One side to protect the baby, the other trying to get rid of it."

"But why?" You can't help but be thankful for how calm he's staying.

"You're taking this remarkably well. Better than I thought you would, anyways." You hug your arms to your chest. "Explanation: my body isn't accepting your DNA."

"So, essentially, I'm making you sick. But only when you end up pregnant?"

"Exactly."

He shakes his head. "God, y/n. Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I... I wasn't sure how," you say meekly. "I mean, I'd be like 'hey, babe, guess what? I'm pregnant. Surprise!' Just to be like 'Ha. Sike!I'm not pregnant anymore' within a month."

He sighs. "True. Holy fuck. Five times?"

You nod and laugh a little. "Yeah. Guess we know what that means."

He nods conspiratorially. "Yep. Probably should've listened to everyone being like 'be smart. Be safe. Always use protection', huh?" He rubs the back of his neck. "Is there a way to fix it?"

"Fertilization treatments," you say glumly. "I hear they're absolute hell."

"But it'll be worth it, right? I mean, you don't get sick and... I mean, if you don't want kids, that's fine, I just thought... I'm not saying I'm assuming anything. I mean, obviously it's your choice, I just thought..."

For the first time, you realize just how… nervous this news is making him. Your boyfriend, the always cool, calm and collected Lee Minho is a flustered and stuttering mess. It also hits you that he actually, really, truly wants kids. He wants kids... with you. Which must mean...

No. You can't get sidetracked. Whether or not he proposes is up to him. You'll always be ready to say yes.

Back to the task at hand.

"Minho. Babe, calm down. Of course it'll be worth it."

He starts shaking his head, almost frantically. "No, no, no. Don't make a decision based on me. Do it because you want to. Don't-"

You put your hand on his knee. "Hey. Deep breaths. Yes, I want the treatments."

His body sags in relief.

"I want to get this fixed. I can't have a family if my body is killing off our kids. I dare say you'd prefer it if your children actually made it out alive."

His eyes widen at your statement. You run it through your head, trying to catch your mistake.

Then you realize: you just laid out a future of togetherness, marriage, and parenthood with Minho in those three sentences.

You try to backpedal, feeling like you've overstepped, even though you've talked about a future together many times. "I just meant, if you were me— I didn't mean—"

He cups your face in his hand. "I'd prefer it if my children made it out alive," he says softly, placing a hand on your abdomen.

You smile, relieved that you've finally told him. As Minho leans in to kiss you oh so softly, you close your eyes, envisioning your future.

#lee know #lee know smut #stray kids hard thoughts #stray kids smut #lee minho #stray kids x reader #lee know x reader #skz ff #skz smut #lee know fanfic #Spotify

105 notes · View notes

maddiethedogstories · 2 months

Text

The Floor Routine

Inspiration struck Erica while watching the Olympics cuddled up with Mads. Snug in her soggy nighttime diaper and favorite Winnie the Pooh two-piece pajama set, she stared up at her boyfriend. Erica had been living her best life since Mads had agreed to be her boyfriend and caregiver. Only one issue had cropped up.

As time went on, Erica could tell Mads was losing respect for her as an adult. That loss of respect was expected when someone was tasked with changing your messy diapers everyday, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt. Erica still wanted to be seen as the sexy, intimidating, and mature woman Mads used to see her as, if only just occasionally.

That's where gymnastics came in. In high school, Erica had been a gymnast. However, like with many youthful endeavors, age, injury, time, and resources cut her gymnastic career short. But, the Olympics reminded Erica how strong, powerful, intimidating, and sexy the sport was.

Two days later, Erica stood just inside the door to her nursery, dressed in the sexiest leotard she could find, ready to surprise Mads.

"Are you ready, Daddy?" She called out flirtatiously.

"Yes, baby," Mads responded.

Erica stepped out from behind the door, revealing her sexy body wrapped in spandex that barely covered her naughty bits. Mads looked at her, appreciating the view. Erica grinned as his eyes lingered on her ass.

"Sweetie, you aren't even wearing a pull-up?! You're going to ruin your cute outfit!" Mads said.

Erica could have screamed. She almost did. She resisted though. Tonight, she was a big girl. She wasn't going to throw a tantrum. Instead, she walked up to her boyfriend and grabbed his crotch.

"I'm only worried about needing protection from this!" She said, kissing Mads as she stroked his cock through his pants.

After what Erica deemed an appropriately long make-out session, she pulled away.

"Are you ready to see some of my special skills, Daddy?" Erica asked huskily. Mads just grinned.

"Other than being the world's cutest pamper packer?" He asked, squeezing her mostly exposed ass.

Erica did stomp her foot at that.

"Daaaddddy!"

Mads tussled her hair before saying, "I know, baby, I'm sorry. Let me grab your diaper bag and we can go."

Erica huffed again, but knew from experience there was no getting Mads to go anywhere with her without her diaper bag.

The couple reached their destination in 20 minutes: the Little City Gymnastics Center. Erica led Mads into the building with all of the energy of a toddler dragging their caregiver into a toy store, excited to show off her moves and re-establish herself as a capable woman to her boyfriend.

Once inside, they were greeted by a beautiful, younger woman at the front desk. Her name tag identified her as Sammy. As Erica looked at her, a familiar sensation struck her stomach and bowels. Not concerned, Erica dismissed the feeling as butterflies.

Sammy spoke cheerily, "You must be Erica? You rented out the whole gym for an hour? Come this way, let's get you where you want to go!"

Sammy led the couple down a hallway and into the main gym. A large, springy floor for floor routine was surrounded by various other gymnastics apparatus, pads, and training devices. Erica's eyes went wide as she walked in, and the sensation she was calling butterflies intensified. It was beautiful.

"Here you go, have fun! I'll be in the corner if you need anything," Sammy said, grabbing her cellphone and leaning against a wall.

Erica grabbed Mads hand as she turned and looked at him seductively. "Are you ready to see how much of a 'big girl,' I can be?" She said as she dragged him towards the space for practicing floor routine in the center of the room. Erica didn't even notice her other hand subconsciously rubbing her stomach as she walked.

"Of course, baby," Mads said with a smile.

Erica moved to the center of the floor and prepared for her first move, a standing back flip. She hadn't done one since high school, but she was sure that didn't matter.

Making eye contact with Mads, Erica squatted down, threw her arms back, and launched. The world blurred for a moment before Erica realized she had screwed up.

Erica undershot her landing, leaving her feet splayed out behind her as she belly-flopped into the hard floor. Failing to land wasn't the worst thing to happen though. As she hit the floor, Erica lost control of the cramps she had chalked up to nerves. With a trumpeting sound, her bowels released themselves, forcing Erica to push out a lumpy brown mess into the back of her leotard.

Mads quickly ran to Erica's side, diaper bag in tow. "Oh, baby, did you have a little accident?" He said as he hugged her.

Erica couldn't form words. She just sobbed as she felt her mess squish in her leotard.

With deft hands, Mads quickly undressed and diapered Erica. Sammy also appeared, holding a new, much less sexy, pink leotard that looked suspiciously like an infant's onesie. Mads quickly dressed Erica in that as well.

Staring at Erica, now dressed in the pink onesie with a substantial diaper bulge at her waist, Sammy pressed her finger to her lips.

"You know, sweetie, I don't think this room's for you," she said, grabbing Erica's hand. She led the waddling woman out of the room and into another one, a gym clearly meant for a toddler tumbling class. "This place seems much more your speed!"

Erica blushed as Mads came up from behind her, placed his hand on the small of her back, urging her to go play. "Go on, little one, enjoy your time! Show Daddy what you can do!"

Erica toddled into the middle of the room and released her bladder, soaking her diaper in shame. Standing in the middle of the glorified daycare in a wet diaper and onesie, Erica knew she was precisely where she belonged.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is my entry for a little, friendly competition with @baby-erica! I may have lost, but she is still the bigger baby.

#ab/dl diaper #ab/dl kink #ab/dl story time #ab/dl caption #ab/dl couple #diaper stories #diaper regression #humiliation kink #ab/dl babygirl #The Floor Routine

52 notes · View notes

obxologies · 10 months

Text

𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘖𝘯 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘖𝘸𝘯, 𝘒𝘪𝘥  𝘑𝘑 𝘔𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘬

warnings: angst, unrequited love

requested?: no

author's note: this based mostly on like the first verse of the song. hope you guys enjoy this, been in a bit of a slump with writing lately. also i didn't know how to stop it so sorry it's so awkward at the end lmao

JJ Maybank may not have seemed perfect to most of the people around him, but to y/n he was everything she had ever wanted.

JJ was y/n's first friend. None of the other kids had bothered to talk to her, but the energetic blonde boy ran right up to her and asked her to join him and his friends soccer game so the teams would be even, and from that day on he would never let her sit alone.

It was almost inevitable that y/n would soon grow feelings for the boy. y/n had been alone for just about her whole life. Her parents rarely payed much attention to her, and no one bothered to make friends with the quiet girl, so JJ's kindness was special to her and she didn't want to lose him. She kept her mouth shut about her crush. It wasn't worth losing him over, but it still hurt to watch him fall in love with someone else. That someone else being their friend, Kiara.

y/n knew the moment JJ started to have a crush on Kiara. She knew him better than anyone and that boy was infatuated with the kook turned pogue. It crushed her the first time she figured it out and it hurts just as much two years later which is why the acceptance letter in her hand that stated she would get the chance to study abroad her senior year of high school felt like a breath of fresh air. Until JJ found out.

"You're leaving?" JJ asked making y/n look up from her phone over to JJ who stood by the desk on the other side of her room. He held up acceptance letter with a confused look on his face. "What the hell is this?"

"It's nothing, J. Don't worry about it." y/n said standing up from her bed walking over to him. She reached out for the piece of paper, but he moved it out of her reach.

"You're moving away." JJ said eyeing the paper again. "In a couple months." He looked back up at her. "Were you going to tell anyone?"

"Of course I was, J." y/n said. "I just got the letter yesterday."

"Where are you going?" JJ asked.

"London. They have a really good program and it would be a great opportunity for me, y'know?" y/n smiled softly.

"Yeah, that's great for you." JJ nodded. "Just leave us all behind and go start a new life." He said annoyed.

"JJ, it's not like that." y/n shook her head. "I'd come back before graduation, and I'll keep in touch with you guys-"

"Until you won't." JJ interrupted her.

"What?" y/n questioned.

"C'mon, y/n. Don't act stupid." JJ said making her frown. "You'd keep in touch with us until you find new friends and then you'll forget all about us while you're living it up in London."

"JJ, that's not true. You guys are my friends. You are my best friend. I'd never just abandon you guys." y/n insisted.

"Well, it kind seems like that's what you're doing." JJ scoffed. "Why did you even apply for this? Why didn't you tell anyone, huh?"

"I didn't even know if I'd be accepted." y/n said. "I just needed to," She paused.

"Needed to what?" JJ raised a brow. He rolled his eyes when she looked away from him. "Yeah, whatever. Have fun in London." He said spitefully. He crumbled the paper tossing it at her before storming out of her room.

Maybe it was for the better that he hated her, she thought to herself. This way it wouldn't be as hard to leave.

JJ hadn't spoken to y/n in three days. He was avoiding her like the plague. It didn't help that he had told all the pogues. Fortunately, they were more supportive and understanding than he was.

"He'll come around, y/n/n." Pope patted her back.

"Yeah, hopefully." y/n gave him a small thankful smile. Her eyes trailed over to JJ who stood with Kiara running the keg. "I think I'm gonna head home for the night though." She said finishing the rest of her beer before tossing it in the trash bag.

"Okay, see ya later." Pope waved her off which she returned.

y/n glanced at JJ one last time before heading up the beach. She sighed to herself, shoving her hands into her pockets grabbing her phone out of her pocket to check the time seeing she had only been at the party for an hour. She stopped with a huff trying to decide if should go home.

"y/n!" She heard his all too familiar voice call from behind her. She turned around seeing the blonde boy jogging towards her.

"Hey." She said walking a few steps closer.

"Are you leaving?" JJ asked stopping in front of her.

"I think so." y/n nodded looking around avoiding his eyes. "Do you need something?"

"No." JJ shook his head.

"Okay." y/n trailed off. She slowly turned to leave, but JJ spoke again.

"Did I do something?" JJ asked. "To make you leave. I, I just wanna know why you didn't tell me about anything." He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"It's really complicated, JJ. I don't wanna make things worse." y/n said.

"I don't think it matters right now." JJ stated making her frown.

"Look, JJ. I don't have anything here for me, and I just want a fresh start. I wanna go somewhere where I'm more than just a kid from the cut." y/n explained.

"You have us." JJ scoffed. "Unless we don't mean anything to you."

"You guys mean more to me than anything else in the world, JJ. You mean more to me than anyone or anything." y/n paused staring at him sadly. "I'm in love you, JJ. I know you don't feel the same, okay? And that's fine. I know you and Kie like each other and that's fine because all I care about is that you're happy."

"You're leaving because of me?" JJ frowned.

"I'm leaving because of me." y/n said. "Because I need to get out of this stupid town or nothing good is going to happen for me. So please don't make me leave on bad terms with you, J." She said as tears started to fall down her cheeks.

"You're in love with me?" JJ furrowed his brows.

"I always have been, JJ." y/n gave him a small smile.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know." JJ looked away.

"It's not your fault, J." y/n shook her head. "You've always been the best friend I could ask for."

tags: @thejuleshypothesis @jjmaybankswifes-blog

#obxologies #outer banks #obx #outer banks x reader #imagines #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank fanfics #jj maybank fanfic #jj maybank oneshot #jj maybank imagines #jj maybank x fem!reader #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank oneshots #jj maybank one shot #jj maybank fic #jj maybank x pogue!reader

261 notes · View notes

vidavalor · 11 months

Note

hi there 👋 i love reading your good omens metas. i'm wondering if you have any thoughts on aziraphale's line to crowley in 1967: "i can't have you risking your life, not even for something dangerous". this always sticks out as odd to me. obviously he doesn't want crowley risking his life for any reason, so why this weird qualifier?

Hi @mybelovedismine Thank you so much. :) I am so sorry it took me awhile to get back to you. Love me some 1967 Crowley & Aziraphale and this question is great. Cheers.

1967/Holy Water Era/some S2 Aziraphale meta under the cut.

If you go back-- and I mean way back-- to the very opening bit of GO 1.01, it opens with what seems at first like it's just a quirky, funny scene introducing God and her sense of humor and the show's sense of humor. It is all of that but it also contains what I think is a really important piece of information-- especially with relation to the 1967 scene-- which is the date that Earth began in the GO universe. Crowley and Aziraphale don't know exactly when the end of the world will come but they know "about" when-- and that is a ticking clock running in the background for them for millennia.

The date that God gives us for the creation of Earth at the opening of S1 means that 6,000 years exactly would math out to October 21, 2004... but we also know that they don't know if it's going to be *exactly* 6,000 years. It could have been 5,900. It could have been 6,500 or anything in between. It winds up the super-cruel 6,004 years, beginning in 2008 in S1. What is clear to Crowley & Aziraphale is that their experience is closer to that of humans in a way because even though 6,000 years would be a very long time to humans, it's "nothing", as Angel!Crowley put it in Before the Beginning, to Crowley & Aziraphale... and there has always been a very good chance that it's all they will ever have together.

Their relationship is like someone turned over an hourglass on the wall at Eden and it's been dripping sand steadily in the background this whole time. It's partially why their relationship accelerates a little faster over the last few centuries, imo. There is a chance they're running out of time together. Armageddon means the Great War between Heaven and Hell and they are an angel and a demon. Whatever side wins the war is the one who will live on for all of eternity. The other one won't survive it-- or, even if they did, they won't be able to be with each other. Not to mention that Armageddon means that, regardless of who wins the Heaven and Hell war, Earth will be destroyed and their life on it together will be over.

Aziraphale always thinks Heaven will win. He always thinks it's him who will have to spend eternity alone. Part of this is because he has to tell himself that Heaven is still the side of good, even if it's flawed, because he can barely deal with the guilt over being part of the machine that's caused Crowley so much pain. Aziraphale also thinks, though, that maybe when the time comes, they can find a way out of it all, somehow.

In close to 6,000 years, the best plan they've got for dealing with this is Crowley's plan to just run away to Alpha Centauri and hope that no one notices that they're deserters. (So, not a great plan, but also they're up against the will of God here so kind of hard to try to work out a way around that.) In S2, Aziraphale is so desperate-- SO desperate-- for a way to not have to lose Crowley that he is willing to entertain the idea that he can trust The Metatron's word and beg Crowley to come to Heaven with him and be an angel again just so that they can be together forever. Aziraphale doesn't need Crowley to be an angel to know he's good and to love him-- he already knows and feels those things. He loves him so much that he can't bear the thought that he could lose him. He's never been able to bear that thought.

In 1967, they were running out of time and it's something that became increasingly intense for them the closer the years got to 2004 and the day they would hit 6,000 years since the Earth's creation.

In 1967, they were down to 37 years until 6,000 years were up, so the end of the world was, to them, a moment away.

It's not hard to see how Crowley wants to carpe diem and go for broke, in case it's all they'll ever have. He wants to be a little less careful. To try for the things they haven't been able to give each other while they've had to be a secret for so long. 'Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all', right? And they have loved, do love, are loving in 1967... but Crowley feels the time slipping away and his anxiety is dialed up to eleven under that cool exterior and Aziraphale knows him like he knows the back of his hand and he can see where this is all going... and it's not where either of them want it to go.

Think of this from Aziraphale's point of view...

Aziraphale is an angel. His soul is saved. He is meant to survive Armageddon. That, to him, is actually something of a curse at this point because it means that he'll live for eternity. For *all* of time. An absolutely incomprehensible amount of time. Neverending time. The kind of amount of time that would make 6,000 years feel like less time than it took you to blink while reading this sentence. And if everything goes according to what they know of God's Ineffable Plan or Great Plan or Whatever The Fuck It Is lol, he's going to live through all of this time alone.

Without Crowley.

Forget even the end of Earth and humanity (and that's hard to forget lol), Aziraphale is slated for a post-apocalyptic return to Heaven and a celestial cubicle and spending all of time with Michael and Uriel and Sandalphon and no food and no books and no music and even all of that, he could stand, if only he could just have Crowley with him and he can't.

Because Crowley's a demon. He's fallen. He's eternally damned. Heaven has socialized angels to believe that the war between Heaven and Hell that Armageddon triggers will be the big triumph of Heaven over Hell. Aziraphale tells himself he believes it but he's honestly more *terrified* of it than devoted to the idea. Heaven triumphing over Hell could kill Crowley. It's what Aziraphale is *supposed* to want as an angel but it's actually *the exact opposite* of what he wants. He adores Crowley. He will never-- in all of the infinite time to come-- ever get over Crowley and he knows it.

Even if Crowley somehow survives The Great War 2.0, Earth will still be gone and Crowley's fate is eternity in dark, cramped, literally painful damnation in Hell. There is no way for them to be together without thwarting the will of God and Aziraphale is an angel-- his entire purpose as a being is to serve God. It's what he was made *by God* to do, as far as he's been taught, and he mostly believes it... it's just that he also thinks he was made for Crowley.

This isn't just what Crowley thinks. Crowley isn't wrong that this is a mutual feeling:

Aziraphale felt that then, too, and he's never stopped feeling it. It blends sometimes with his faith in God-- something that, ironically, he sometimes thinks Crowley somehow has more of than he does. If God made him and God made Crowley and if God made them for each other, then it can't really be just to take them away from each other after such a short time, can it? Maybe they're meant for some other purpose in all of it?

But this is the same God that Aziraphale knows can be cruel...

Aziraphale has gone up against the will of God countless times over the years now and he is, for reasons he doesn't understand, somehow still an angel.

It seems unjust and honestly pretty profane to him that *he* is the holy one when Crowley's been through--quite literally-- Hell, for thousands of years, and his biggest sin is being curious. It is very hard to be told that you were created for the purpose of representing the side of good in a war against good and evil but to then, over and over and over, find yourself believing that the good guys are maybe not so good... all the while falling deeper in love by the day with a being your side calls 'demonic' and 'evil' but whom you know to be a sweet, romantic, smart, gentle, funny, kind cinnamon roll. Crowley is a demon and he's the best angel Aziraphale knows.

Now imagine you've all those conflicts and you're running out of time and staring down the end game of all of this and when you've got maybe, if you're lucky, a century and a half left or so worth of sand is still in the top half of the hourglass (mid-1800s), Crowley starts to pull away from you.

He's honestly never done it to this extent before. He trusts you with a surprising amount of himself and has since early days and, in recent centuries, you were happy together-- as happy as your situation would allow and that was more than you ever thought you'd have. This is the same being whose willingness to push through his fear of being vulnerable to have something honest and intimate with you has had you in awe of his bravery since you met. He taught you how to do that and now he's putting up walls you can't scale and slamming shut every open door.

You were happy together and then, you went on a date in Edinburgh in 1827 and suddenly, the centuries of peace and of getting away with it all ended in a literal second when Crowley got dragged to Hell two feet away from you. Hell didn't find out about the two of you or about Elspeth-- they were pissed about the human grave guards that Crowley accidentally sent to Hell for shooting Wee Morag-- but Crowley comes back a couple of weeks later and it's like it's all over already.

He's badly shaken. They hurt him. He spent time in Hell not sure if they had found out about you or if you were still alive. The anxiety, depression, and PTSD he has from being cast out of Heaven and a lifetime of trying to survive being a demon of Hell goes into overdrive and you don't know what to do. You've always been good at helping him. Nothing works. The bookshop-- your home but his, too, in your mind, the safest space he can go to to get away from Hell and get some rest-- isn't enough. He's not coming around the way he used to. He doesn't want to talk about any of it. The connection between the two of you-- emotionally, sexually-- feels like it's eroding. It hurts more than you want to admit. Your relationship de-evolves for almost 35 years as you watch the spark seem to go out of him. You don't know how to fix it and you try everything you can think of. You can understand how the ticking clock makes it all hurt more and you don't want him to be in any pain-- ever-- and you'd go away entirely if it was what he really wanted but neither of you know how to say goodbye because you both know that neither of you actually want to.

He's your best friend. He's the only one like you in the universe. You're both miserable and lonely without each other and it seems stupid to spend the last years you might ever get together apart but it also seems impossible to ever get back to where you were. Then, one day, after *years* of this, he asks you for the one thing that can *kill him*...

In the moment, all you can think about is that he wants to die because he's seemed like he does for decades now. All you can think of is that he is in so much pain and he wants nothing from you but the means by which to end it.

He's your lover. Imagine being told by the being with whom you've spent countless pleasurable hours in bed that all he wants from you now is a suicide pill.

He used to laugh. He used to be silly and hilariously dry-humored. He used to flirt with you and gaze at you from the couch on the bookshop, all pretty yellow eyes and lounging limbs, and now he's spine-straight stiff, like the pain is what's holding up. He arranges meetings in the park instead of coming over. He wears his glasses, all the time. You can't remember when the last time you saw his eyes was.

All of it says to you that you aren't enough and then he asks you to give him a suicide pill and you're broken-hearted-- you're just broken, period at the thought of him in so much pain-- and you're angry. You're furious. How dare he do this to you? You've been in love for millennia. He is your best friend. How dare he shut you out and leave you alone when you are going to be alone without him for the rest of bloody time?!

You're so in your feelings about him shutting you out that you know you have been failing at caring for him and not really helping the situation for awhile now. Your defenses have been up for awhile. Years, probably. You're caustic and, frankly, pretty bitchy in your bitterness. It's a little twisted but you've tried everything else and maybe if you could even just make him angry, it'd at least be something. He's barely spoken above a whisper in thirty years and sometimes you think about him off his head on laudanum in Edinburgh, drawing you to him magically by your bow tie to look at you over his glasses, inches away, and how you didn't know that was going to be the last time he ever really flirted with you.

So, when he asks you for holy water in 1862, you do your best to piss him off, since he won't accept anything else from you lately. You used to be wildly compatible and now you're broken and you're angry because God was always going to break your heart by taking him from you but he was never supposed to. He was supposed to love you-- those things neither of you say-- to the end.

You did get him angry. You both got angry. So angry that it felt over.

It wasn't. You saw each other again in the interim and it didn't just magically heal itself, like you wished it would, because you regretted how you reacted to the request for holy water but somehow talking about it felt too much.

Because you thought you might have understood it more afterwards.

Because you began to understand that he felt vulnerable. That he needed to feel like he could defend himself and, if it came to it, you. That maybe he didn't want to die-- maybe he wanted to live. That this was him asking you to help him figure out how to feel safe again-- something you've actually always been good at-- and you were so afraid, too, that you handled it badly.

Maybe one of the things you were afraid of in the moment was the way he talked about it going wrong, going pear-shaped, about him wanting insurance... about how there wasn't a way to reframe that in your mind to not mean that he meant he was willing to kill a demon in your defense or his-- which could kill him. It could send a legion after him and destroy him. There was so much that could go wrong. No matter what Crowley wanted holy water for, his death felt like it was the end game. You would throw yourself into Hellfire before you did anything that could cause him harm.

He had been pulling away for years but there he was saying I would kill for you. I would die for you. and that was the closest either of you had ever come to saying I'm in love with you. and you weren't sure what was more dangerous: saying those truths you both knew and felt or holy water.

Crowley didn't bring it up again and neither did you. You're useless without one another so you saw each other again within the next couple of decades. The Old West in America. Back in London in the 1920s and times in between. Neither of you ever discussed the Holy Water fight or what it meant. You secretly learned to drive, for the future, just in case, when he turned up stupidly in love with a car in 1928. You would die for that dumb car if only because of how Crowley smiled when he turned up to take you for a ride.

Over time, Crowley seemed to get a bit better and your heart burst just looking at him, even if it also ached with the knowledge that you had made it harder and hadn't known that time how to help when he needed it.

Then, 1941. The Blitz. Bombs raining down over London and the world on the brink of nuclear annihilation and maybe, just like the humans, you both thought this might be it. Time slowed to surviving each night and every moment felt like it could be the last and maybe that's why you both wanted a different ending.

Crowley always did prefer the funny ones.

In the middle of it, Crowley joked about holy water-- the first time either of you had mentioned it in 80 years-- and you heard it there, woven into his quiet, coded but undisputable, confessions of love. It was for you, it was about you, it was to keep you safe... it was because you were two feet away from me when they took me and I want to be with you to the end and it's the only thing that can help me keep you safe from them.

He doesn't ask you for it again. You know why. Things are good. He doesn't want to fight. He doesn't want you to reject him again. He doesn't want to admit again that he feels unsafe. You think about giving him some after 1941 more than once but you are now afraid of what it might say to him if you do.

Because you could both be almost out of time, if everything goes pear-shaped when the clock runs out on about 6,000 years, and Crowley wants to try for more.

You both want forever. You both aren't sure that you'll even get tomorrow. The world is speeding up in 1967-- has been for decades now-- and you think Crowley is caught up in it. You both live in London, in SoHo, you'd be as safe as you could be. You'd blend in enough. It's too dangerous, though. It's not the humans you're afraid of, really-- not that the human world has ever been safe for your and Crowley's kind of love and you aren't sure that it will get there before it's all over. What you're afraid of is that you'll get caught by Heaven and Hell and you'll lose him before the about 6,000 years is up-- and then you will have no chance at all, whatsoever, of forever.

Crowley doesn't think he'll make it. He doesn't say so but his actions say so and his situation suggests it. He wants to go faster. He doesn't demand it, doesn't pressure you, but he periodically gently asks and you have to let him down somehow, you have to get him to slow down. It's not that you don't want him. If there were no risk to him, you'd never try to put up a speed bump. It's just that you are hopeful.

Ironically, you're hopefulness-- your optimism-- it comes from him.

He's brilliant. He's clever. Maybe, somehow, the two of you will find a way out of this.

You don't want to watch the world burn. You don't want to watch billions of humans and a whole planet and a whole solar system-- Crowley's nebulae-- destroyed for no reason and as much as you should be willing to go along with the Almighty's will, it's fucking ineffable and you secretly aren't sure if you believe in a God that would do this. You struggled during The Flood. You struggled over Job and Sitis' kids...

...if you are honest with yourself (and you are more than you care to admit), you struggle to be faithful to a God who has caused Crowley so much pain.

You think that, somehow, when the time comes, you and Crowley might find a way around it. How? You have no idea. None. But you think there is a chance that you could figure it out and so long as there is a chance-- even one, single, tiny, chance-- that somehow you and Crowley could survive it all and be together forever, you are not going to let him do something stupid and get himself killed trying to be together now.

You are not letting your far-sighted lover trip over his snake legs and go head-first into a faunt of stolen holy water that you could have given him safely 105 years ago, when he asked for it, and you fucked it all up...

You make him some. You use your powers and your essence and your body and turn water into a weapon for him. The real thing. The holiest.

You understand what it is to him now. It's not death; it's life. He doesn't want either of you to be in pain. He doesn't want to be left alone. He wants to feel safer. To be able to protect you from what Hell put him through and worse. He doesn't want to leave you. He wants a chance in Hell at surviving what's to come and an out for if it all goes pear-shaped and you want him to live and not to suffer and only you can give that to him.

You understand that now. It was never that you didn't trust him. It was that you didn't trust yourself.

You put it in a tartan thermos that silently says your anxious, emotional ass best thing of me before you ever decide to use this.

It also says this is for you to keep and it is of me and I know that's a risk if you ever get caught with it. I trust you to keep it hidden, like you do us, and protect me. This is for you and it looks like me and you know when the tartan started and why... you know it was because of our night in Edinburgh in 1827... you know it was the night they took you and I didn't know if I'd ever see you again and you know I've been wearing this pattern of us for 140 years and that I always will.

It's just that you also can't let him think that giving it to him is an assent of sorts. If Heaven or Hell ever found out you did this, they'd destroy you both.

So you rushed over with holy water, your tie undone, catching him before he can go any further with his scheme to pay humans to steal him some and you waited for him in the safety of The Bentley, one of the only places the two of you can actually talk with some expectation of privacy, and when he asks, you have to talk him out of it. You have to break his heart a bit. You have to disappoint him. You have to try to protect him from himself a bit or you'll lose him.

You tell him that you're giving him the holy water because you can't let him risk his life "not even for something dangerous." Dangerous is trying for more between you than there already is. You aren't rejecting him outright and he knows that. You never have, really. You see each other in secret. You have been for more years than either of you can count. You rely on each other to help each other to the right speed.

You need him to tempt you into giving yourself permission to do what you want and need but aren't sure you can or should. He needs you to help him keep from spiralling from anxiety.

He gets you to go a little faster-- not too much, at a pace you feel comfortable with. You get him to slow down-- gently, tenderly. You are both able to trust each other with your vulnerabilities and that's why it works.

He's blinded by the world changing in ways both exhilarating and also terrifying, by it breaking apart at the seams increasing his fear of running out of time.

You've been together for thousands of years.

You don't stay the night; you've never had breakfast together. You've never risked taking each other's hands in public. You've never directly said I love you.

If you can get him to see how dangerous it all still is-- because it is-- then maybe you can keep him alive long enough to have a shot of neither of you ever having to worry about losing each other again.

Somehow, it's not much different now than it was before the beginning. He's always been like this. Optimistic, progressive, free-thinking. Innovative. It might get you both out of all of it yet but it won't in 1967. He is caught up in the emerging new, human world and it's a heady cocktail when mixed with his existential terror. He's going to get himself fucking killed. You know better, just as you knew better before The Beginning. You know that too many questions, too much risk, will draw a metaphorical sniper's bead to his head. And you know that, on some level, he knows he needs you to rein him.

It's an era of freer sex and free love and wild, progressive music and art but... it's also an era of war and violence and assassinations... and Heaven and Hell are so far removed from Earth that it would take another 6,000 years to get them anywhere near close to this.

Crowley knows this, intellectually. You know he knows. He just feels the sand trickling faster and faster and there's hardly any of it left now.

You know how that feels-- you feel it, too. Every time you look at him. Everytime he slips away out the backdoor of the bookshop with a soft kiss and an even softer g'night, angel and you wonder if that was the last time.

Tick, tick, tick, tick...

Crowley sees All You Need is Love but you can see December 8, 1980 coming at some point down the road. You've both been on this planet long enough to know what they do to the first ones who break away, to the ones who go against the grain, and the humans are no different from Heaven and Hell in that way. You cannot tell him yes or you will be killing you both.

You put it on yourself a bit. He goes too fast for you, you tell him. It's not untrue. He does. It's just that if it all were different, you'd never refuse him anything. You hope he hears it as your issue, not his, though you doubt he will. It is so hard to look at him and tell him no when all he is saying he wants is the chance to love you more.

God, there are days when you think he might kill you if he were to love you any more than he does. You don't know what you ever did to deserve his love. You don't know how you survived before you met him or how you are supposed to if you lose him.

"You go too fast for me" is what you say and you know he understands that it means:

You'll burn us fast and bright and it will be amazing but it will *end*. They will catch us. They will kill us. I can't lose you. If I thought all we could ever have would be just a short, few years, then I wouldn't deny you but I think we could find a way to have forever. Somehow. I have hope for that. I get that hope *from you.* I need you to slow down because I can't watch you get yourself killed. I'm not strong enough to lose you. I need you to let me pace this for awhile...

You want him to know you understand, that you feel it all, too. So, you tell him of the things you'd like to do, if it was safer, not knowing if it ever will be. The things you choose are of all of these holy water years. A picnic-- one implied to be in the daylight, in this future you're both imagining, this world you hope to one day see emerge. He had tried to take you on a graveyard one at midnight in 1827. You know that had been what that would have been had you not ran into Elspeth. The two of you sneaking around in the dark, as always, but together. Alive. Maybe, you tell him now, you could one day have that picnic together under the sun. You think you can see that world. You have no idea how it arrives but he's not wrong. You can see some things changing here and there's always hope that things could change with Heaven and Hell. He has taught you to keep the faith in how he's survived the worst and remains optimistic.

Maybe, one day, you could be angels dining at The Ritz. It is intentional that you reference World War II. It is a way-- the only way you can right now-- to tell him you love him, as you both did in your own ways during The Blitz. It is saying:

I love you. I would love that life with you. I won't give up on the idea of it-- of having more than a short burst of it. That is why I need you to slow down and stay safe. It's too dangerous for more right now. Take the holy water and take a breath. You're okay. You have me. We keep *each other* safe, remember? Slow down. I need you with me forever.

#ineffable husbands #good omens #good omens meta #crowley #aziraphale #aziracrow #you go too fast for me #good omens 1967

224 notes · View notes

reysdriver · 2 years

Text

Book Club | R.L.

You and Remus share a love of reading, and one of his books reveals his feelings for you — remus x fem!reader

warnings: n/a

words: 1k

You walked into the Gryffindor common room and your best friend didn't even look towards the portrait hole. Remus was sitting on the couch, taking up all three seats as he focused on his book.

He didn't notice you at all until you crouched down next to his head and ruffled his chestnut hair.

"Hey." He said softly. "I didn't even hear you come in."

Remus dog-eared the corner of his page so he could close it without losing his spot, then sat up a bit, leaving a place on the couch for you. You would normally hate people mistreating their books—folded pages and messy annotations—but you'll make an excuse in your morals for Remus.

You smiled at him, then sat down between his legs, ignoring the free seat.

"What are you reading?" You asked him.

He lifted up the book to show you the cover. "It's called 'Their Eyes Were Watching God'. It's really good so far."

"I haven't read that one." You said, your hands running across the knitted hem of his jumper. "What's it about?"

"A muggle book, of course. It's like one woman's journey through life with a lot of focus on how her three husbands shaped her views on life." He looked slightly embarrassed. "My description doesn't do it justice."

You smiled. Partly to show you were interested in the book, and partly because he was so cute when he spoke about anything he liked.

"It's okay, it sounds interesting." You said sweetly.

Remus looked relieved at your reaction. A smile mirroring graced his soft features, mirroring yours.

"You can borrow it if you want." He opened the book to his current page to show how far he was. You saw the pages were full of notes and scribbles in his messy handwriting, and it just made you more excited to read it.

"I've only got half a chapter left. As soon as I'm done, it's yours."

"Thanks, Rem."

You were best friends, so sharing something as small as a book really shouldn't have been a big deal. It was to you, though. It was a big deal because it was something of Remus' that you could have, even just for however long it took you to read the novel. You would have to settle for that if you couldn't be more than friends with him.

As a blush fell across your cheeks, you realised you wouldn't be able to hide your embarrassment. You said goodbye to Remus, then you went up to your dorm while he went back to his book.

✦✧✦✧✦

Remus had given you the book at dinner, then you had each gone to your own dorms after that.

You laid in your bed and started reading almost immediately after you got the book.

Remus was right; it was an amazing book. You couldn't put it down, and you were sure it was going to be a new favourite of yours. You even had a piece of parchment next to you where you were writing notes about the book so you could talk about it with Remus once you finished.

You admired every word that Remus wrote in the margins. You were lost in the book and everything about it until you came across one line.

'He could be a bee to a blossom—a pear tree blossom in the spring.'

It wasn't just the beautiful quote that threw you off, but the new ink next to it.

In the margins of the book, you saw Remus' adorable handwriting. Your name encased in an asymmetrical heart.

You couldn't help but smile while you processed what this little annotation meant. He had read that lovesick line and thought of you. Just as you had thought of him. You both felt the same way about each other.

Shoving your face in a pillow to suppress the noise, you let out a cross between a giggle and a squeal at the revelation.

Then you were snapped out of your schoolgirl daydreaming by a few quick raps against the thick wood of your door.

You stood up, smoothing your skirt and hiding your smile as you made your way across the room.

"Remus, what are you doing here?" You asked.

He was standing breathless at the door like he had raced up here. He looked distracted, scoping out the room. You looked where his eyes landed, and it was the book left lying on your bed.

"Hey, I actually need that book back. I'm really sorry, I know you wanted to—"

You cut him off before he could finish whatever excuse he was going to give you.

"I saw it already." You told him.

"You— You did?" Remus asked. He looked like he was going to faint, and it scared you because you knew bones would be broken if he fell on you. "I'm sorry. We can just pretend—"

You cut him off once more, but this time without words. You reached up to place one hand on the nape of his neck, and one by his ear. You pulled him closer to you. Once he leaned down to your level, you kissed your best friend right on the lips.

You were scared at first that this was all a big misunderstanding and that he was about to push you away in horror. But it wasn't, and he didn't. He kissed you back, bringing his arms up to cup your face. After a second of pure bliss in what had been a daydream for the both of you for years, you pulled your lips off of his.

You two stayed together, your foreheads resting against each other, breathing heavier than normal.

"I don't want to pretend." A smile spread across your face as you spoke the words.

"Me neither."

He pulled away again and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

With that, you knew the book was your new favourite.

#remus lupin #remus x reader #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fluff #marauders era #marauders fluff

734 notes · View notes

mrs-snape5984 · 6 months

Text

“As long as I'm with you, I've got a smile on my face…”

“Save your tears, it'll be okay. All I know is you're here with me…” (“Here with me” by D4vd)

Suffering from ME/CFS makes me feel like my whole world is falling apart in front of my eyes. Since I’ve already lost so much joy and so many abilities due to this devastating disease, my continuing loss seems to increase even further.

As some of you might know, do I love to write my own stories about Severus and Julia just as much as I enjoy using my tumblr blog as some kind of journal, whenever I’ve commissioned another artwork. It’s my way of rolling out a red carpet for the artists of Snapedom…it’s my way of honouring them for their talent in their profession. Commissioning those amazing people and letting them make my ideas and fantasies come to life, is my very own manner of coping with my physical and emotional pain.

And now, this coping mechanism seems to crumble into pieces as well as everything else, that I’ve already lost! It hurts me to admit, that my brain fog takes advantage of my capability to create vivid images with my words. My thoughts are getting blurry and chaotic. I’m struggling to find the right words to express my emotions (it’s even worse in my native language German than in English!!)…and this scares me to hell!

My mind was the only place, where I could find some shelter from my infuriating and terrifying reality of losing myself to ME/CFS. What if I forfeit my only - just barely existing- talent now?? How should I flee this nightmare of existence if writing wouldn’t be an option anymore?! How should I express my gratitude towards all those marvellous artists of Snapedom, who are all weaving my emotional comfort blanket with each piece of their art?!?

I don’t want to give up on my writing…and I won’t…even though my pride would probably fade away with each badly written chapter of my fictions…and with each unworthy post on my blog. I must admit, that I’m already acknowledging the loss of quality. 🥺

I found an inspiring poem about the importance of staying resilient, no matter how difficult the hardships of life might become, and I want to share it with you:

"KEEP GOING" (Better known as "DON'T QUIT") by Edgar A. Guest

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will, When the road you're trudging seems all uphill, When the funds are low and debts are high, And you want to smile but have to sigh.

When care is pressing you down a bit, Rest, if you must, but DON'T YOU QUIT!

Life is queer with its twists and turns, As everyone of us sometimes learns, And many a failure turns about,

When he might have won if he'd stuck it out, Don't give up though the pace seems slow, You might succeed with another blow.

Often the struggler has given up, When he might captured the victor's cup.

And he learned too late, when the night slipped down, How close he was to the golden crown,

Success is failure turned inside out, The silver tint on clouds of doubt, And you never can tell how close you are, It may be near when it seems afar,

So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit, It's when things seem worst that you mustn't quit.

My dear @mmad-lover, I can’t stress enough how grateful I am for your dedication to this stunning piece of art and believe me, it was worth every single second of waiting! Paula, I was incredibly touched to hear, that my request seemed to be something special, something personal to you. I can assure you, that, indeed, all of my ideas have a profound meaning to me and I’m glad that you’re such an empathetic person, who sensed that particular importance of your art to me. Your devotion to this drawing is palpable in every single detail, every line of your brushes. You created exactly the mood, that I wished for Severus and Julia. It doesn’t matter that the world is burning to the ground around them, they will always have each other’s backs! Just like I’m relying on Severus for more than 21 years now. Thank you for everything, you precious soul! I’m glad that I met you and I hope, we’ll stay in touch. 🥹

🖤Severus & Julia🖤

🖤Sevy & Jules🖤

62 notes · View notes

kit-kat-jo · 1 month

Text

My Murder Drones Finale Analysis... 2/2 - 1/2

jesus, imagine getting your entire life force RIPPED out your body, and being able to look back at it. i feel like this is only a taste of what the dissassembly drones went through during transformation.

uzi desperately trying to scoop her core back into her gaping open chest will haunt me for life, i think. and her hands haven't regenned yet, leaving her to scramble even more. absolutely. horrific. probably gonna be the most gruesome moment in this series for me altogether. didn't even notice N getting yoinked away there lol

this whole sequence as well… we, or N starts hearing a second voice while she repeats “let me in,” but who is it?? the actual cyn? one thing i know for sure though, is here is where N starts to get his past flashbacks, specifically of being torn apart and transformation. fuuuucked. up

i realize now that Uzi’s protecting her core from Cyn’s callback pings in all the times she’s grabbing at her chest, but at first i really thought she was terrified of losing her core again. which: UNDERSTANDABLE GIRLIE!! MY heart?? broke.

so, N did see the actual Cyn while he got tore open. and now he’s having proper trauma flashbacks and getting back bits and pieces. this absolutely breaks my heart, seeing how desperately panicked he gets, watching memories of what i’m only assuming is V being transformed. my sweet baby. for a moment i thought for sure he was going into a full panic attack. it’s a good thing hand holding pulled him out of a full on episode, but i think this man deserves a nice big breakdown after everything to process all the shit he’s been through. pretty sure V needs the same thing, having held onto these memories a whole lot longer. post series group therapy sesh?

i think i'm gonna hear CALLBACK PING in my nightmares, actually.

AND THIS IS WHERE I FUCKING CRY!!! after everything, after learning J was never on their side, V breaks. she needs to let everything out in the open to N. her apology and genuine emotion is so, so important to me… she LOVES him! always did! and it fucking hurt to have to hide like she did, only for it to all be a trick! she wanted to be honest with him this whole time, but she was so scared! she felt like she HAD to resort to acting resentful towards him and pushing him away! it gets me so, so bad.

and then N sacrifices his own safety to save her.

also teefs.

sorry

oh god. when V realizes that she’s only led N to his death… and that this long ago promise was only one big trick… everything falls down around her. she desperately grasps at being able to fix this. she blames herself. as Eternal Dream plays in the background… it was always their song, man. it was always V singing to N. so many of the lyrics fucking HURT now, putting it into this bittersweet context.

“let my body keep you warm, let my essence be your breeze, can you hear me calling? please look out for me. can you set me free?” it was always a love letter to N. (platonically. i see it platonically, better yet, in a sibling way.) the wishes she had for him to know everything. for them to be together. for her to not have to hide. to go home, to be set free from her neverending dream. it’s all so horrible and lovely and poetic to me. she deserves everything. they deserve everything.

and then her expressions as Cyn’s about to eat N’s heart, agonizingly slowly, staring her straight in the eyes so mockingly to pour salt in the colossal gaping wound. HEGGDHHSGSGGH💔

on a side note, i find it so interesting how, seemingly, a drone’s core magnetically gets yanked back to the body as soon as it gets a tiny chance. very ehm… helpful.

bi uzi tho. QUEEEEEEN PROUD OF HER FOR COMING OUT 💜

“glad you’re not dead or whatever.” waaaahahahh. they care for each other. bwuhuhuhh.

here, howd she stop letting the callback ping effect her….? just from being cringe and free?…. queen i guess?

also, she can effectively control the solver without cyn making it go crazy anymore. is this a result of just practicing and gaining more control over it? she’s just built different? or another plot hole? shrug noise. i said i was oddly okay with the plot holes, so that stands true here too.

nori already flinging herself into mom mode with her terms of endearment had me CRYING BRO!!! development!! she went from “i caused every horror in her life,” i gotta stay away from her, to HELL YEAH THAT’S MY DAUGHTER, KICKING ASS!! mom of the year ❤️

the entire fight scene was SO GOOD!!! i need AJ Dispirito’s “Bite Me” song injected into my bloodstream RIGHT NEOOWW!!

i’m obsessed with seeing them hold hands to calm each other down after a moment that affects one of them. it’s my favorite thing. we came so far from episode 6…… wipes tear

the lyrics focused on these two here is interesting to me… V saying to let her go, Uzi saying she’s not worth saving… either i’m looking too deep into it or OUCH GUYS NOOHOHO, MY SWEETIES

this had to be giffed. also, i love these scenes breaking the immersion several times and showing that all this time the nightcore is just playing through uzi’s ipod in the distance. absolutely genius.

i’ll admit, i was so confused from the black hole scene at first. but now i understand somewhat. after uzi grabbed her core and formed a [null,] she essentially had cyn’s life force. all those times she got away by turning herself into a black hole and floating off... that was essentially HER. in the void here, cyn had to try and get it back to come back to the living, like a drone putting their core back in their chest but in a weird, eltrich cyn way, i guess? instead of her core, its the manifestation of the solver itself? cyn’s and tessa’s bodies are so far gone, that all that’s left is the solver? and as soon as uzi saw what was happening, she knew she couldn’t have it back.

she fucking eated it…. homph. that was not on cyn’s bingo card. the eyes are HILARIOUS

awwwww husband wife reunion! she is so uzi’s mother.

and now, before we get into the end of things, my vizzy propaganda. not only did lizzy KNOW that v wasnt dead, and distracted j for her, but now, in @ottterpops' words, the sentinel is just like the pet she doesn’t want. its her and v’s daughter now, it’ll grow on her for sure : )

and now, my chosen video! :D

EVERYTHING about this scene, N calling for her, the HUG, him squeezing the LIFE out of her, her noises of getting choked and giggling, sent arrows straight through my heart, THEYRE SUCH CUTIES AAUHHHHG!! n spinning her around and throwing her in the air, her tackling v, ugh! THEY GOT THEIR HAPPY LITTLE ENDING!

she’s a fucking mary sue guys, ohhhh my lord. the eyes are so so cool though, they literally look like a sunset. she is living her best mary sue life now, jesus christ. she deserves it ❤️

uzi, uzi my beloved. she feels like a dear, dear friend, my sweet little emo who goes through the horrors and comes out of it with all her unhinged goofy cringe. i love her so, so much, and i’m SO fucking proud of these three. they deserve the happiest little life together.

and lastly, end credits!!! during the series rewatch, my friends and i joked that the finale should involve n getting to play a game of cards with everyone. and HAHA SKFHSJCKSJDHDJS

oh they’re def watching a scary movie… look at the way they hold onto each other, i’m done 😭😭 if i redraw anything, it’s gonna be this first tbh.

i ran out of space for images again, but! the solver still being alive in uzi is so good, she’s gonna be a real pain in the ass… the implications this brings up is so fun to think about, ugh the possibility for spinoff series is crazy! i’ll be waiting with baited breath for more content from glitch, whatever it may be! i’ll be happy!

alright, this is probably the longest frickin post i’ve ever made. but god, did i love this show. i’m so grateful my friend got me into it, and i can’t wait to continue loving it, rewatching it and messing with my stories for as long as that’s gonna last.

thank you Murder Drones, Glitch, and Liam Vickers. now to waste money that i don’t have on merch!! 💫

#murder drones #md #uzi doorman #serial designation n #murder drones finale #serial designation v #serial designation j #cyn #tessa james elliot #liam vickers animation #glitch productions #series analysis #GOD im gonna miss these guys!! what a lovely lovely experience #mwah mwah mwah

46 notes · View notes

zeezelweazel · 2 years

Text

Valorant| They accidentally hurt you|

____________________________________________________

I'm so obsessed with Valorant but it's literally such a random hyperfixation like ʘ⁠‿⁠ʘ

Characters included : Reyna, Sage, Viper, Fade

____________________________________________________

• Reyna •

Reyna is used to hurting people. She has to. It's a source of life. For both her and her sister.

That's why she doesn't feel guilty when she sees the purple light of one's soul slithering up her arm and the life fading from their eyes.

She's never hurt you, she never would. Still she fears the day her wrath and her bloodlust would get to you. That despite everything her true nature would shine through and the empress would feed from your corpse.

And the day she feared had finally come.

It was supposed to be a simple mission, but it's never simple with the protocol, is it?

You were supposed to defuse the spike and all was well after you took out enemy Killjoy. Or so you thought.

Enemy Omen was creeping up on you from the side. As he was ready to strike, Reyna appeared across from him.

The scene in front of her paired with the intense "conversation" she had with enemy Viper about Lucia made her see red. She unleashed such a powerful attack it almost knocked her off her feet.

Omega Omen was most definitely dead but you were also on the ground, clutching your side.

Reyna though the bastard had managed to shoot you before he died but as she got closer it was very obvious who had done this to you.

You were saying something in the comms, probably declaring that the mission was over and calling Skye for healing, but Reyna couldn't hear you. The ringing in her ears was far too loud.

You tilted your head up catching her eyes. You were shocked to see the emotions swirling in them.

"Zyanya? Are you ok? Are you hurt too?"

That's when she snapped from her haze and dropped to her knees next to you. She was fussing over you wound, which wasn't even that serious, mumbling something in Spanish over and over again.

" Lo siento "

I'm sorry...

Then you finally understood. Reyna had fears of hurting you and she has told you so herself. Now they've come true even if the injury is minor.

You brought her hands up to cup her face and kissed her. A short but loving kiss to get her attention.

"It's fine my love. You didn't mean to hurt me I know that. You feel bad and bad people never show remorse for those they've hurt."

• Sage •

Sage, poor gentle Sage, is the protocol's healer.

She's not supposed to hurt you. Her only job is to help the agents and make sure they return in one piece.

So I'm sure you can imagine her panic when everything occurred.

Sage is a bastion and an experienced soldier panic is not something she does. It's usually the younger agents who act recklessly and she the one that scolds them. But at the moment her mind was running a thousand miles per second.

You were good at sneaking around, that was one of your greatest gifts. Right now though it was more of a disadvantage. Sage was just trying to protect herself by walling off the hallway behind her. She was sure the enemies were going to come from behind as well and as far as she knew there was no ally around to help her. In these situations it's best to wall herself off and wait for reinforcements.

Sage has complained multiple times about not being just a healer. In the end though there was one truth. If the VP loses Sage it's all over. There's no one else that can bring people back from the dead after all.

The only problem with her plan is that you were right behind her all this time.

So when she rounded the corner and walled that part of she barely heard the sound of your surprised grunt before the walls came up to the ceiling.

You weren't really hurt by the wall, just a bit dizzy, what really hurt you was enemy Phoenix and his fireballs. He cought you by surprise and managed to land a hit on you before you took him down.

By the time Sage brought down a part of her wall to get to you, you were already lying down and supporting yourself to the wall clearly not strong enough to stand.

Sage was too panicked to think of anything as she threw her gun to the side and fell to her knees beside you. Her eyes were burning with tears and her lips were shaking. She knows your injuries aren't grave. She can revive people for god's sake, this is nothing for her.

So why does it hurt so much? Why does she feel like her soul is being ripped out as she watches the burns on your skin heal.

You know how kind hearted your girlfriend is. And even though she knows you're a strong woman who's more than capable of predicting herself, she can't help but be protective of you.

After she's done healing you she keeps her gaze to the ground and her hands tightly griping the fabric on her thighs.

You can't handle seeing your girlfriend like this so you bring your hands around her in a bone crushing hug. Sage is surprised at first and who can hear a faint gasp before she returns the embrace.

As she burries her head on your shoulder you feel tears wet your shirt but you keep quiet. You'll always be here to hold her through moments like this and remind her that she can accept help as well as give it.

• Viper •

Viper is one of the highest ranking people on the protocol and prides herself in being hard working and cold hearted.

She doesn't pay mind to the nasty glares she receives by some agents. Most days she spents in her lab creating new toxins and poisons.

She never would've thought these chemicals she loved so much would end up hurting possibly the only person she truly cares about.

This mission was no different from the others. Omega earth was trying to reck havoc again and the protocol was ready to stop them. Viper was leading this mission.

With both her and Sage on the team you felt safe and perhaps that's why you got so reckless.

You know you're bound to hear a lecture from your girlfriend about being careful on the battlefield but the rush of the fight had gotten to you.

You rushed right into enemy territory and upon locking eyes with omega earth's Reyna you suddenly felt all that rush sleeping away. You were strong but you couldn't take on the empress.

Panic set in as you fleed as fast and as far as possible, only stopping when you could feel your lungs burning from exertion. Or so you thought.

When you opened your eyes all you could see was green. Admist your panic you ran straight into Viper's pit. Great.

You could barely see the crates in front of you as you stumbled and wobbled across the battlefield. You wanted to shout for Sabine but you knew that opening your mouth to speak would only allow more of the deadly gas into your system. You could only hope you wouldn't run into more enemies.

Thankfully before you blacked out completely Sage was able to find you and grace you with her healing powers.

Soon Sova and Yoru were heard in the comms signaling the spike disarmed and the mission successful. In a few minutes everyone was aboard the Vulture and ready to fly home.

You noticed that Viper hadn't talked to you at all during the flight and you found it weird. Viper isn't the most chaty person but usually she checks up on you after missions.

You soon find her sitting alone, her leg bouncing up and down rapidly. When she notices you she looks up and-

Is that guilt in her eyes?

She closes her eyes not bearing to look at you.

Sage had told her about what happened. She had hurt you.

You know that words were useless so instead you hoped that your presence would be enough to calm her down and reassure her.

• Fade •

The Turkish nightmare of a woman was not particularly well liked when she first joined the VP.

You were one of the only agents who were not set on avoiding her. She appreciated the fact that you showed her empathy and decency despite what she's done.

Fade had already hurt you by releasing that dossier but after your relationship started she swore that was the one and only time she would hurt you.

Apparently that was a promise she couldn't keep.

Many times things don't go according to plan during missions. When that happens everything is frantic.

There are shots fired from everywhere, bullets raining on the battlefield, along with bombs and turrets. You can see Jett's wind dome and Skye's bird. They're setting up an ambush.

You are so overwhelmed you don't even have the right mind to call for your teammates but you're sure they wouldn't have answered anyway.

You don't know if they have planted the spike already. Maybe they dropped it or maybe they still have it on them. You can't act properly if you don't know the situation.

Before you could even think about anything else you saw a shadow monster charging towards you and then everything went quiet.

All you could see was black before you opened your eyes to face your darkest fear.

With everything happening all at once it was pretty hard for Fade to see where she was aiming. When she felt that the prowler had locked it's target she walked closer only to see her own nightmare come alive.

The black tendrils coming out of your mouth made her gasp.

She hit you. She had never ment to hit you.

She quickly went over to you but hesitated as she watched you struggle against the nightmare she unleashed upon you.

There were tears in your eyes as well as Fade's. Breach was shouting something in her ear but all she could think about was you.

"Y/N is down. I... She needs healing... Uh."

Fade felt like she couldn't breathe, but she would stay strong. Because she needs to see you open your eyes. She needs to know that you're okay.

A few moments later you open your eyes gasping for air. Skye is beside you in an instant, offering her help. Your eyes are moving around desperate to find your lover. You know how Fade is. You're certain the thoughts in her head aren't pretty right now.

You soon find her sitting down against the wall with her knees hugged to her chest and her eyes shut tight. It pains you to see her like this.

You thank Skye as you move to get up. Fade already knows you're awake. She heard your gasps. She's not sure if her presence is wanted right now. She feels like such a hypocrite. After promising that she'd never do something to hurt you again, there she goes. Ruining everything again.

She prepares herself for whatever is to come when she feels you sitting down beside her. She is very surprised when she feels your hand gently stroking her cheek. Mismatched eyes open to look at your own. She finds you smiling.

"You didn't mean it Hazal. I know it. Plus I'm fine! Yeah it did shake me up a little but so do horror movies, so there's no need to feel guilty. I love you, I always will, don't you forget that. "

____________________________________________________

#wlw #female reader #valorant #valorant imagines #valorant x reader #reyna x reader #sage x reader #viper x reader #fade x reader

713 notes · View notes

moonrisecoeur · 7 months

Note

Hi moon! Hope you're doing well!

Just wanted to send in a little question in hopes of getting some brain-dumping from you. But, if you want, can you talk more about Leon being needy and touch-deprived? Could be in any context (fluff or smutty) or any version of Leon (because let's face it, he's a pathetic baby across the board) but just wanted to hear your thoughts about that! <3

nicyyyy omg hi :3 i love seeing u on my dash and especially in my inbox heh !! hope you're well and work is good !! i'm doing awesome actually i got a 92 on my midterm that i could have sworn i should have failed. haha anyway!!

mostly fluff but theres a little bit of smutty thoughts too <3

hmm fluffy touchy leon is always such a favorite topic of mine ahhh i love re4r leon being touchy because like c'mon you're like his romantic second partner ever and, not even in like a romantic context, he doesn't get touched a lot!! i mean who is out here giving him hugs and giving him comfort when he's a literal killing machine? he doesn't really even feel worthy of comfort and touch, so he doesn't like asking for it. you gotta disguise it as you wanting comfort or else he'll try to push you away.

"no, sweetheart, i don't need you to baby me. really, it's fine, i don't even like it that much to begin with, it's fine," he says, but then if you say that you want a hug and you want comfort then of course he'll oblige!! and he won't notice it but the way you're rubbing his back in soothing circles as you hold him is definitely a sign that you're doing this for him!!

but also even in circumstances where he doesn't 'need' comfort, he still likes touch. you putting your hand on his arm or resting your cheek on his shoulder is enough to satisfy him in little moments like this.

i can also see every single version of leon being big fan of running his fingers through his partner's hair (or like just patting n petting their head if u got curly hair haha). like!! it's so close and soft and intimate, and he likes making you feel comfy. even if it's a brief hand on the back of your neck, scratching the base of your scalp gently as he leans in to kiss you, he can't get over it.

i also see all leons but especially re2r and re4r being especially fond of his partner cupping his cheek and holding his jaw as you look for little wounds or scratches. you know what i mean? do we see the vision? you're all worried for him, looking at him with such care and gentleness and he's looking right back at you with heart eyes good BYE !!

omggg he loves brushing a piece of hair behind your ear absentmindedly as you're talking. gawd especially like id or re6 good lord, like you're rambling about something and he just sits there listening to you, smiling because he thinks you're the most beautiful thing on this planet, and he reaches out to tuck of a piece of hair away and brushing his thumb against your cheek in the process. god my brain would stop i'd lose any thoughts in my head i would be contractually obligated to suck this man's dick im SORRY OMG

omg you know those guys who say their love language is physical touch but you know its just because they want sex like leon ACTUALLY feels love with touch both giving and receiving. like when he comes home from a mission and just collapses into your arms, poor thing!! you rub his back and press kisses to his temple and he just breaks down crying cux he misses you !! he hates being away from you but for your safety and for his too (because he knows the government would hold your life over his head too) he has to keep going on these missions even though they're literally killing him.

i think he learns to be better about accepting touch and affection overall with age. especially like di leon like he's always giving you hugs and kisses but like he just cannot get enough of you!! he gets less touch deprived and needy the longer he spends in a healthy, committed relationship. he still wants to touch you but he doesn't need it so intensely like he was younger.

also like we sometimes think of di leon like the conclusion, the ending, where he's completely or mostly healed of all his trauma. just because he's not as emo doesn't mean he's full gotten past everything. he's still trapped to some extent. sure, he's not the worn down, pathetic alcoholic old man that he was in re6 or vd and he's got friends he can rely on and he's doing better, but i still think he struggles with feeling worthy of the attention and care of others. he's probably not the best communicator of that either!! so just like with re4r leon, you might have to disguise it as for you as opposed to for him. he recognizes this but doesn't say anything or stop you.

as for smuttyyy hmm i like the idea of leon being touchy and affectionate during sex. like if he's single and it's just a one night stand he met at the bar, then no. absolutely not. he probably won't kiss them on the lips, mostly because he's deprived of that affectionate stuff and will definitely get attached. (edit: actually the more i think about it... maybe he would be overly touchy with some stranger because he's desperate and needs it soooo bad.. what if that scares them away and he gets all sad.. dawg now i'm sad) but if it's his long term partner then he absolutely wants to hold your hand, let you touch him however you like.

on days where he's more needy and touch deprived, i can see him leaning a bit more dominant, just taking what he wants. of course ur not gonna fight him because it's the one time he'll actually seek physical comfort without it having to be a battle between you and his own insecurities. he holds you tightly and possessively, claiming you as his, and gawd i mean what else do you do besides go along with it?

cuz like i don't see him as a total sub (sub leaning switch men x dom leaning switch women representation) but i do also see his neediness manifesting in him poorly communicating his needs. i mean, let's be real. he's not the coolest guy. he's shy and awkward and canonically not good with women (and i'm sure men too). but if you coax him into voicing what he wants from you... he gives in and lets you take care of him.

couple extra random notes:

re2r leon after the events of raccoon city finds it hard to be touchy feely and everything. tries to keep his distance cuz he's so in his head and upset about what happened.

re4r leon struggles a lot emotionally and mentally and thus is very in the most in need of comfort yet the least likely to get it as he can't communicate it very well :( plus he doesn't have a lot of agency/free will in his life so as much as i wanna say "you just gotta give him love!! he deserves it!!" it also feels like he would push away anyone who is too affectionate and loving with him. as bad as it sounds it feels like just another burden being forced onto him.

id leon i would say gives me the least touch starved needy vibes. i also feel like they made him a little too cool in id, he's not loser-y enough to be leon kennedy you know ?? but he's keeping himself busy in order to not have to think about his traumas and problems, and trying to ignore his obvious need for attention and companionship.

re6 leon is struggglinggggg he is barely able to keep himself together and just some gentle touches and love breaks him down to an emotionally needy mess. this is the man that would accidentally be overly loving and affectionate with a stranger he met at the bar.

#nic <3 #i am also a proponent of not calling id leon old bc that man is 29. like thats old-ER but not old!! literally two years after re4 #yet people see him as this grandpa smh #resident evil #leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #resident evil smut #leon kennedy resident evil

60 notes · View notes