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moonreader1010 · 4 months ago

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What kind of lover they'll be in private 💋

(18+)

-by Valerie 🧿

Please pick one of the following piles:-

Pile 1. Pile 2.

Pile 3^

Note- 1. Pick the pile that calls you ;)

2. The pictures used don't belong to me. All rights go to the original owners.

3. Minors DNI.

Pile 1.

The Passionate Protector

Your future spouse is a lover who commands attention the moment they step into a room. Their energy in private is intense, intoxicating, and deliberate. They know exactly what they’re doing, every glance and touch calculated to make you feel like the center of their universe. With a natural confidence that borders on regal, they thrive on making you feel safe and desired, almost as though you are their most treasured possession.

In the privacy of your shared moments, they are the type to create an atmosphere that ignites every sense. Picture a dimly lit room where soft music plays, candles flicker, and the scent of sandalwood lingers in the air. Their presence feels magnetic, and as they draw closer, there’s an almost overwhelming warmth that radiates from them. They will never rush, savoring every touch as though committing the details of your skin to memory. They’re deeply in tune with your needs, listening not just to your words but to the unspoken language of your body.

They balance this sensual intensity with tenderness. You might find them pulling you into their arms unexpectedly, cradling you with a kind of reverence that takes your breath away. Yet, they are far from predictable. One moment, they’re whispering secrets against your neck, their voice low and inviting; the next, they’re laughing with you, breaking the tension in a way that feels natural and comfortable. They thrive on making you feel both wanted and cherished, creating a bond that transcends the physical.

But they also have a streak of playfulness and spontaneity. You might find yourself caught off guard by the way they take control, introducing new and exciting ways to connect. Imagine a sudden invitation to dance under the moonlight or a trail of love notes leading to an intimate surprise. They don’t just make love—they create an experience, one that lingers in your mind long after the moment has passed.

When they hold you, it feels as though time stops. Their gaze carries a promise: that no matter what, they are wholly devoted to you, body and soul. They are the kind of lover who leaves you breathless, knowing that every moment together is filled with purpose, passion, and an unshakable connection.

Pile 2.

The Playful Enchanter

Your future spouse is a master of seduction, but not in the overt, obvious way. Their charm is playful, teasing, and endlessly magnetic, drawing you in with an effortless ease. In private, they are the kind of lover who keeps you guessing, constantly surprising you with their wit, creativity, and insatiable energy. They’ll make you laugh until you can’t breathe, only to turn the atmosphere electric with a single touch, their fingertips leaving a trail of sparks along your skin.

Their love is an art form, and they take pride in crafting unforgettable moments. Imagine them pulling you into a room where the air feels charged, their gaze locking with yours as a slow smile spreads across their face. They know how to build anticipation, letting the tension simmer until it becomes almost unbearable. They’re unafraid to explore, to push boundaries in a way that feels thrilling yet safe. Their kisses are both a promise and a challenge, daring you to meet their passion with equal fervor.

But beneath their playful exterior lies a deep well of emotion. When they love, they love fully, seeing you as their equal, their partner in every sense of the word. They’ll hold your face in their hands, looking at you as if you’re the most enchanting thing they’ve ever seen. There’s an intimacy in their laughter, in the way they make you feel like you’re the only person in the world who truly understands them.

They have a flair for the dramatic, delighting in grand gestures and spontaneous adventures. Perhaps they’ll whisk you away on a last-minute trip or surprise you with a candlelit bath filled with fragrant petals. They love to indulge their senses—and yours—creating an atmosphere of pure magic. Every moment with them feels like a story worth remembering, a blend of passion and playfulness that leaves you utterly captivated.

Their energy is irresistible, and when they hold you close, you can feel their heart beating in sync with yours. They are the kind of lover who takes you on a journey, one filled with laughter, passion, and a connection so deep it feels like a dream you never want to wake up from.

Pile 3.

The Intense Romantic

In private, your future spouse is pure intensity, their love burning with a quiet fire that can’t be extinguished. They are a romantic at heart, but their way of showing it is subtle and deeply personal. They’re not the type to make empty gestures; everything they do has meaning, every action carefully thought out to show you how much you mean to them.

When they’re with you, they create an atmosphere that feels timeless. Picture a quiet evening where the world outside fades away. The room is warm, lit by soft, golden light, and their focus is entirely on you. They’ll take your hand and kiss it, slowly, as if savoring the moment, their eyes never leaving yours. Their touch is deliberate, each movement carrying a depth of feeling that speaks louder than words ever could.

They have a deeply sensual side, but it’s woven with tenderness. They’ll trace their fingers along your skin, their touch light and exploratory, as though learning every curve and detail for the first time. There’s no rush with them—every moment is savored, every kiss lingering just long enough to leave you wanting more. They’ll whisper to you in the stillness, their voice low and full of unspoken promises.

But they are also fiercely passionate. Beneath their calm exterior lies a desire that burns bright, igniting the air around you. They love with an intensity that makes you feel like the most important person in the universe. Imagine them pulling you into their arms after a long day, their embrace firm and reassuring, their lips brushing against your forehead as they tell you how much they’ve missed you.

They are deeply attentive, noticing even the smallest details about you. They’ll remember the way your lips curl into a smile or the way your eyes light up when you’re happy. They’ll hold onto these moments, drawing on them to create a love that feels intimate and eternal. With them, every touch, every glance, every shared breath feels like a promise: that you are their everything, and they will love you with all that they are.

#tarot #tarot reading #tarot cards #tarotblr #pick a card #pick a pile #tarotcommunity #free readings #intuitive readings #free tarot readings #18+ tarot #18+ readings #18+ mdni #love tarot free #love tarot spread #love tarot reading #fs reading #fs tarot

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uns4lted · 4 months ago

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ɪ'ᴍ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ

pairings: karasu tabito x gn!reader, otoyo eita x gn!reader, kenyu yukimiya x gn! reader tags/warnings: reader and karasu are already together, pre-relationship stage in otoya's and kenyu's! genre: fluff synopsis: the first time the boys realized that they're in love with you. boys being so giddy lol.

── .✦ karasu tabito

It was just a stupid crush, really.

At least, that’s what Karasu told himself in the beginning. Liking you had been easy. You made things fun, kept him entertained with your quick wit and little quirks. Being with you felt like a game he couldn’t lose, but he didn’t think too much about what it all meant. Love? That was too heavy for something that felt so light.

But then there was that moment.

It wasn’t anything big. Just an ordinary evening in his place. You were on the couch, reading a novel, while some random show played in the background. He was sitting on the floor, leaning against the couch with his own phone in hand, pretending to care about whatever it was on the screen.

You sighed, soft and quiet, but enough to pull his attention away. When he glanced up, you weren’t looking at him. Your gaze was distant, you were caught in a thought you weren’t planning to share.

“What’s up?” he asked, his voice casual, not expecting much of an answer.

“Nothing,” you said after a pause, your lips curving into a faint smile. “I just feel lucky, that’s all.”

You didn’t explain, didn’t even look at him for long. Instead, your hand found its way to his dark blue hair, brushing through it in a way that was both careless and comforting. It wasn’t the first time you’d done it, but something about the way you did it this time made his chest feel tight. You were so at ease that being with him was the most natural thing in the world.

He stayed quiet, watching as you went back to your book like you hadn’t just shifted his entire perspective. It wasn’t just what you said—it was how you said it, it wasn’t something you had to think about. Like being grateful for him was as simple as breathing.

He didn’t know what to do with himself. Usually, he’d have some smart remark ready, some way to brush off whatever you were making him feel. But now? He just sat there, staring at you, wondering how he hadn’t seen it before.

He couldn’t pinpoint when the shift had happened. Maybe it was gradual, something that had been building all along. But in that moment, he knew with absolute certainty: this wasn’t just some crush or infatuation. It was deeper than that. You’d become something he didn’t think he needed, something he couldn’t imagine letting go.

Karasu leaned his head back against the couch, closing his eyes for a moment. The warmth of your words lingered, settling into places he didn’t even realize had been empty.

Love wasn’t supposed to sneak up on him like this. Somehow, you’d done it anyway.

── .✦ otoya eita

This goofy womanizer doesn’t do love or some shit.

Otoya wasn’t the type to lose sleep over anyone. Flirting came easy, and leaving things just the way they were made it even easier. He knew how to have a good time, how to make someone laugh or blush, but feelings? Commitment? Nah, that wasn’t his thing. Relationships were messy, and Otoya didn’t stick around long enough to get caught in all that.

Or so he thought.

It was late, the kind of night where the city outside his window had shifted to a low hum. You were over, laid across his bed and flipping through a magazine you’d brought with you. He leaned against the headboard, half-listening to you ramble about something you’d found amusing in the pages.

“Look at this,” you said, your voice bright as you held up the magazine. The glossy picture was of some ridiculous piece of clothing—a neon-green sweater with feathers along the sleeves. “Can you imagine someone actually wearing this?”

Otoya smirked, the corner of his mouth tugging up lazily. “You’d pull it off.”

“Oh, please.” You laughed, the sound light and effortless, but your eyes narrowed in mock suspicion. “You’re just saying that so I won’t roast your fashion choices next.”

“Hey, my style’s flawless, thank you very much,” he shot back, nudging your leg with his foot.

The banter was easy, the kind he thrived on. But he's bothered with the look you gave him, your smile plastered on your lips, the sparkle in your eyes that paused just a moment longer than it should have. That did something to him.

“You’re so full of yourself, Otoya,” you said, shaking your head, but your smile didn’t waver.

“And you love it though,” he retorted, his grin widening.

But as the words hung in the air, he realized how much he wished they were true.

You rolled your eyes and went back to your magazine, oblivious to the way his heart was suddenly pounding harder than it had any right to. He tried to shake it off, but it was no use. His gaze kept drifting back to you—how comfortable you looked.

He didn’t know what was worse: the way you didn’t seem to notice how much of a mess you were making of him, or the fact that he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

When you stretched out your arm, holding the magazine over to him, your fingers brushed his for just a second. It wasn’t anything special, just an ordinary moment. But for Otoya, it felt like everything else faded for a heartbeat.

“You okay?” you asked, tilting your head when he didn’t respond right away.

“Yeah,” he said quickly, his voice too casual. “Just tired.”

That night, after you’d left, Otoya lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The silence felt too loud, and every time he closed his eyes, he saw you. Heard your laugh. Felt the warmth of your smile.

“Damn it,” he muttered, rolling onto his side.

He wasn’t supposed to feel like this. He wasn’t supposed to want someone so badly it hurts. But no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise, he couldn’t ignore the truth anymore.

You weren’t just another thrill. You’d become something that had him turning and tossing in bed, wondering how the hell he’d let himself fall this hard.

── .✦ kenyu yukimiya

Kenyu had always been focused. Soccer demanded it, and so did modeling. Juggling both wasn’t easy, but he never complained. He’d chosen this path after all. What he hadn’t chosen or even planned for was you.

At first, he thought your support was just a pure act of kindness. You’d always been there, cheering him on, listening when he talked about the challenges of balancing his passions. But over time, it became clear that you weren’t just being polite. You genuinely cared—about his dreams, his struggles, even the small things he sometimes overlooked himself.

The realization didn’t hit him all at once. It came slowly, building with every little thing you did. Like today.

The two of you were at the mall, your idea after he mentioned needing new clothes for an upcoming shoot. Kenyu wasn’t bad at picking out outfits but you insisted he deserved a second opinion.

“Try this,” you said, holding up a sleek black jacket. “It’s simple but classy. Totally your vibe.”

He took it with a small smile, letting your enthusiasm guide him. You had an eye for these things, and he trusted your judgment more than he cared to admit.

As he stepped out of the fitting room, you were waiting, your expression lighting up when you saw him.

“See? I told you it’d look good,” you said, giving him an approving nod. “The fit’s perfect, and it goes with almost everything.”

He turned to the mirror, studying the way the jacket fit across his shoulders. It was nice, sure, but what stuck with him more was the way you looked at him. You weren’t just proud of the outfit but of him too.

"Didn't know you had such good taste." he said, half-teasing. “Maybe you should be my stylist.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’d love to, but I think your team would have a thing or two to say about that.”

The two of you wandered through the store for a while longer, you occasionally holding up shirts or accessories, and him silently appreciating the way you paid attention to the smallest details. You truly cared about how he felt in them, about making sure he was confident and comfortable.

At some point, as you stood next to him, you were holding up a scarf and debating its practicality, then it hit him.

This wasn’t just about being a fashion guru or supporting his career. It was about you—your thoughtfulness, your sincerity, and the way you noticed and valued even the smallest things about him.

His chest tightened for a moment that he forgot how to speak.

“Kenyu?” you asked, tilting your head at him. “Is everything alright?”

He nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. Just… thanks for helping me with this.”

“Of course,” you said, brushing it off like it was nothing. But to him, it wasn’t nothing.

After everything had settled, the two of you decided to leave the mall. His thoughts kept circling back to the moment. He couldn’t remember when it had begun, but he knew now that this was more than just appreciation for your support.

He is in love with you.

The realization was unexpected, but it left him feeling lighter, as if he’d discovered something he didn’t know he’d been searching for.

likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated! masterlist

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luvvcho · 2 months ago

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biker!choso x reader

a/n: literally lived out my backpack dreams the other day and all i could think about was biker!cho so enjoy! if this is well recieved there may be a part 2...

m. list | divider | next >

biker!Choso who watched a motocross movie when he was 12 and thus began his obsession with motorcycles, staring slack-jawed at the screen as dirt bikes flew over ramps and riders skidded through turns like it was second nature

biker!Choso who spent the next four years researching every kind of bike he could, watching videos late into the night, memorizing engine specs, and sketching his dream motorcycle in the margins of his school notebooks

biker!Choso who got his motorcycle license the second he turned 16, walking into the DMV like it was his life's mission, passing both tests with ease because he'd been preparing for this moment for years

biker!Choso who is now in university and forgot his gloves at a bar one night, only realizing when he reached for them before heading home and found empty space where they should have been

biker!Choso who cursed under his breath, staring at his hands on the handlebars, feeling the absence more than he thought he would, the leather that had molded perfectly to his fingers now lost to some sticky dive bar booth

biker!Choso who, begrudgingly, steps into the department store near campus the next day, the fluorescent lights too harsh, the polished floors too sterile, the aisles packed with things he didn’t need

biker!Choso who weaves through the aisles, scanning shelves with a slight frown, feeling lost in a place that was supposed to be simple, the usual ease he carried himself with slipping just slightly

biker!Choso who finally gives up, exhaling quietly before hesitantly making his way to the nearest employee.. you

biker!Choso who speaks so quietly when he asks you where to find gloves, deep voice low and almost uncertain, as if it’s strange for him to ask for help, like he’s used to figuring things out on his own

biker!Choso who watches as you tilt your head, blinking up at him, not expecting the towering man dressed in all black to sound so… soft?

biker!Choso who follows as you lead him to the right section, hands shoved into his pockets, feeling oddly out of place in this bright, overly sanitized space but comforted, somehow, by your presence

biker!Choso who listens when you recommend a pair, nodding once as he pulls them on, flexing his fingers to test the fit, and it’s only when he murmurs a quiet thanks that you realize his ears are a little pink

biker!Choso who catches your name from your name tag, repeating it silently in his head as he pulls out his wallet, committing it to memory before you even finish ringing him up

biker!Choso who pulls out his phone the moment he steps outside, leaning against his bike as he types your name into social media, scrolling through results with furrowed brows, hoping he spelled it right

biker!Choso who clicks through profiles, heart beating just a little faster when he finds one that might be you, staring at the small profile picture for a second before tapping it open

biker!Choso who sees a recent post of you out with your friends—laughing, eyes bright, drink in hand, the caption something playful, something teasing—and finds himself staring longer than he should

biker!Choso who scrolls, not sure if he should follow you, not sure if that would be weird, but before he can decide, his screen times out and reflects back a very obvious look of hesitation on his own face

biker!Choso who exhales, tucking his phone away, slipping on the new gloves, and revving his bike before speeding off— your name still turning over in his mind the whole way home

[TAGLIST]: open! this is in case of a part 2! @krispywhisperswhispers @apricotprincessar @annel33 @ukiyodestiny @sacred-treasure @inoluvrr @thaisszz55 @kkataleena

#jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #choso kamo #jjk choso #choso x reader #jujutsu kaisen choso #choso smut #kamo choso #choso jjk #choso kamo x reader #biker choso #choso x you #choso kamo smut #i lied theres no smut.... yet #foryoupage

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marblehazel · 4 months ago

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A Lesson

raider!Joel Miller x f!reader

Joel just wants you to listen to him for your sake, keep yourself out of trouble while he’s away for the day. But of course you have to slip up, putting yourself in danger. Now he’s going to teach you a lesson.

Tags: Explicit MDNI, pre-boston qz, established relationship but questionable dynamics, d/s undertones, dubious consent (!!!), punishment, degradation, face slapping, pussy slapping, fingering, orgasm denial

Word count: 3.5k

a/n: This piece contains descriptions of murders and dead bodies (brief), and physical abuse, mainly slapping. Joel also says cruel things in this, not directly calling you names, but there are derogatory lines. Please take care of yourself :)

You’re fucked.

Your life flashes before your eyes. The sins you’ve committed, the chances you didn’t take, all pounding at the door of your consciousness. You can feel death closing in, its cold embrace beckoning. If you had one chance to go back in time, you would give anything to go back to exactly thirty six minutes ago. Not an hour ago, not before the outbreak, just thirty six minutes prior to this second. When you still had the choice to be a good person, or a surviving one.

Joel’s been gone since the crack of dawn. He’s meeting up with some raiders—a trade, a few miles north—and scouting out a safer route for the two of you to head north. You can’t afford to stay in one place for long, not with the way things are going down here. The farmlands used to offer more, but they’re nothing now. You have to keep moving.

Joel would’ve taken you with him, but it’s not about easing his own mind. It’s about keeping you out of harm’s way. He doesn’t trust the people he’s meeting—not enough to risk you. Not with the way things are. You never know who’s looking for a fight, or what kind of deal they’re pushing. There’s no room for mistakes, not in this world. Not when every day is a damn gamble.

Before leaving, Joel orders you to stay low, keep your presence unknown inside the farmhouse you have been staying at for a week, and kill anyone who dares to approach the doorstep. You say yes, of course.

But, as usual, you always have to blow everything up.

It isn’t long before you see her. A girl, maybe nine or ten, walking toward the farmhouse. She looks exhausted, her steps sluggish. She doesn’t look like she’s infected, at least not yet. Her clothes are torn, and there are smudges of dirt on her face. You hesitate, instinctually reaching for your knife and the gun Joel had left you.

But as the girl comes closer to the porch, you get a good look at her eyes. There is something fragile about her. Maybe it’s the way she winces at the sun or the way her shoulders slump, as if the weight of the world is crushing her. The girl reminds you of yourself. Lost, vulnerable, a survivor in a world that doesn’t give a damn. You can’t help but feel the urge to help. To give her a chance.

You let her in. And that is your first mistake.

She appears to be mute, silent in the face of your questions. As you check her over for bite marks or concealed weapons, she does nothing but stare at you with wide, exhausted eyes, as if she might faint at any moment. You grab one of your clean shirts, handing it to her with a silent offer of warmth, trying to figure out how to communicate. You aren’t sure if she’s deaf too, but you ask anyway, in every way you can think of. Gestures, simple words. But she remains silent. Only stares.

You give her a few crackers, still pushing for answers. Who is she? What is she doing here? The questions hang in the air, unanswered as the seconds tick by, and the next thing you know, the door slams open.

A man and woman are upon you in an instant, knives drawn. Their words are sharp and demanding: supply, weapons, food. You barely have a moment to react before the girl shifts, hiding behind the woman, and she runs her fingers through the kid’s tangled hair. It dawns on you. The girl is only a bait.

So, you’re fucked.

Your instincts kick in first. As the man lunges for you, you grab the gun, hammer already cocked, your heart pounding as you aim. The gunshot rings out, the sound deafening in the tight space. It hits his shoulder, blood spurting in a quick spray as his scream fills the air.

Before you can get another shot off on the woman, her fist collides with your temple, sending you reeling. The world tilts, your vision blurs, and for a moment, you thought the darkness might swallow you whole. You’re a goner.

But then there is a crack, a gunshot that isn’t yours.

The woman drops to the ground, her body slumping lifelessly as Joel emerges from the shadows, his presence cutting through the chaos like a knife. His gun is steady in his hands, his eyes cold as he surveys the scene. The man, still clutching his shoulder, barely has time to react before another shot rings out, and he crumples.

The girl tries to run—tired, slow, desperate—but Joel is quicker. Another shot, and she falls on the porch, lifeless before she even has a chance to flee.

Joel’s eyes locked onto yours as he steps forward, his movements sharp, calculated. No words were needed between you. He has seen enough. There was nothing left to say.

The next hour is spent lining the bodies inside, checking their pockets and if they still have some friends around the farm waiting to strike. You find a bag with not much in it in the back of the house, some jerky and a half-empty bottle of water. They were desperate.

You ask Joel if you should dig a grave for them, even a shallow one, at least for the little girl’s body, but he doesn’t answer. The farmhouse feels suffocating, the air thick with the metallic scent of blood that hasn’t yet had a chance to fade. The bodies lie there, still and turning cold, while the bloodstains seep into the floorboards. The room, once perhaps a place of quiet refuge for you and Joel, even for a brief period, now reeks of death. Every corner holds the memory of what happened. What you allowed to happen.

“We’ll stay in the barn tonight,” Joel mutters, his voice low, as he gathers your things. His hands move methodically, purposefully. His eyes don’t meet yours. “And we head north first thing in the mornin’.”

You follow him wordlessly, the weight of the day pressing down on your chest. As the barn door creaks shut behind you, the cold air rushes in, but it doesn’t seem to touch the heaviness in your chest. You don’t let Joel see the tears pooling in your eyes, but you can’t help the tightness in your throat as you turn away from the farmhouse.

The barn is cold and messy, layers of dust covering everything inside, but it’s a roof over your head and walls closed around you, and that’s enough. Joel rustles through the hay, forming a thin, uncomfortable bed. You’re about to lay down when his voice cuts through the silence.

“Who allows you to lie down?”

You freeze, a sharp chill sweeping through your body as his gaze locks onto yours. He steps forward, the space between you vanishing until his towering frame looms over your trembling form, casting a shadow you can’t escape.

“What did I tell you about stayin’ low?” His voice is sharp and low, an edge of fury curling beneath each word. “What did I say?”

The shove comes without warning, light but firm enough to send you sprawling to the floor, your body colliding with the ground before your mind can catch up. Before you even have a chance to process it, he grabs you by the collar, hauling you up like a ragdoll, his grip like iron.

“You think this is a game? That I’m just here to clean up after your mess every damn time?”

Then his palm connects with your cheek, a slap so hard it rings in your ears, leaving a sting that lingers, deep and raw.

He’s never slapped you before. In fact, he’s never laid a hand on you with the intention to hurt—until now. The sting of his palm shocks through you, and you can feel your breath catch in your chest, panic creeping up your throat. You start to hyperventilate, the air too thin, too tight, but before you can steady yourself, his hand crashes against the other side of your face, the back of it leaves a burn deeper than the first.

“What’s next? You gonna invite a horde of infected to this goddamn barn?”

Your heart pounds in your ears. Before you know it, tears are rolling down your cheeks, but from the slaps or the words, you can’t be sure.

“I was tryin’ to get us outta this bleak, shithole of a place, and you can’t even follow a simple order?” His words are harsh, each one a jab that sinks deeper into your gut. But he isn’t done yet. He forces your cheeks together with one hand, the pressure so brutal it feels like your jaws might snap. Your lips tremble, slick with tears, unable to escape his grip.

“Maybe I should leave you to die out here. Teach you a goddamn lesson.” You flinch at the venom in his tone, but it’s the next thing he says that truly breaks you.

“You’re a goddamn liability.”

Joel still goes on, something about how he has to worry about you all the time, but you barely hear the words anymore. You don’t even feel the cracking twinge of your muscles when your body hits the floor again as Joel lets go of you. Seems like your legs stop working altogether.

He crouches next to your splayed body, and you instinctively defend yourself using your forearms in front of your face. “I’m sorry!” you choke on your own words. “Sorry, Joel, I’m sorry.”

“‘S a bit too late for that.” Joel scoffs, his hand pushing your forearms apart, revealing your teary eyes and quivering lips. “Quit this.”

Your trembling pupils find his eyes, and under the dim light of dusk filtering through the barn, for the first time since he arrived you see fresh little cuts on his face. Some bruises on his jaw and neck, hues of blue and purple. The trade didn’t go smoothly, it seems like, and when he came home he had to deal with your bullshit. Of course he’s mad.

He nudges your crotch where your pants are stained crimson of the woman’s blood. “Is this the only thing you’re good for? Pussy?”

The words stings. Far worse than the slaps, the shovings. You know it’s not true. You know Joel knows it’s not true. But he’s angry right now, so you swallow it.

“Take these off,” he tugs at the fabric. “Reeks of blood.”

You comply, quickly pulling your pants off, movement stuttering. Under them are your panties, and while they’re pretty much clean despite how much you want to wet yourself, Joel yanks them down your legs, too, the stitching rips from the force.

“This is the only thing valuable of you, huh?” he hurls the fabric to your face, the fiber absorbing your tears and sweat before you toss them to the ground, shaking.

“Is it?” he presses a palm to your chest, denying you of air. If you were a little bit more fragile he would’ve cracked your ribs. You shriek, nodding out of fear, just so he’d stop.

“Yeah? Fuckin’ say it then. Do I really have to do all the work around here?”

“Yes, Joel,” you cry, desperate.

“Yes what?”

“I’m— I,” the words are stuck in your throat. You don’t want to say it. You don’t know how to say it.

He lifts the hand from your chest and slaps you again, softer this time, like how you would wake a person. “You’re what?”

“I’m only good for my—“ you stutter, and even though you’re sure you’re already crying, you break down sobbing, and almost intangibly continue, “Pussy,”

“Sounds like right to me,” Joel nods, satisfied. “Cause surely there ain’t nothing up there.”

Another sound of hefty thwack fills up the room, but it doesn’t come from the skin of your cheek this time. Joel just struck your cunt with his open palm.

If it weren’t just you and Joel within a mile radius, the yelp you let out would’ve had raiders—or worse, infected—running. The sudden pain has you fight with all your might before you know it, hands swatting against Joel. But he’s so much stronger than you. Even when he isn’t pissed off.

“Keep squirmin’,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. “See what happens.”

Another slap. His calloused fingers do nothing but worsen the pain. Your tear ducts flood your temple, the salty fluid collecting between the curves of your helixes.

“Do I always have to fuck your brain out to keep you outta trouble?” he taunts. “What do I look like, baby, do I look like I got a lot of time in my hands? Nothin’ else to do but babysittin’ ya all day?”

Another strike, each one seemingly more powerful than the last. He cups your cunt, the meat of your lips pulsing from the pain under his touch. You’re gasping, hands balled into fists next to your torso.

“Yeah, reckon it hurts, don’t it?” he points at your cunt with his chin. “Maybe you’ll get it this time, since you seem to do all your thinkin’ with your pussy and not your head.”

He strikes again, and this time you scream. It hurts. You can’t see yourself but you’re pretty damn sure the skin of your cunt should be blooming red by now. You reach for his arm, but he won’t budge. Instead, he pins both of arms, folded on top of your chest like you’re praying. Maybe you should be.

“What’s wrong? Can’t handle it, huh? That’s the problem, ain’t it? You’re used to gettin’ what you want, when you want it."

You shake your head. The last part is not even close to the truth. You’ve been fighting for every scrap of life for years now. You don’t get what you want, not by a long shot. You’ve killed. You’ve hurt and been hurt more times than you can count. You’ve clawed your way through an endless hell to get here. But refuting it, setting the record straight, is not your priority right now. You shake your head because you, in fact, can’t handle it.

“Joel,” you beg, your voice cracking. “I’m sorry. Please stop, please, I can’t take it. I’m sorry.”

He scoffs.

“From the day I spared your life, you’ve been nothin' but trouble. Hell, I don’t know what I was thinkin’, lettin’ you stay with me all this time.” he pulls his hand from your cunt to pinch the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply before continuing, “Lettin’ myself get attached to you.”

He sounds hurt, almost betrayed for a second, but he quickly composes himself and prepares to blow once again. Your knees are close to each other in an attempt to suppress the pain, and he pushes one away, opening you up, just to find that your reddened cunt is slick with arousal.

He runs his middle finger through your slit, collecting the slippery glaze, and you arch your back because it’s unexpected, but also almost painful.

“You’re wet?” he questions, as if he doesn’t have the proof right on his fingertip.

You raise your head and shake it, mumbling things about how you’re taking this seriously and you are not titillated in any sense in fear of Joel getting angrier. Which is the truth. You didn’t know. You are feeling millions of different feelings, mainly scared, and you are pretty sure aroused is not one of them.

“You learn new things every day,” Joel shakes his head in disbelief. “Here I got a woman who gets off being slapped and screamed at.”

Maybe you are. You don’t know. You don’t have enough headspace to think, not when Joel slaps your cunt again, the blow sends your hips up to the air. You intertwine your fingers together, pressing them so hard your knuckles turn white.

“Poor thing,” he heaves. “Don’t know what to do with herself. Probably needs to come so bad, huh? After a long day of messin’ shit up and almost gettin’ herself dead, now she needs to come before bed? Greedy, greedy little cunt.”

He smears your own arousal all over your cunt, like he’s applying shea butter on sunburned skin. His finger grazes your clit, and you twitch under him, whimpering.

“Sensitive?” he asks, somehow softly this time. You say yes, and he nods in mock sympathies before finding your clit again and pinching it between his thumb and index finger.

You scream. A full-blown scream. You kick your legs, knowing damn well it gets you nowhere. You yell for Joel to stop, to spare you, that you’re sorry, again and again until it sounds like a jumbled cassette tape.

“Let’s get it over with, yeah?” He pats your cunt as your chest expands and shrinks as much as it could under the pressure of his other hand. “Say it. Beg me for my fingers inside you.”

“Please,” you squeak. “Please, Joel,”

He stays still, waiting for you to utter the whole thing. His gaze is relentless upon your mess of a face. You realize this, and begin to gather your words.

“Ple—ease fuck me with your fingers,” you stammer. “I need to come, need you to— to play with my pussy.”

The words might have been forced out of you, but when Joel pushes two digits inside your drenched, sensitive cunt, a little part of you is grateful. Joel isn’t gentle with it, he isn’t tender and loving like he used to be as he pumps his fingers into your walls, but fuck if that doesn’t cloud your brain with bliss-laced pain. Good kind of pain.

This continues for a couple of minutes until he realizes that you are starting to curl up beneath him, the muscles of your calves and stomach tensing up. Just before the swelling pleasure start to leak, Joel withdraws his fingers, earning a whimper in protest from you.

“Joel,” you whine. “I wanna come. Please.”

“Not yet,” Joel pants. The sight of you desperate and struggling seems to arouse him as well, although he doesn’t pay much attention to himself. “Not done with you.”

It’s killing you. But you nod anyway, playing along, relaxing your jaws when you realize you’ve been grinding your teeth forcefully the whole time it made your head hurt. You wiggle your hands, wrists all sweaty and almost bruised in Joel’s grip. Joel notices this and instead of letting go tightens his clutch even more.

His thumb hovers over your cunt, brushing against your sensitive bundle of pleasure intermittently, making you squirm each time it does. Every time you begin to enjoy yourself, he’ll throw a slap, eventually turning the pain into pleasure.

He fingers you again, still with two fingers, and stops exactly when you’re about to finish. The way he accurately reads your body language and knows the precise moment to deny you your release is scaring you. It is as if you’re nothing but an instrument to him. He follows your rhythm and cadence, knowing where and when to strum, but ultimately how to delay the final movement to his liking, building anticipation.

You’re nothing but a puddle of mess and desperation by the time he denies you for the fourth time.

“Enjoyin’ this?” Joel asks as he shifts his position. His legs are killing him.

You nod. You hate this, you want this to end, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t also enjoy this. Being so small under Joel’s boots, kissing the earth for his mercy. Nothing in your brain but him, how you let him treat you as he pleases.

He chuckles. “Yeah, I bet. Only this kind of thing can make you think, huh? The other things just pass by your brain or something.”

Your head inclines again. You both know it’s not entirely true. Sometimes you’re just too pure, too naive for your own good. Always optimistic, always seeing the good even in a pile of crap. Maybe that’s why Joel was drawn to you, too.

Joel is satisfied. He rubs your cunt and inserts two, before eventually working three fingers inside you. He simultaneously curls and pulls upwards, like he’s trying to dig his way up a mine with brute force. He doesn’t stop even after you come undone, writhing, your foot tapping the dirty floor like a rattlesnake.

You squeal, brain failing to conjure the words to ask Joel to stop, but even if you did, Joel wouldn’t have done it. He keeps moving, stirring your insides up, until he hears a familiar squelch building in your lower abdomen. He coerces it out of you, the release spraying onto his forearm, the rest leaking down his hand to the concrete flooring, trapping the layer of dust on it.

You don’t remember when he stops exactly, just when he wipes your tears with his sweaty hand that was used to hold you down.

“Sorry, baby,” he does look sorry, cupping your cheek as he bends to kiss you. “Gotta teach you a lesson every once in a while.”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #tlou #the last of us #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #raider!joel #raider!joel miller #raider!joel miller x reader #raider!joel x reader

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sha-n-dowbannedlol · 16 days ago

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He doesn’t look at you when he sits down. Just unbuttons his cuffs, rolls them to his elbows with the precision that only a man like him could. His tie is loose. His eyes are tired. The kind of tired that doesn’t come from lack of sleep, but from too many years of holding the line.

“I don’t know why I came here,” Nanami says. Not cold, not apologetic, just being honest.

You hand him a drink, a quiet peace offering.

“Maybe you needed somewhere quiet.”

He takes it. Sips. Doesn’t say thank you, but you can feel it in the way his shoulders ease.

For a while, there’s silence. Not heavy, just familiar. You’ve learned that Nanami doesn’t speak to fill space. When he talks, it’s because he means the words he speaks. And sometimes, meaning takes time.

Outside, the sky is turning the kind of gray that promises rain but doesn’t commit. The kind of in-between weather that feels like waiting for something that never quite arrives.

Kind of similar to your relationship with the blonde man before you.

He sets the cup down. Hand on the table. Finally meets your eyes.

“I thought I’d be done by now,” he says, voice low and almost quiet. “That I’d leave it all behind. The curses. The guilt.”

You say nothing. Let him unfold at his own pace.

“But it doesn’t end. It never does. You finish one thing, and another crawls out of the dark.”

A beat.

He looks down at his hands. Clean, but filled with calluses.

“I wonder,” he mutters, more to himself than you, “what kind of person I’d be if none of this had happened.”

You lean forward, your voice a whisper. “You’d still be the kind of man who walks through hell to keep people safe.”

That catches him off guard. You see it in the way his jaw tightens. In the way he blinks, slow and deliberate.

“I’m not kind,” he tells you. “Not like you think I am.”

You reach out. Not to hold him, but to rest your fingers beside his on the table between you.

“Perhaps not,” you say. “But it's always been in your nature to help.”

And for once, Nanami doesn’t argue. He just sits there, breathing in the stillness. As if, for a moment, he’s allowed to stop being everything for everyone.

He brushes your hand—barely.

But he didn't say anything.

He never did.

You knew this was all he was willing to give you, that he couldn't give you what you wanted, not when he knew he could leave you anytime.

Still, for you, his presence is already enough.

#nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #nanami kento imagines #jjk #jjk imagines #jjk nanami #jjk x reader #nanami x reader

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tadpolesonalgae · 1 year ago

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The Burn Marks of Possession

Dark!Azriel x reader

a/n: heads up, reader’s slightly obsessive, and Az is slightly on the dark side. Not as dark as usual but better safe than sorry with things like this :) I also haven’t written in a while so this is a vague practice attempt at getting back into things 🫠

warnings: kind of dark!azriel, smut, arguably dubcon due to reader’s mental state, sadism, overstim, light breeding kink, implied somnophilia

Word count: 3,407

——————————————————————————————————————————————

It’s perplexing, when it begins shifting. Building again after years of managing to be suppressed. Coming to a simmer, gently bubbling while it remains constrained.

A heavy sigh falls from your lips, secondary to the unhelpful tremor in the tips of your fingers, shaking your knuckles. The boiling water spills over the lip of the cup, dripping over your thumb, and you wonder if it burns the same.

You remain quiet, reaching for the hand towel to dry the liquid, before putting it away again, stirring the cup absently as the metal begins heating, steam warming then stinging at your fingers.

Azriel

How your jaw clenches at the first syllable of his name, teeth grinding as if with frustration. How your tongue caresses the backs of your teeth upon the second, grazing the inside slope of the roof of your mouth. A slow trace of a feather-light touch, as if to soothe rise of tension.

Azriel

If you repeat it enough, you can remove the stress of his first part, softening the pronunciation until it’s no more than swallowing a light touch. A suggested whisper as it drips from your tongue.

A snake would say it better. With a friendly flicker in between, rolling the letters from its serpentine mouth. You wonder where he is.

It’s easy to picture him in your kitchen, lazing at the coffee table, sprawled across a chair, while watching you with slitted pupils, the corners of his mouth too sharp for a smile.

Tension in your body abates, muscles loosening as that familiar spread of warmth courses down your arms, easing in your chest—like inebriation has just been pushed into your bloodstream, feeling woozy and soft, lips curving a little. Fingers slide through the roughened handle of your mug absently, allowing the steam to rise and brush your mouth, the tip of your nose, feeling how his shadows do whenever they brush against your skin.

You feel cold and clammy as you lower it. Already missing its heat.

The sun has long since been swallowed by the night, removed from the sky to allow reprieve to morality. Nobody can always be perfect—it’s good to have moments to relax. When secrets can be committed.

The latch of your front door clicks, and you smile, taking another drink from your cup, settling back into its boiling heat as the liquid scalds your throat on the way down, swiftly spreading throughout your body, heating your fingertips.

“If I’d known you were coming, I’d have made another cup,” you murmur slowly, eyes closed as you listen to his approach. The almost inaudible rasp of shadow, the whisper of feet over carpet. Roughened hands slide softly around your ribs, solid muscle gathering at your back, gently bringing himself into you. Tucking you beneath his chin as shadows swirl and circle peacefully.

“You knew I was coming,” he replies lowly, feeling the slope of your shoulders, how your body becomes smaller as breath leaves your lips, exhaled from your lungs.

You’re glad he’s here again, reassured of his presence. You spend so much time together that the hours apart stretch painfully, like limbs being steadily plied from a torso over a matter of days, until at last they pop out, sockets splitting. It’s a warning you should know how to recognise by now, but every low of his absence encourages the high of his return, the sweet flutter of your pulse, the hitch in your breathing as his fingers stroke across the skin of your collarbones placatingly.

“At some point,” you agree quietly, shifting in his arms, revelling in the rasp of his clothes against yours, the counter top now pressing just shy of the base of your spine, his hands shifting to brace on the surface at your back. “Where were you?” You ask lightly, eyes scanning him attentively. He doesn’t doubt that if he could feel the abrasion of your gaze, his skin would be left slightly raw.

His shadows darken with pleasure.

“Out,” he murmurs. “Away.”

You frown at the answer, lips shifting with displeasure at the vagueness. “Where out?”

“Does it matter?” He asks coyly, hazel eyes gleaming as he peers down at you, kept between his arms. “I’m back now.”

You tilt your head, brows slightly narrowed causing the hairs at the nape of his neck to rise. He likes it when your curiosity is blatant. When you can’t manage to hide to your intrigue.

“You were doing something for the court?” You push, causing him to smile faintly. He doubts you’re even aware of your refusal to apply names to other people, as if it’ll ruin the purity of the moment.

The smile has frustration growing in the pit of your stomach, irritated by his lack of answer.

“You can tell me,” you urge lowly, still cupping the scalding mug of tea. “If it ever strains on you, too. You can always talk to me about it.” Does he not want to tell you about it? Is it private? Is there some reason he can’t tell you?

His smile widens a little, head dipping down so he can peer at you closer, inky strands of hair flopping over your brow as his nose brushes your own. “It’s not for your ears,” he answers lowly, that faint smile still on his lips, anger growing back into that simmer over his lack of sincerity.

“I want to know,” you reply, brows dipping down as you grip the mug tighter. “Come on, Az. You always do this.”

“Do what?” He replies, a spark in his eyes.

“This,” you snap, jerking your chin at him sharply. “Either answer or don’t, but stop playing games.”

“But you’re so enjoyable to tease,” he chuckles roughly, and you’re aware of how his shadows are stroking against your legs. Slow, lulling strokes as they wrap around the curve of your calves, over the bump of your knees, skimming the exposed skin just above them. He’s closer than he was before.

Your jaw tightens, the familiar rise of aggression burning your insides, the desire to lash out and maim over something so small. For making you so volatile. Turning the spiked pulse of your blood from peace to destruction so swiftly, like whiplash.

He’s so attentive, you’re certain he knows your frustration, how you crave his company, desperate for him to confide in you like you do with him. And yet he’s blatantly ignoring it—it’s cruel. Out of character for him, who’s usually so ready to listen, so perfect at providing comfort, seeming to understand you effortlessly. Why then, does he insist on pretending otherwise. Does he just not care any more? Does he not care that he’s your favourite? Does his world no longer revolve around you?

His smile softens as he feels the heat warming your cheeks, shadows reporting the grip you have on the ceramic mug. The dilation of your pupils.

“I’m here now,” he murmurs, liking how your breath hitches as his palm presses lightly against your spine, encouraging you to press into him. “You know I’ll always come back. That’s all that matters isn’t it?”

You’re silent, mouth set in a sullen line, eyes dark and resentful as they glare up at him. All that emotion. All for him.

Satisfaction settles deep in his chest, shadows flicking higher in reward.

He likes how malleable you are—for his hands only.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes lowly, a hint of amusement in his eyes as they skate across your own. “I’ll stop.”

His palm slides lower, making the slow descent over the curve at the base of your spine, hazel eyes practically pinning you to the ground, keeping you from moving.

Your pulse flutters, wanting to bite at his lip, lips that are dipping lower, your breath shallowing as he draws nearer…nearer… The tremor in your fingers becomes more pronounced as his mouth slants softly against your own, and you’re unable to help yourself as your teeth settle against him, eyes locking as you drag across his lower lip slowly. He doesn’t pull away, just watches you idly, as if interested in what you’ll do next.

Why didn’t he want to tell you where he’d gone?

You pull away, mouth feeling cold, before returning quickly, seeking the heat of his lips to warm you again, to burn like the scalding liquid in your mug. A pleased noise drags roughly from the back of his throat, rumbling in his chest, and his hand slides lower, settling over your rear, shadows wrapping around your thighs.

You inhale deeply, pulling his scent into your lungs. Committing him to memory—the slight roughness of leather that mixes with his scent, the dampness of the outdoors clinging to the strands of his hair. The cruel softness of his mouth as it presses deeper, wanting more from you, wanting to have more, to take more as he plies you open, swiping over the tingling skin of your tongue, numb from the burn of tea.

Azriel groans lowly, hands lifting you to sit upon the counter, moving you without asking so he can step between your already open thighs, shadows playing curiously beneath the cover of your skirts, grazing the soft skin of your hips, the pronounced curve of your stomach now you’re sitting.

Shakily, you bring your arms to wrap over his shoulders, keeping careful hold of the mug, heat biting into your fingers.

He pulls away, lips looking bitten and slightly raw where your canines have dragged over him, reddened from abrasion.

“Are you sure about this?” He asks lowly, voice rough and gravelly.

Both of you know the question is insincere, a purely superficial ask, inquired out of courtesy rather than genuine concern. This isn’t something either of you are in a place to stop. Neither of you want it to stop.

“Maybe,” you answer anyway, nails scraping against the nape of his neck. “Do you want it?” Do you want me? “Yes.”

Your insides flutter, but you…

Your brow narrows, hearing the doubt in your mind. Something holding you back from the male before you. “Where were you earlier?” You ask quietly, intently.

He blinks slowly, shadows pausing their exploration at the question, his lips curving.

Frustration ignites beneath your skin, and the mug slants in your hand.

He snarls in pain, hands gripping you with such force you think he might crack something as the scalding liquid streams down his back, hitting the nape of his neck and dripping over his shoulders into your lap. You slow the pour, righting the mug again as he presses his face into the crook of your neck, his arms like iron as he keeps you crushed against his front, gripping onto you desperately, furiously, obsessively. Finger biting into the tendon at the top of your spine painfully, breath catching in your lungs as your legs wrap around him.

His shadows hiss and whisper viciously, tightening brutally around the tops of your thighs, squeezing your waist like a serpent set on swallowing its prey whole.

Azriel pulls back, fury and hunger darkening his hazel eyes as they lock with your own, cheeks flushed with heat, tension abating now he’s understanding what he subjected you to in denying your question. He opens his mouth to speak, and you pour the rest of the mug down his back.

His eyes go wide, skin paling a little with fury, then his brow is narrowing, eyes squeezed shut as his head dips, hanging as he pants heavily, hand leaving your back to settle over your thigh, biting at the soft and supple flesh in a way he knows will bruise deliciously.

The liquid splashes when it drips onto the cold tiles of the kitchen floor, the only noise aside from his heavy breathing, and you wait from him to open his eyes again, at last feeling satisfied, justified now the unpleasant emotion has been expelled.

Slowly, he raises his head, meeting your heated gaze, his tan skin warm and flushed, lips parted invitingly as he evens out his breathing. “Happy now?” He breathes lowly, raggedly, so close you can feel each syllable over your mouth. So close to where he needs to be right now—all it would take is a slight incline of your head and your lips would meet again.

Teeth prod at your lower lip as his shadows at last pry the empty mug from your hands, feeling shy and warm all over, head dipping a little with the intensity he’s watching you with. Shy at having acted so boldly, so brazenly before him. Like walking past him in little more than your underwear and expecting not to get grabbed.

“Answer me, pretty thing,” he breathes, gripping your jaw lightly to tilt your head.

You nod, toes curling as one hand threads through his hair, damp at the ends, the other tracing down his back, making small, make-believe patterns. “I’m happy now.”

————

He’s had you bent over the table so long your bones hurt, thighs aching from the sharp angle, on your tippy-toes to find some kind of support, though the cotton of your socks keeps slipping over the smoothness of the tiles, making it difficult.

That’s no doubt something he intended, though.

You babble, tears wet on the wooden surface of the table, lips gleaming with saliva and…something else…

His scarred hand wraps beneath your throat as he leans over, pressing to your back as he pries you from the table, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Ready?” He taunts lowly, the chuckle rasping from his chest as you feel the bare heat of him between your legs, thighs sticky with steadily drying release, gleaming with swiftly refreshening arousal.

You try to respond, but nonsense gushes from numb lips, babbling as words bubble on your tongue, simmering in your mind but unable to wrap your fingers around their slick wetness, springing out of your grip and bouncing away.

“Answer me,” he laughs roughly, squeezing lightly at your throat in reprimand, thumb and fingers pressing beneath the softness of your jaw, adding pressure without impeding your ability to breathe. “Tell me you want me,” he urges, rolling his hips against you tauntingly, free hand returning between your thighs, fingers lightly circling your clit, making more tears drip from your cheeks and fall onto the table.

“A— Az…” you cry, nails dragging over the surface, squirming as you tremble, so worn out and so tired. “Az—… I— I can’t—!” He releases you abruptly, allowing you to flop forward, shadows cushioning the drop.

Instead his hands take up a bruising hold on your hips, and you cry out when he lifts you from the table, hands scrambling for purchase as you struggle with balance. It’s not very far…maybe the length of your forearm…but your feet can no longer touch the floor, and you struggle for some kind of stability.

“Az…” you whimper, panting heavily, squirming as you feel him press his tip to the soft, wet dip between your thighs. “Keep still,” he instructs hungrily, voice deep and rough, making your toes curl. You can’t take anymore…you can’t take another one. He’s forced too many into you, dragged them out with his teeth, plied them gently with his fingers, shoved them in with his cock and shadows. So full and empty you can’t think straight anymore.

“Or don’t,” he breathes, darkness tracing down your spine, pinching at your breasts as you leverage yourself on your forearms. “Struggle all you like.” Then he’s shoving the breath from your lungs as he fills you up in one swift motion, pushing shy, soft noises from your lips to make room for his cock.

You babble, spine curving as you squeeze him, toes pointed as you seek stability, but he’s holding your hips so effortlessly, as if you really are just a toy he can fuck and breed for as long and as hard as he likes. Even while his cum is spilling out of you, dripping down your silicon-made thighs.

Your arms tremble at the thought, as he keeps his hips pressed tight against the backs of your thighs for a minute, basking in the wet heat, the grip you have on him, so eager to take him while you’re trying to protest.

“How many more can you give me, hm?” He muses roughly, shadows stroking down your spine affectionately, soothing the jitter of your muscles as you begin to soften again. Reassured by the gentle touch, even if it won’t last long. That’s all it takes from him—a few gentle touches, a few gentle words, and he can have you like this.

“Two? Three?” He questions idly, moving slightly behind you, causing him to shift inside of you, cock pressing against a spot—saliva pools on the table, spilling over slightly parted lips, panting heavily, giving up and letting him hold you above the floor.

“Az…” you mumble softly, blinking away tears. “I can’t…I can’t do anymore…I’m tired…” Shadows raise from the table, rubbing gently at your cheeks, and you tilt into them, allowing them to cup your jaw, moving like his hands would if they were brushing the wetness away.

“No? You won’t give me anymore?” He asks lightly, as if he doesn’t particularly mind what your answer will be—it’ll have no affect on what he chooses. He knows what he’s going to do with you, and he knows you will let him. “You were telling me a moment ago how good it felt. How full you were and how badly you wanted me to—”

“Azriel!”

A flush of humiliation warms your cheeks, thighs trying to press together, heat bubbling away, already prepared for him.

“Embarrassed?” He chuckles lowly, your breasts peaking at the sound. “You’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about around me. You deserve to be fucked full, don’t you?” Your toes curl, nails lightly scraping over the wood of the surface. Head dipping as heat flushes your cheeks more intensely.

Azriel hums, dragging his hips back slowly, and you squeeze him tightly, trying to suction him back in, already feeling so cold and empty without him heating you up. “Don’t you?” He repeats encouragingly, hungrily taking in the curved plain of your back—thinking how he could trail the knuckles of your spine with the soft flat of his tongue.

You swallow thickly, knowing it will please him to answer. “I deserve it,” you mumble into the table, head dipping lower to muffle your words. But of course it isn’t enough.

“What was that?” He muses roughly, pushing ever so slightly back in, urging more filthy confessions from your tongue.

The heat builds, and you push your face into the crook of your elbow, lips practically brushing the table top. “I can’t say it,” you mumble, features burning hot. “It’s embarrassing…”

“You’re not getting anything until you do,” he drawls, making to draw out of you entirely. Leaving you cold and empty on your kitchen table.

“I—…” you begin, panicked and rushed, whimpering when shadows pull your head from the table, tugging lightly on your hair. “I deserve it…I deserve to be fucked full,” you repeat, getting a strange sense of his pride at the confession, squeezing him hard in return. You’ve done your part…he has to fulfil his side now.

Azriel curses beneath his breath, before easing back into you, watching how your back shifts as you desperately pull air down into your lungs, feeling breathless no matter what you do. “Gods, you should see yourself right now,” he utters roughly, gazing down at your joining point, the broadening of your hips where you’re bent over.

“Fuck, you take me so well…” he groans, grinding against you. So much deeper now he has you suspended like this, his hands still gripping you tight.

“Let’s take this to the bedroom, shall we? Since you’re so tired.” He murmurs, able to hear the deep-throated hunger in his voice, slightly mocking of your stamina. Despite how long he’s been working on you. It’s not even light out anymore.

“Pass out if you’d like,” he adds, dipping down to nip at your ear, and you squirm against him, wishing he’d start moving again, now that he’s reignited the arousal between your thighs.

“I’d like to see what you do, when I fuck you back into consciousness.”

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general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria

az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @assassinsblade @marvelouslovely-barnes @v3lv3tf0x @kalulakunundrum @vellichor01 @throneofsmut @vickykazuya

dark!az taglist: @honeyandhalfmoons

#azriel x reader #azriel x reader fic #azriel smut #azriel x reader smut #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger

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thefemmefatalexo · 21 days ago

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Gojo SMAU - The Art of Falling Fake

Chapter 7 - The Art of Faking it Too Well

Summary: The campus buzzes with life, but you feel like a shadow slipping through the cracks—unnoticed, unimportant. At home, it’s no better. Your parents dote on your step-sister, the star tennis player, while you’re the afterthought they barely acknowledge. She’s here too, her perfect reputation casting an even bigger shadow over your existence. College was supposed to be your escape, but living at home and walking the same halls as her makes it impossible. Then he shows up—Satoru Gojo, the rich, arrogant engineering major everyone seems to worship. His smug grin and effortless charm are the kind of things you can’t stand, but when a ridiculous twist of fate forces your lives together, you find yourself fake dating the most insufferable man you’ve ever met. It’s just a deal, temporary and harmless—or so you try to convince yourself.

an: rizzler lmao. SMOOCHES 💋💋💋

{chapter 6} ; {next}

taglist: @hanakotateyama @sleepykittyenergy @inthedarkshadows000 @codeseven @byakuya61085 @minzxec @ivydoesit23 @naughteehee @not-aya @bochichi @emlient @gojoprincesss @havingnonamesucks @n1vi @linny-bloggs @sastreclau

࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

You didn’t expect him to actually be on time.

Satoru’s car pulled into your driveway right at 7, headlights off, like he was trying to make a quiet escape from the awkward suburban hell you called home. You opened the door, heart already racing, not from nerves—but from the knowledge that your family was going to witness all of this. Every second of it.

The second you stepped outside, you heard your sister’s voice float out from the living room.

“Oh? Is that Gojo?” Her heels clicked against the hardwood as she all but slithered toward the door. “You sure you didn’t pay him to show up?”

Satoru stood leaning against the car, all long legs and confidence, dressed in black slacks and a soft blue button-up that brought out his eyes way too well for your comfort. He looked up at your sister’s voice, smile tight.

“Hi,” she purred, stepping beside you like she was the one he was here for. “You look—wow.”

Satoru didn’t even blink. “Thanks. So does your sister.”

You blinked, startled, as he offered you his arm and leaned in like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Ready to go, babe?”

You didn’t say anything—just nodded, letting him lead you down the steps, his hand resting lightly on your back.

Your mom and stepdad stood near the window, watching with forced smiles that barely masked their suspicion. You saw your stepfather open his mouth, but before he could say anything, Satoru glanced up and gave them a polite, “Evening. We won’t be late.”

His tone was calm but cool—formal enough to be respectful, but just detached enough to make it clear he wasn’t here to kiss up to anyone.

As soon as you slid into the passenger seat and shut the door, you sighed. “You didn’t have to say all that.”

“I did,” he said, shifting into reverse. “You looked like you were five seconds away from swinging on your sister.”

“She said I paid you to date me.”

“I know.” He smirked as he turned onto the main road. “But then I remembered I’m expensive. She’s not wrong.”

You groaned and elbowed him lightly. “You’re actually the worst.”

“Maybe. But I look really good next to you.”

You tried not to smile. Failed.

The car ride was warm with music low in the background. He talked too much, teased you too often, and made a point to tell you that the highlighter on your cheeks looked “criminally good.”

When you arrived at the restaurant, you realized it wasn’t the flashy kind of upscale—it was intimate. Dim lighting, candlelit tables, soft jazz playing over the speakers. You felt… out of place. But he looked completely at ease, holding the door open for you with a wink.

“You really committed to the fake boyfriend role, huh?”

“I don’t half-ass,” he said simply. “Plus, I like watching you blush.”

You were seated near the window. He pulled out your chair before sitting down himself.

“So,” he said, glancing over the menu. “What do loners usually eat on fake dates with campus heartthrobs?”

You gave him a look. “Anything that shuts you up for at least ten minutes.”

He grinned. “Spicy. I like that.”

You both ordered, and the conversation veered off into something lighter—music, classes, how he once almost electrocuted himself in a lab and had to bribe a TA to cover it up.

But eventually, the laughter softened, and the pauses between words started to stretch a little longer.

You looked down at the table. “It’s weird. I didn’t think I’d enjoy tonight.”

He tilted his head. “Is that your way of saying you’re having fun with me?”

“No,” you said quickly, and then—after a beat—“…Maybe.”

He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “You really don’t think very highly of yourself, do you?”

The question caught you off guard. You shrugged. “It’s just… easier when you don’t expect much. From people. From family.”

Satoru went quiet. Not uncomfortable, just… thoughtful.

“My parents are always gone,” he said after a moment. “They throw money at me like it’s supposed to feel like love. It doesn’t. So, I pretend it’s all good. I play the part.”

Your eyes met his. For a second, he looked tired. Like the role of Satoru Gojo—Golden Boy, Campus Royalty—was just that. A role.

“We’re more alike than I thought,” you said quietly.

He smiled, a little softer this time. “Told you I’m not just a pretty face.”

Later, after dinner, he suggested a walk.

“Trust me,” he said, grabbing your hand. “You’ll like this.”

You ended up near the beach—quiet, the kind of spot not many students knew about. The moon was full, the water calm, and he stood beside you with his hands in his pockets, looking at you like you were something he couldn’t figure out.

You looked up at the stars, hair dancing in the breeze.

He watched you. “You look pretty when you’re not yelling at me.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips.

You didn’t talk much on the way back. The car was filled with a silence that felt… full.

And then—he parked outside your house. Leaned across the seat. You thought he was going to kiss your cheek, maybe say goodnight.

Instead, his voice dropped low as he whispered in your ear, “Don’t freak out… but we’re being watched.”

Your heart jumped. “What?”

“Someone’s in that car down the street. Been holding their phone up since we got here. Probably sending pics to that gossip page.”

Before you could even process it, he leaned in and pressed you back against the car door. One hand cupped your jaw. The other slid around your waist.

And then—he kissed you.

It wasn’t playful. It wasn’t teasing.

It was full, slow, and hungry.

Your fingers curled into his shirt. You barely had time to react before the kiss deepened, his mouth moving against yours like he’d been waiting to do it all night.

When he finally pulled back, breathless, he didn’t move far.

“Sorry,” he whispered, lips brushing your cheek. “Had to sell it.”

But his eyes said something else entirely.

He walked you to your door, fingers laced with yours until the last second. Your parents were watching again. So was your sister.

So Satoru kissed your forehead and said, “Sleep well, baby.”

Then, with a little smirk just for you, he walked away.

You closed the door slowly behind you, heart pounding. And in your chest—buried under confusion and nerves—was something warm. Something dangerous.

Something that felt a lot like the beginning of something real.

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itoshiabi · 18 days ago

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Red or Green flag? (Ft. Bllk boys)

PT.2- Barou, Reo, Nagi

Pt.1- here

Barou Shoei (a massive red flag)

Red Flag tendencies:

Dominant: Barou's used to being the king. He likes things his way, and compromise doesn't come naturally. If you're opinionated or independent, expect power clashes.

Short temper: He gets pissed easily and doesn't always know how to channel that anger productively in a relationship. If you argue, he might say harsh things without thinking.

Territorial as hell: If someone even looks at you the wrong way, Barou's already cracking his knuckles. Protective is cute but his possessiveness gets messy fast.

Emotionally closed off: Vulnerability isn't his thing. He's not going to pour his heart out or whisper sweet nothings—so if you need constant emotional connection or reassurance, he'll frustrate you.

Too rigid: He's got a strict routine and expects people around him to respect it. You leave your hoodie on the floor? He'll probably side-eye it like you just committed a crime.

Green flag tendencies:

Loyal and committed: If Barou chooses you, he means it. No games, no half-assed love. He takes his commitments seriously and expects the same from you.

Hardworking and ambitious: He's got goals, and he goes after them hard. Being with him means you'll always be pushed to grow and chase your own greatness too.

Protective AF: No one's messing with you if Barou's around. He's the guy who'll walk on the traffic side of the sidewalk without thinking twice.

Physical affection: He's not a talker, but he will show love through touch—like holding you tight at night or giving quiet, forehead-kiss-style resurance when you're upset.

!Final Verdict!

70% red flag, 30% green flag!

Barou is a red flag for emotional ease, but a green flag for loyalty, strength and stability—if you can handle his intensity. He's not for the soft-hearted unless you've got steel in your spine and patience in your soul.

Reo Mikage (green flag with a hint of red)

Green flag tendencies:

Loyal to the core: Once Reo attaches to someone he goes all in. He's not flaky, he's not half-hearted—he's all about building something deep and lasting.

Emotionally expressive: He's not afraid to say what he feels or show that he cares. Whether it's excitement, sadness, or affection—Reo wears his heart on his sleeve and wants you to understand him.

Supportive AF: Reo will hype you up, help with your goals, and probably buy you a business if you said, "Babe, I have an idea." He genuinely wants to see his partner shine.

Romantic and thoughtful: Fancy dates? Yes. Good morning texts? Absolutely. Remembering your favorite snack from two weeks ago? Count on it. He's the kind of boyfriend who pays attention and acts on it.

Ambitious and driven: Reo has goals and doesn't just rely on his family's wealth. He's constantly pushing himself to grow—which means he'll want to grow with you too, not just coast through the relationship.

Tiny red flag tendencies:

Can get overly attached: When Reo connects, he really connects—sometimes to the point where he might feel lost if you pull away or need space. That emotional dependence could weigh heavy if not balanced.

Rare spoiled rich kid vibes: While he's not obnoxious about it, he is used to getting what he wants. If he's ever told "no," he might not take it well right away.

!Final Verdict!

80% green flag, 20 percent red flag!

Reo is a green flag for anyone looking for a romantic, loyal, emotionally intelligent boyfriend who supports your glow-up as much as his own. Just make sure he doesn't put you on a pedestal so high he forgets his own worth when you're not around.

Nagi Seishiro (a sleepy cat that randomly decides to love you really hard)

Green flag tendencies:

Low-drama, chill vibes: Nagi's emotionally mellow. He won't argue over petty stuff or stir up drama. You'll rarely hear, "We need to talk." He just wants peace, snacks, games and your company.

Quietly loyal: He doesn't say much, but when he chooses you, he sticks. He may not write love poems, but he'll hold your hand, let you play with his hair and be your human pillow without hesitation.

Affectionate in his own way: Nagi isn't loud about his feelings, but he shows love through physical closeness and presence. He's the type to lean on you, nap in your lap, and get pouty if you leave him on read for too long.

Straightforward: He's not manipulative or hot-and-cold. What you see is what you get. If he says he likes you, he means it. If he doesn't want something, he'll tell you straight up.

Tiny red flag tendencies:

Lazy in love: He's not the type to plan dates, remember anniversaries, or chase you with grand gestures. You'll probably have to take the lead emotionally or romantically until he gets into the groove.

Avoids deep talks: Nagi struggles with processing or expressing complex feelings, those are a huge "hassle" for him. If there's a problem in the relationship, he might avoid it, hoping it "just goes away."

Lacks initiative: If left unchecked, he can get too comfortable. Like, "we've been inside for 3 days and he hasn't moved” levels of comfortable. You'll need to nudge him into action sometimes.

!Final Verdict!

55% green flag, 15% red flag.

Nagi is a green flag for someone who loves peace, physical affection, and isn't bothered by emotional silence. He's a comfort partner—someone who won't stress you out and will love you in the softest, laziest, most loyal way.

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wildtooru · 11 months ago

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Coffee Date pt. 2

Kenji Sato x reader

Summary: After an emotional coffee date, Kenji and his partner reconnect on a deeper level. Through whispered confessions and tender touches, they navigate their way back to each other, finding solace in their shared love. With a renewed sense of commitment, Kenji promises to make their relationship work, facing life's challenges together. Warnings: kind of NSFW.

Pt. 1

(Note: you can check more of my posts here @wildtobio)

"I've missed this," he admitted, his thumb gently tracing circles on your skin. "I've missed you."

You squeezed his hand, feeling the tension in your chest ease slightly. "I’ve missed you too, Kenji. It’s just… hard, you know? Watching you juggle everything and feeling like I’m on the sidelines."

Kenji sighed, his gaze dropping to the table. "I know. And I’m sorry. I never wanted you to feel that way. It’s just… between baseball, Emi, and… everything else, I haven’t been handling things well."

You reached out, lifting his chin so his eyes met yours. "You don’t have to do it all alone, Kenji. I’m here. We’re a team, remember?"

His lips curved into a small, grateful smile. "I remember." He leaned in, brushing a soft kiss against your lips. "Thank you for reminding me."

"Want to come back to my place?" he asked, his voice low and inviting. "I think we could use some more time together."

You nodded, feeling a flutter of anticipation in your stomach. "I'd like that."

The walk to Kenji's apartment was quiet, the city lights casting a soft glow around you. When you arrived, he opened the door for you, ushering you inside with a gentle touch.

The apartment was tidy, but you could see the signs of his busy life. A baseball glove on the couch, a stack of newspapers on the table, and Emi’s toys neatly arranged in a corner. You turned to him, a small smile playing on your lips.

"You’ve been busy," you teased lightly.

Kenji chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "You have no idea."

He stepped closer, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you against his chest. The tension of the past weeks seemed to melt away as you sank into his embrace, his warmth and scent enveloping you.

"I’ve missed this too," he murmured against your hair.

You tilted your head up, capturing his lips in a slow, lingering kiss. He responded eagerly, his hands roaming over your back, pulling you even closer. The kiss deepened, and you felt a familiar heat building between you.

"Bedroom?" you whispered against his lips.

Kenji nodded, taking your hand and leading you down the hall. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of a bedside lamp casting shadows on the walls. He pulled you into another kiss, his hands sliding under your shirt, tracing the contours of your body.

You responded with equal fervor, your fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. The urgency of your movements was tempered by the tenderness in each touch, a reminder of the connection you both shared.

Clothes were shed in a flurry of movement, and soon you found yourselves tangled in the sheets, the weight of the world momentarily forgotten. Kenji’s kisses were everywhere, a mixture of need and reverence as if he were trying to memorize every inch of you.

"God, I’ve missed this," he breathed, his voice rough with emotion.

You arched into his touch, your own hands exploring the familiar lines of his body. The night was a blur of whispered confessions and lingering touches, each moment a reminder of the love and passion that had brought you together. As you lay entwined in the aftermath, you felt a sense of peace settle over you.

Kenji pulled you close, his breath warm against your skin. "I’m going to make this work," he promised. "For us."

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his chest. "I believe you."

#kenji sato #ultraman rising #fanfic #ken sato #ken sato ultraman #ken sato x reader #kenji #kenji sato x reader #kenji sato x you #oneshot #☆wildtt #ultraman #ultraman: rising

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novashelby · 3 months ago

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"His Nanny"-A Tommy Shelby Drabble

Day 1 of 7 Valentines Special where Nova tries to commit herself to a special thing....and post 7 drabbles of Tommy being suggestive, seductive, sexy, and/or smutty. This was suppose to be posted yesterday, but Nova's brain said "fuck you" and refused to write.

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader Words: 340 Warning: Kind of unsolicited touching and dub con. No actual smut. Summary: Tommy Shelby never does anything for free and his nanny has learned that.

“I’m to meet my brother downstairs, Mr. Shelby,” she whispered as she felt him move towards her. She was packing her weekend bag as Christmas was just Saturday. Oh, how kind he was to allow her the holiday off. I’m sure we can do just fine with Charlie all on our own. But nothing he gave was for free. She learned that about his kindness, and therefore it should not have been a surprise when he moved into her bed quarters.

It still made her jump all the same as his hands rested on her upper arms, and moved up and down, spreading little goosebumps along her skin. “He’s a patient man,” he whispered, his lips gravitating to her ear. The corners of his mouth tugged up into a smirk just before they placed a kiss at her temple. Just as she felt him, she closed her eyes and swallowed. “I will miss you,” he said, dropping his arms only to land them back on her waist. Instantly, she grabbed them.

“I’ll only be gone for a few days-”

“Too many.” His voice got low and husky. His lips caressed down from her temple to her neck, landing soft kisses. She heard his wife just in the other room, fussing about decorations and gifts. There was nothing shielding them. She, however, questioned if a man like Mr. Shelby even cared. They felt good…his touches and kisses, and she hated how hard it was to resist him. Even as she told herself she’d fight, she’d let out a long moan. “That means,” he whispered, taking a breath. “You’ll have to soothe my urges before I let you leave, sweetheart.”

“B-but,” she tried to protest as he swirled her around. “My brother is beeping-”

“He’ll get the message,” Tommy said, pushing on her shoulders. “Now, go on, love, ease my tension, eh?” She slowly went down to her knees and closed her eyes, pressing a kiss on his hardening bulge over his trousers. “Faster, love, your brother is waiting.”

#peaky blinders #fanfiction #fanfic #peaky blinder fanfic #tommy shelby #peaky blinders fanfiction #Tommy Shelby drabble #drabble #Tommy Shelby x reader #x reader

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drgnflyteabox · 8 months ago

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postcards from the coast [1]

part one -> the albatross || part two -> linens

series masterlist

pairing: kyle 'gaz' garrick / single mom!reader summary: kyle garrick is prescribed a year by the sea to cure his melancholia tags/warnings: grief, angst, depression, gaz was raised by a single mom truther, mention of past death (soap) w.c: 1.3k

He meets you at the edge of the world, surrounded by soaring seabirds and pale white sand, with the sound of frothing waves against craggy rocks behind him.

The weather hasn't committed yet, it's still cold, the kind of cold that's wet and salty and fragrant. His nose is numb and his mouth is dry, frozen in place, looking past the view he came for to focus on you.

They're not the same cliffs. Not the ones where they scattered Johnny's ashes, not so significant as that, where the world tilted on it's axis and grew emptier. There are still times when he thinks to turn and laugh with his friend, to text him, to send him postcards from his travels. And can't.

Vulnerability is a new feeling. Sure, he'd known as child that he could cry, that he could ask for help and embrace his feelings and admit when he didn't know things. This is different. It's feeling bereft, lost at sea, naked and open and unable to close back up around the space that Johnny used to occupy.

You break the circle of monotony.

For weeks he's visited this place, stared into the sea and thought of how he could come back to himself. Ignored John and Simon and and their messages, taking all his leave at once and then some. Calling his mom every Sunday and leaving it at that.

Having expected to be alone again, it's strange and startling to see you walking up the path, pushing a stroller, murmuring something with your head bent low to the crochet blanket covering the mouth of the stroller.

By the look of your wide eyes when you finally lay eyes on him, you weren't expecting anyone to be here either. It's a relatively isolated trail, but not completely uninhabited. He shrugs a shoulder and smiles politely, eyes still on yours.

"Hello," you look down, adjusting the blanket. Nervous, avoiding eye contact. "Do you mind if we…?"

"Of course," he says too quickly. He snaps his gaze away from yours, trying to put you at ease. "Been here too long, anyways."

"Oh no, I don't want to chase you away-" you're sheepish, still frozen on the path.

"You aren't," he shakes his head in placation, waving away your worries with one hand, while making to go by you. "Please, enjoy. And be careful by the edge, yeah?"

He doesn't know why he says it - it's not his place. But something in his chest squeezes when you nod quietly and slip by him.

"And that's all?" The barista clicks a pen against the counter, cup in one hand, hip cocked, waiting for him to confirm.

Black coffee, an almond croissant and and egg sandwich. Extra aged white cheddar. Trying to stir up an appetite outside of protein shakes.

"That's all, thanks," he pays with cash, safely, anonymously. Everything leads back to the job, even as he's here trying to forget about it. Guilt pokes through his numbness long enough to make him wince, forever feeling like he's letting the team down by being here.

Think this is a good idea for you, son, John had said. He tries to remember that on his worst days, when rest starts to feel like stagnation and atrophy. There's no mission, that's his mantra.

The bell chimes above the door and he pays no mind to it until he hears your voice again. Soft, timid, asking for dirty chai like someone's going to arrest you over it.

Watches you pay, one hand outstretched and the holding your baby. You're bouncing them up and down gently, almost unconsciously, lips close enough to brush the soft skin of their head.

"Hello again," it's bold, maybe too bold. You don't startle, but you're surprised. Maybe suspicious, guarded. Have you got a man in your life? Where is he?

"Hello," you smile politely, adjusting the wrap your baby is settled in against your chest. Soap would've called you a nervous little hen, patted Gaz on the back and encouraged him. Grief squeezes his throat with that thought and he turns away from you, breathing harshly through the feeling.

"Oh god, are you alright?" You're alarmed, hands hesitantly reaching and pulling back as if you want to help but aren't sure about touching a stranger.

He struggles against the tide, tethered to nothing. Who knew absence could be painful? Could catch you by surprise, worse than any sniper, anywhere and anytime?

Grief is strange like that. It almost makes him laugh for the absurdity of it. A smile pulls at his cheeks, painful and yet cathartic all at once. It's absence and it's not - Johnny will always be there, in the back of his mind or the forefront of memory. Gone and yet conjurable.

"Yeah, yeah," his voice has gone rough, so he clears his throat and smiles underneath eyes that prickle. "Choked a bit on air, you know how it is."

"Do you need water?" Your eyebrows pull up, concern all over your face, eyes wide. Aw, he didn't mean to scare you. Poor hen.

"No, that's alright, love," his coffee is up. The warmth is grounding in his hand, and soothes the pin needle feeling in his throat. "Haven't seen you around here."

"No. I just moved here," you offer, breaking eye contact to look toward the door. Defensive? Getting ready to run? "I should be going, though. You know how it is…" motioning to the baby with your free hand, he starts examining, analyzing. Your obvious anxiety, your pulling back. Sure, it could be because you're both strangers. Could also be because you're scared of something else.

"I hope I didn't overstep?"

"No, no, not at all." Your chai comes out before his food does, the smell of bread and cheese filling the cafe. You sip delicately at it, looking nonchalant to anyone but his trained eye. Sweat beads at your hairline, your free hand holding the baby tighter. "Just have some errands to run."

"That's fine, then. Need a hand with anything?" Leaning forward on his feet, trying to ask without asking, without assuming. Where's your husband?

Probably another overstep, another symptom of his brain being still for too long. Making something out of nothing. Maybe he's just creeped out the new mom whose just moved into a small town, like something out of a horror film.

"Thank you for offering," you smile without your eyes. He still hasn't seen your child, what they look like. So quiet, the both of you.

"Hello, dear." Mums voice is always a balm to the soul. He wants to call her more, not just Sundays. Wouldn't mind being the lad that calls his mum every night if it didn't mean that she was always using that tone of hers, the one she'd adopted after Johnny died. He knows she's balancing her own grief with her mothering, so he spares them both by limiting contact.

"Hey, mum. How's the garden?" Spring is big for her, always has been. She used to feed them half their meals right out of her plot in the backyard. John had nearly started calling him rabbit when he'd met her and seen the bounty. Thank god that never stuck.

"It's good, I've just planted my radishes, my turnips, my…"

Listening to her speak is like rocking in a hammock. He lets the sound wash over him, staring through his window at the falling dusk and picturing you again. The long, wool skirt you'd worn to the cliffs. Your eyes, wide and concerned.

This is a rental house, paid for with cash and a false name thanks to Kate. It's hard to feel grateful for it when he's gone from one emptiness to another, but he knows that John is home with his wife and Simon is off doing the same thing as he is. Recovering, taking a breather. Until the next mission.

"And I have your sister her, Kyle, she wants to say hello," he's brought back to the present, eyes crinkling when he hears her voice.

"Kyle Garrick! Have I been texting a brick wall? You haven't-"

Even upset, it's nice to hear her voice. To be scolded.

He leans into his rickety rented chair and lets himself relax.

#cod mw2 #cod x reader #task force 141 #141 x reader #drgnfly writes #i luv u kyle #kyle garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz x reader #gaz garrick #gaz x reader #gaz call of duty #cod gaz #postcards from the coast

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aikohellscape · 1 month ago

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Pietro kicked the door open mid-rant, still riding the high of the minute sprint home and a righteous grudge against his Econ teacher.

“—and then she tries to tell me compound interest is thrilling,” he scoffed, granola bar half-crushed in one hand, “like ma’am, I have ADHD, not a stock portfolio.”

He looked up. Froze.

And yeah, okay, this? This was not what he expected to walk in on.

Kurt was kneeling in the middle of his bed—back straight, tail looped in some kind of lazy spiral behind him, wrapped in Pietro’s gym shirt like it had personally volunteered for snuggle duty. The thing was oversized, worn-in, and clinging in places that were definitely not helping Pietro form coherent thoughts. The sleeves had slid halfway down Kurt’s arms. The collar drooped just enough to be distracting. The look on Kurt’s face when their eyes met?

Pure deer-in-headlights.

“I—!” Kurt’s voice came out too fast, then immediately caught on itself. His ears jerked back like they were trying to evacuate the situation before his brain caught up. “I didn’t think you’d be back this early.”

Pietro raised an eyebrow, the grin tugging at his mouth already halfway to insufferable. “Clearly.”

“I just needed a shirt,” Kurt added, hands tightening on the blanket like maybe he could disappear into it if he believed hard enough. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Mmhm,” Pietro said, kicking the door shut with his heel and tossing his keys onto the desk. “And yet you chose my gym shirt. Interesting.”

“It was clean,” Kurt snapped, a little too defensive for someone who definitely hadn’t just buried his face in it five minutes ago. “I didn’t think you’d care.”

“Oh, I don’t,” Pietro said breezily, crossing the room with that lazy, predator-smooth stride of his. “I’m just fascinated by the boldness. Wearing my shirt, kneeling on my bed, looking all innocent—in my room.”

Kurt rolled his eyes, but his cheeks were already purple. “You’re so dramatic.”

“And you’re trespassing,” Pietro shot back, sinking down beside him like he belonged there more than gravity did. “Honestly, this is so disrespectful. I come home, eager to collapse into my own bed after being psychologically attacked by PowerPoint slides, and what do I find? Blue Boyfriend Energy taking over my whole space.”

“Stop calling it that,” Kurt groaned.

“I’m just saying,” Pietro said, voice low, teasing, as he flicked the hem of the gym shirt lightly. “You put this on, got all cozy in the center of my bed, and didn’t expect commentary?”

“I didn’t put it on for you.”

“Aw,” Pietro said, widening his eyes with mock betrayal. “So it’s not special?”

Kurt shoved at his shoulder with a growl and immediately regretted it when Pietro flopped back dramatically, arms sprawled like a martyr. “Unglaublich,” Kurt muttered, tail flicking.

“You’re right,” Pietro said, grinning up at the ceiling. “This is unbelievable. You commit a whole home invasion and then you’re rude to me about it.”

“You left your door open!”

“My heart was open, and you trampled it.”

Kurt snorted, finally letting the tension ease off his shoulders. “Pietro.”

“Kurt.”

They both sat there for a beat, the quiet settling just enough for it to feel like the room belonged to both of them.

Then Pietro glanced sidelong, smirk curling again. “You can keep the shirt, by the way.”

“I don’t want—”

“Oh, no, I insist,” he said, already kicking off his shoes. “You’ve worn it now—it’s emotionally compromised.”

Kurt made a noise of protest, but he didn’t move.

Didn’t give the shirt back, either

————

First time drawing Kurt + first full body drawing I’ve done in like 2 years, ( ｡ •̀ ᵕ •́ ｡) I had to write a cute little fic to go with it.

#x men evolution #nightcrawler #xmen fanart #kurt wagner #fanart #pietro maximoff #quicksilver #nightsilver #i have no idea how shadows work

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petrichorium · 2 years ago

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I WOULD LIKE TO HEAR ABOUT EX HUSBAND SHANKS 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

Okay I was thinking a relationship that’s like SUPER chill and casual. Like literally fuckbuddies turned lovers; u stay on ur home island and he’s off most of the time. Was based close by in the first year or two y’all met and got close so he was around more often but eventually it becomes him stopping by every few months for a few weeks and the two of you keeping up contact while he’s gone. The progression from just messing around to a committed relationship is slow and largely unsaid until Beckman tells you his captain has turned down every other woman for the past two years and you realize you aren’t much searching for other men yourself; soon enough you’ve got matching rings and as untraditional as it is it works.

And I’m just thinking abt how like…….. ur happy w ur life on ur little island, it’s relatively safe all things considered under his protection and you’ve lived there your whole life and all you rlly wanna do is keep your head down and stay there. Getting involved with Red-Haired Shanks puts a major flaw in that plan but it’s easy to forget who exactly he is. He doesn’t hide it, ofc not, but he’s so… unremarkable seeming that it’s difficult to remember, especially when your interaction with him is isolated to a scant few days or weeks when he’s most at ease and the only thing he’s thinking about is you.

But………. then you’re reminded otherwise. It’s silly really, because of course you know. It’s been years since you first met him, you’ve seen the wanted posters and you’ve heard how people talk about him, but knowing in abstract—contrasted by the man who’s managed to marry you, all wide smiles and incessant drunken love confessions and never dodging a well-placed swat from your hand—is far different from seeing in person.

You board his ship for a little trip; something small, only a few days to go retrieve a gift for you that Shanks had foolishly left a few islands away, low-risk and entirely in his territory. But it all goes sideways and you’re forced, quite suddenly, to realize just who you’ve managed to fall for—and exactly what kind of power and prestige he wields—while trapped with nowhere to go but remain on his ship with him and his crew for the days it takes to return.

You feel stupid more than anything, balking like this after one (frankly minuscule) fight. You don’t leave his cabin the whole trip back. He brings you meals, holds you when he can, tells you how much the crew misses you, but he doesn’t understand just how much you’re questioning. How much, you wonder, do you really know Shanks? Bordering on ten years is quite some time but when you only see him a scant few weeks out of those years, how much does it matter?

The ring on your finger, the way he looks at you—they settle on your shoulders more like a noose now, no longer making you giddy. How long until some bitter rival of his storms your home searching for you because they can’t touch him?

How much is he worth it when the lives of everyone in your hometown stand at risk?

You’re smart enough not to pick the fight until you’ve returned. You have it at the door of your home, long overdone and frankly terrified, all but melting down once you’re truly alone with him for the first time in a week. He doesn’t yell back—doesn’t do much, after attempts at soothing you fail, except watch you with a mildly surprised expression on his face.

For the first time in years you don’t let him stay the night, or see him off when he leaves the following day. You sit up on your roof and watch his ship disappear over the horizon and assure yourself that clearly you aren’t cut out for being his.

(But two months later that ship appears again, and an hour after docking there’s a knock at your door, and you can’t help how your breath hitches when you see that red hair beyond the peephole…)

#ask.🌧#saintshigaraki #char.🌧 shanks #mine.🌧#shanks x reader #sorry this is more the buildup than actual ex husband stuff 💔#might do a continuation in a few days #but in essence he doesn’t Realize u were serious he thinks it was a normal fight #until he returns like normal and realizes you’ve removed your ring n want nothing to do with him #at which point his only response is well :) took me two years to win her over the first time #I’ve got experience now so it’ll be faster right?#(yes)#maybe he actually manages to sweet talk you into joining him the second go around

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juvenillia · 2 years ago

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~ Death of Peace of Mind ~ 02: too close

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!reader

photo credits go to very talented @ave661

a/n: this is the first time for me writing something like this, so bare with me if the actions scenes are a bit sloppy, I'll get the hang of it, idc about the actual height of reader, but we're at least the smallest in the group, also little extra note: I'll go on vacation upcoming Saturday and won't be able to write for two weeks, I try really hard atm to prepare as much chapters as possible for the time ahead

CW/TW: mentions of canon violence, smoking, closing off due mental illness

wordcount: 3.2k

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The first beams of sunlight broke through the window just above the bed. Your eyes trailing over the rays of light that were dancing on the ceiling. You lay awake for what felt like eternity. The night was somehow restless, again. By now you committed to a few hours of sleep. As few as possible but as much as necessary. Keeping the risk low to trigger your nightmares. Keeping the chance low to have to look into his eyes again. A lump was forming in your throat while you let your thoughts roam back and forth. Maybe you should learn about a thing called power-napping, you read it in a magazine some time ago while sitting in a coffee shop. It really could save you one day.

With that thought you pushed yourself out of bed. Putting on a casual sports fit. Now that the sun was finally up, there was no need any more to stay in bed. You put a cap on, pulled your hair through the back. Laced your boots up and went out for some casual morning rounds around the base. Price already told you their usual morning routine and it was kind of funny, how all military bases had a quite similar routine. You sneak through the hallway to go outside. Trying to keep as quit as possible to wake no one. It was still early, even for the military. As soon as your feet touched the gritted ground you started running. Keeping a good pace while rounding the base. At some point you nodded your greetings to a few other people already awake and going after whatever, they pleased. You decided to pick up your pace. You didn’t want to waste all your energy, but still wanted to push yourself a bit further. You had quite some busy day ahead, so you needed to get yourself going.

You took a few more corners until you heard a voice. “Skadi.”, turning around you were greeted with a blissful smile. You stopped in your track, jogging slowly at the spot. “Madainn mhath!”, [Good morning] Soap breathed out after catching up to you. “Good morning.”, you replied with a quiet snicker. Your reaction earns you an even brighter smile from the Scot. “Yer understood?”, his eyes were nearly beaming. It was somehow adorable, and you knew, that the two of you would get along at ease. Maybe too good for your liking. “Seems like it.”, you shrugged off while keeping your legs busy. “Dae ya mind if I join ya?”, a nod with a slight smile was your only response. So, both of you started jogging around the base. Not talking much, at least for your part. You were rather listening to everything Soap gladly explained you. The way the team works together, each specialty, some pet peeves, their little rituals. Some fun anecdotes from after mission celebrations. He really was chatty, and you gladly listened in. He was so sincere and pure, plus all his words gave you a good overview about everyone. They also gave you a warm feeling around your chest. Even if you tried to avoid this kind of reaction, he was just too genuine.

Still, you barely told him about yourself. It didn’t sit right with you. He learned that you were quite an allrounder when it comes to the job and that you were obviously an early bird. He didn’t know that you were also a night owl. The sweet nemesis called sleep. A fight you’ll win one day, hopefully not on your last day. He also learned that Price and you met about three years ago. Not really how, but that it was for a coincidence that comes with the job. Also, he learned that you were quite capable of speaking a few languages and understanding even more. He quite often threw some Scottish at you and for once in his life (while being outside of his home of course) he didn’t get scolded for it. It was clear to see that he enjoyed your company, and you would’ve lied to say you didn’t enjoy his. It felt just smooth.

After some time, you came to a halt. Catching your breath, you couldn’t remember the last time you were talking so much while running. Stretching your body while bending down to grab the front of your boots. Halting the position on suspense. Suddenly you saw a bottle in front of you, Soap held it out for you to grab. “Thanks.”, you gladly took it and nearly downed half of it. He only nodded, still a happy smile around his lips. How can a person be smiling non-stop. “Dinnea know about ya, but ‘m starving.”, he exhaled with a chuckle, drinking his own water. “Wanna head to the canteen?”, he looked at you with those clear blue eyes. As you gained your posture again you let out a slight sigh. “Sorry Soap. Still have to unpack and other stuff to do.”, you didn’t look at him. Sure, it was a half-assed excuse, but you didn’t want to get his expectations too high and if you were honest, you didn’t want to get too close. You already felt so comfortable in his company. Too comfortable. You needed to keep your guard up. He was a stranger after all. Maybe he wasn't even such a nice guy, maybe he only treated you so wholesome because of your gender and therefore some different assets. Maybe he had strictly different intentions in his behavior. You couldn't tell, and you shouldn't care.

But maybe that’s why you never called the cute barista guy from around the corner, back at your place. Because he was too genuine, too innocent. You gave it a lot of thoughts to be honest. He was a nice dude, he memorized all your preferred drinks depending on the weather and had them always ready when you came back from your morning run. You loved routine and you kinda enjoyed that he became a part of it, but sooner or later it would break apart anyways. He was just too good for you. He wouldn't be able to keep up with you. It surely wouldn't be something more than a lousy one night stand, what wasn't your thing at all. You were too complicated, too distant and you couldn't let yourself believe that someone could even show a glimpse of honest interest. Well, that's at least what you told yourself all the time to justify pushing everyone away. Same for Marc, or was his name Maik? Your neighbor next door, he even invited you for his wedding. Did you go? Of course not. You only send a card, not even able to look him in the eye to congratulate him.

This way you did what you could do best, you started closing off to the man in front of you. For the rounds it was different. Here it was only the two of you, two comrades having a morning run and just some little introduction, but heading for breakfast together, that was already a commitment. A commitment you were not capable of taking. You’d rather pick a quick snack before looking for Price. See what he has planned out for you today, and God, you hoped it was just getting to know everyone around the base. Spoiler alert, he had different plans.

To your surprise Soap did understand, still wearing a slightly disappointed glance, but he didn't push it and so, you parted your ways.

Going after your day wasn’t so hard. Price introduced you around, you finally got your keycard, you had to fill out a few formulars. Stuff was going along easily and most of the times you were on your own. Until you heard Price’s voice again. He told you, that they could need your help with today’s rookie lesson, and you gladly accepted the duty. Gladly, until you were greeted by Soap and Ghost. Latter didn’t really greet you, but at least he was polite enough to nod towards you. The men were already standing and watching a bunch of recruits still chatting away. You walked over to them with Price at your side. Standing next to Soap and watching the crowd not paying much attention to your arrival. Ghost only needed to step forward to gain the attention of every youngling around. He held an intimidating appearance.

“Listen up.” He yelled out and you totally felt the thick air. He was already a behemoth of a man, but his voice plus the mask really made a silhouette that was frightening. It reminded you of something you’d rather forget. Yourself straighten up as he begun, but before he kept going, Soap stepped forward. Seemed like Ghost was only here to keep them in line and Soap was the official speaker. Maybe it was better for the recruits this way. Soap quickly explained that they were doing sparring sessions today. Especially learning how to read the intentions of your enemy and to be able to be a step ahead before their actual move. You remember how your first sessions were and how you were barely able to keep up with your opposite. How time flies, you thought to yourself and kept your attention on Soaps words. He had quite a way to motivate the younglings in front of him.

Your glance traveling over the faces and catching quite some few females as well. It always brought you a pleasant feeling in your stomach to see, that more and more women would join the army. Especially because you were always underestimated. Your path from the beginning till here was an odyssey. Not talking about the bone crushing weight on your shoulders by now, but to start through in the military as a woman was nearly impossible some time ago. Way too many prejudices.

The recruits were told to find each other a partner for today's session. Soap and Ghost would give them a quick demonstration of what they were up to. So, Price and you would be teamed up in that case. That wasn’t to be going to be so bad, you heard your words echoing through your mind.

That was until you heard the raspy voice of the Lieutenant again. "Don't mix up genders. Shall stay fair.", he exclaimed dry and that way he earned a scoffed chuckle. He turned around and faced you with a death glare. Soap immediately turning around looking at the scenario with shock in his eyes. "Have a problem with that Seargent?", his voice went even deeper when he turned his whole body towards you. Soap made a gesture with his hand shaking before his throat, symbolizing you to stop what you were doing. Unlucky for everyone around - except your Captain - you were way too stubborn to retreat now. "Just a suggestion but let them pick their opponents themselves regardless the gender. Nobody cares on the battlefields either.", you stated calm, your glance not adverting. Price watched the whole scenery a bit too curious. He knew the two of your for quite some time and he already expected that the tension between you would become thrilling.

Ghost stepped closer to you. You couldn't read him, but you could definitely see that you pissed him off. His eyes burning into yours. "We should keep it easy by now.", he was only a few inches away from you. You stared back, looking in that chocolate iris. You could've just backed down, but it was too challenging. "So, you believe women are not worthy a challenge?", your eyes never retreating his state. He was so damn pissed. He stepped even closer to you, you could feel his hot breath even through the mask, brushing a long your skin and sending shivers done your spine.

Soap wanted to step in, but Price let just a hand rest on his shoulder, signaling him to stay out of this. "I'm only saying that they have to learn something without getting real injuries before even placing a foot on the battle ground." He hissed through gritted teeth. He didn't even know why he argued with you, but he couldn't stand it. He knew that one shouldn't miscalculate about the opposite gender. But the way you interrupted him, the way you looked at with him with such a stubborn glance.

It made him furious. But the way you didn't even reacted the slightest to his presence. Well, you did, but you were to pride to show it. "Then you underestimate them." - "They have to learn before proofing themselves." - "You only learn when you can try and error." - "Error doesn't mean getting real hurt." - "Okay, so you're sure about them getting hurt." It went on like this for some time. Back and forth, staying always in polite line, but the tension grew with each word.

Soap looked the most nervous of all watching the two of you battling with your words. Price still holding him back. Of course, a situation with only the team would have been better to test the waters out but he would take what he could. "You're stepping a line, Seargent." He literally growled at you. "Then you're also underestimate me, Lieutenant.", you hissed back at him. Right here, right now you noticed how close he was standing in front of you. Your breath brushing along his mask, and his hot steaming breaths dancing over your bare skin. He was way too close for your liking.

Standing across of each other and staring holes into the other person. You only realized now how huge he was, trying to literally stare you down into the ground. A ground you would gladly like to stand.

"Why don't you pair up and we will see who's right.", a mocking voice of the recruits let both of your heads snap out of the haze you were in. You leaned a bit back. You didn't even notice how you tried to make yourself taller in front of him. "That's...", just as Ghost wanted to scold the rookie, Price stepped in, "a wonderful idea. This way we can exactly demonstrate a perfect example." He stepped forward looking at both of you. A slight chuckle escaped your lips, still looking with vitally at Ghost. His chest was waving heavy. He tried to steady himself and his temper. "Why not.", you turned around to move to the mat that was originally reserved for Soap and Ghost. The latter following you. "Don't hurt yourself.", he teased and with that he only awakened an insatiable competing desire.

Soap wore a face of a mixture between curiosity and concern. He had pushed Simon a few times before, but this was somehow different. You had no suspicious about each other’s limits and you gladly pushed everything over the edge right now. "Don't hold yourself back, big boy." Even with the mask you know his face would be burning.

You already fought bigger guys than him, just keep your cools and be observant. Just pinning him down once would be enough to proof your point. Your mind literally switched and cutting all of the unnecessary surrounding out. He was nothing different to any of them, but oh lord, you were so wrong with that statement. You could see a switch in his eyes, something you knew too well yourself.

In a heated movement he already reached out to you, trying to get hold of you. For a guy with his build, he was especially fast. Something you didn't suspected. Before you could think of your first turn, his giant hands were already onto your shoulders pressing you down. Lucky for you, you were particularly flexible and even more agile. You find a way to bend yourself out, but Ghost was soon on it. Throwing one of his legs in your direction to block your way out. You reached with your free hand to use his thigh as support to push yourself further up. His hands gripped for your wrist to pull you down once more, but he missed, so you saw your chance. Throwing your legs up and literally over his throat. Forcing him down. His legs were weaker in the position he found himself in, so he slowly bends over. He reached for your waist to throw you over his shoulder, but you were quick to use your hands to get a grip of his statue. Pulling yourself further up, that you would literally split his arms away with your thighs. Your completely weight pushing him down, until his knees gave in, and he found himself with his back on the mat. Your upper half resting inches away from his throat, where you had placed one of your arms to give it a bit more strength. Hovering slowly over him. A self-content smile on your lips, you looked him in his eyes. He just stared back; his eyes quite blank. You could feel his heavy breaths onto you, his chest rising and lowering just like your own. Now you were the one staring him down.

Soap was completely paralyzed by the scene in front of him, and Price only chuckled watching his charges. He knew from the beginning that the two of you needed a lot of patience with each other, especially when pushing each other so far, but he also believed that you would fit in just perfectly. You could learn so much from everyone around so that the 141 could even grow better and closer. Ghost for his part was really glad he had his mask. His face burnt from the heat of his own skin. Ashamed, anger, annoyance. He couldn't tell it apart. So many thoughts flooded his brain while staring into your eyes. "You know how to retread, don't ya Lieutenant?", your voice pulling him out of his mind. He let out a completely pissed groan, before lifting his hand and tapping two times at your thigh. You gladly stood up from your place.

You knew he did spare you; he didn't used his full strength on you but this way he really did underestimate you. A mistake he would never commit twice. You reached out a hand to help him up, but he only ignored it and stood up with no problem. You shrugged it off. "Don't be such a sore loser.", Soap cried out behind your back, but Simon did ignore him. He rather shouted at the recruits to keep starting. You turned around and Price gave you a paternal thumbs up, which only made you shake your head. You didn't give too much attention to Soap though. Still letting the incident of the morning washing over your mind. Ghost also looked out for getting away as fast and as far as possible from the Scot. He knew Johnny would be nonstop teasing him about the situation, and Simon couldn't even blame him, therefore. His cheeks were still streaming hot.

taglist: open just lmk

@yyiikes @saffronimagines @originaldeerhottub

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