#like sometimes you get lucky and manage to keep in touch with a few of those people

[aroaceofthesea]

Summer camps and similar very intense for 2 weeks and then suddenly finished activities are so tragic because you'll form one of the deepest connections of your life and then you never see those people again

[2cupids]

perverted yoga instructor!gojo whose bright and outgoing personality has brought him a large following. pair that with his good looks and it’s made him one of the most followed yoga teachers in the country. his classes are always in high demand, with people coming from all over just for one class. it’s not uncommon having to book a class months in advance sometimes and wait in the queue for the next available spot, especially in the spring and summer months.

but masked behind his good looks and charm, lies a twisted mind of perversion. he’s constantly trapped in a room with women of all shapes and sizes; it's like he’s a kid in a candy shop who can take his pick from the wide ranging selection whenever he wants without the risk of ever being caught.

his sharp eyes pick up any and everyone whose form is improper while watching the women get in position, quickly walking over to each one to fix it. his smooth voice flows through the room as he speaks into the mic next to his mouth, instructing people to tighten up their form, now noticing the even larger number of women who are doing it wrong. 

of course no one bats an eye at what looks to be gojo just being a helpful and attentive teacher as he goes around to help and he knows it. but his true intentions are much deeper than just placing a hand on a woman’s lower back to help adjust her posture. 

what no one knows is how excited he gets as his fingertips gently touch the material of her yoga top or pants, and if he’s lucky, sometimes her exposed skin. any position where a woman’s ass is in the air or that exposes some cleavage is undoubtedly his favorite. and he always manages to conveniently position himself at the front or back of the room during these positions, wherever the view is the best from honestly.

obviously many women throw themselves at him, from bored housewives to young college students, even the older women who come to keep their bodies healthy. he always politely declines, much to everyone’s dismay, which earns him many groans and displeased looks thrown his way as he gives them that handsome smile and thanks them for finding him attractive. 

satoru gojo isn’t looking for a relationship or even a fling, at most he just wants a one time thing. if he’s being honest though, he’s far more content with continuing to appear as an unassuming man to hide his deeply rooted deviant mind. a man that goes home and fervently fists his cock while flipping through every perverted memory and thought.

that is until you come around. now he wants nothing more than to feel your body against his, no matter what it takes.

you’re a fresh face he notices in his class one day but he tries not to pay you too much attention, knowing how sad he’ll be if you happen not to come back and he doesn’t get to ogle that beautiful body of yours anymore. so when you begin to make regular appearances, he’s more than just thrilled, he’s ecstatic.

during class, his eyes not only flicker towards you more than any other woman in the room as he speaks, but they linger on your body longer as he makes his way around the class, too. often times he’ll find any excuse to touch you even though your form doesn’t need the slightest bit of fixing. the women with keen senses pick up on the small details that most normal people would overlook when it comes to gojo and his attention. you’re suddenly given unwelcomed looks of spite from them, completely unaware that they’re jealous you’ve caught the hot yoga instructor’s eye instead of them.

it’s not until one day as you’re rolling up your mat that you’re suddenly aware of the special liking gojo has taken to you. you’re the last one left in the room with him and he approaches you, appearing to make small talk with you, but his glances at your breast don’t go unnoticed. after a few minutes, he lets you go and wishes you a nice afternoon, but not before he lets his hand go to your back as you’re about to walk away.

the next few classes go by without incident and gojo starts to think he won’t get his way after all, maybe he should’ve just given into one of the other dumb broads in the first place. he’s starting to feel dejected and seeing you regularly only makes him feel worse. soon, he’s back to his usual self though, showing every woman in the class an equal amount of attention again, telling himself to give up and forget you.

weeks later, you find yourself to be the last one to leave class again today. 

now, the way everything went down from that point is up for debate, depending on who’s asked, gojo or yourself. the only thing that’s not up for debate right now is how gojo’s got you pressed up against the mirror in the studio with your back nicely arched as satoru digs his fingers into the soft flesh of your ass which is sure to leave marks, keeping your cheeks spread wide so he can watch his cock disappear into your juicy pussy with each thrust.

condensation fogs up the area of the mirror where your face is pressed to the glass, eyes shut as gojo’s deep voice tells you all the dirty thoughts he’s had of you. an opaque white ring clings to the base of gojo’s pale dick, a result of your juices leaking onto his shaft from the constant friction. deep blue eyes glance up at your pretty and fucked out face, taking in the sight of you. 

you’re really all his at this moment. submitting your entire self to him, letting him use you to his liking just like a fuck toy. without even realizing it, his hips come to an involuntarily halt as spurts of hot cum shoot into your pussy making your soft walls flutter around him.

gojo doesn’t go soft, he’s still extremely hard and ready for more, so without another thought he wastes no time in maneuvering both your bodies onto the floor, manhandling you into a perfect position for fucking that he’s taught in class before.

the fat tip pokes at your slick lips for the second time as he starts round two. he spits on your puckered asshole before slipping his thick thumb inside while roughly snapping his hips into your supple flesh.

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - non/con, kidnapping, LOTS of non-consensual touching, threats of violence, implied public sex, and unbalanced power dynamics.

Geto Suguru is a surprisingly tactile man.

You wouldn't expect it from a man so cold, so withdrawn, so prone to keeping his hands tucked in his sleeves away from any filthy, undeserving lesser beings like yourself, but it's not hard to spot once you know what you're looking for. When his girls were young enough to put up with it, he always had at least one, if not both of them in his arms, and his preferred form of greeting towards those in his select, but not exclusive inner circle has always been a hug, kiss, or some combination of both. Even when he claims he can't stand to look at you, when he orders you to bathe in scalding-hot water before admitting you so much as might be worth of his affections, he never lasts more than a few minutes before slipping in beside you with excuses of 'you're not thorough enough' or 'I can't even trust you to do this correctly' ready on his tongue. It might be sweet, if it wasn't so controlling. You're not really in a place to complain, though.

He likes keeping you close. For someone he claims is nothing more than a pest, he treats you akin to a lapdog; constantly calling your name, constantly petting through your hair, constantly keeping you pressed against his side or slotted against his chest or perched on his lap, an arm as thick as your leg wrapped around your waist to better snuff out your attempts to squirm. Any attempts to withdraw before he allows you to are met with punishments of the most severe order. You don't like being at his beck and call, having to sit through his depraved sermons for the sole reason that he doesn't trust you to leave his sight, but it's better than being shackled to his bedpost for another four weeks. You can be a lapdog, so long as you aren't a collared one.

Even the politest touch he offers you is unspeakable invasive. You're not sure how he manages to turn something as simple and as shallow as grazing you're lower back into yet another show of his authority over you. Part of it just might be the whole 'genocidal cult leader' shtick (it's hard not to find someone a little creepy after they've abducted, tortured, and traumatized you), but you'd like to think that even if you had entered into his company more willingly, you'd still find his intimacy more than a little off-putting. The worst of it comes at night, when he assumes you're asleep. The way he holds you to his chest, clings to you like a child does a stuffed animal might be cute in another context, but it rarely serves to endear him to you. If anything, it only proves that even unconscious, his greatest pleasure in life is smothering you.

Worst of all, he's handsy. That, in itself, shouldn't be all that surprisingly, but the lecherousness of it, the shameless of it still manages to leave you as disgusted as you are unnerved. It's rare for a full hour to pass in his company without his hand slipping under the collar of the silken kimono's he dresses you in and groping at your best until he's left indents in the shape of his blunt nails. Other times, his fingers will find their way underneath your skirts or into the waistband of your shorts while he's preoccupied with another matter, splitting you open on his fingers with all the attention one might pay to tying their shoes or brushing their hair. If you're lucky, he'll choose a private moments, one where you'll be forced to fall apart for his entertainment alone, tucked safely away from the prying eyes of his co-conspirators and congregation.

You don't get lucky very often.

Sometimes, you think he does it just to be cruel. He does most things to be cruel, and this would be far from the only way he's cruel to you, in particular. But, when drapes himself over you at night, when he drags you so suffocatingly close to his side, when he grinds his palm into your most sensitive point of vulnerability and whispers so possessively that you ought to be thankful for each second long he lets you live, it's not cruelty you see in Suguru's dark eyes, but rather something much, much more dangerous.

Desperation.

[seiwas]

you're the reason (i got a weakness) | miya atsumu

wc: 2.9k

summary: it’s not that atsumu doesn't like you dressing up like this—in fact, he loves it. just not when you're fighting. not when he can't even call you "baby".

contains: post-timeskip atsumu, arguments and atsumu feeling really sorry, flashbacks, uses the nickname “baby” & “my love”, reader is described as ��pretty” and wears heels, hurt/comfort.

a/n: atsumu isn’t a sucky boyfriend he just gets carried away sometimes. song inspo: can you blame me? - kehlani, lucky daye.

part of the in's and out's new year/birthday event | request prompt: making yourself look good to feel good (your partner has something to say to you)

sponsored by @itskilau and @tasoyoru for the @ficsforgaza initiative. please check it out and support if you can!

“Bab—”

Atsumu lingers by your bathroom door, eyes drooping lower and sadder than they ever have. The steam makes the bleached strands of his hair cling to his forehead, his thick eyebrows now damp and flattened. 

You sigh, the big, heavy, and deep kind, shoulders dropping as you clasp the lock of your necklace.

He stares. 

That’s his job. You always ask him to do it the moment you step out of the shower. 

His lip trembles, eyes watery.

“Not now, Atsumu.”

You walk past him as you adjust the towel around your chest, your arm brushing against his. It’s a small thing, a sensation ingrained so deeply into the past two years you’ve been together, but he feels it like it’s the first time you ever touched him—and in a way, it is. Since yesterday, at least. 

The silence that trails after you is so deafeningly still, he thinks he can hear his heart breaking. 

“Atsumu,” your voice rings. 

Who the hell is “Atsumu”? 

He’s not supposed to be “Atsumu” to you. He’s “Tsum.” He’s “baby.” He’s “my love.”

Anything but “Atsumu.”

When you close the door of your walk-in closet to change, the metaphorical volleyball of hope floating right into the palm of his hand misses and drops straight to the floor. 

It started with volleyball, as all things with Atsumu do. 

You’d met him at the rise of his career, just a few years of him being pro. You were friends first, but if you ask anyone around Atsumu, they’d tell you you were never just a friend to him; he’d invited you to all his games and practice matches, spent a bit more time in the locker rooms before going out for dinner with you and the rest of the team. 

Osamu has the receipts of all the extra orders of onigiri Atsumu started adding to his regular weekly subscription since meeting you. 

Your first ‘date’ was Atsumu treading the very fine line between teaching you how to play volleyball and teaching himself self-control. Keeping an eye on the ball is hard enough, what more when he has to resist staring at you in very cute volleyball shorts too? 

As MSBY’s success skyrocketed, so did Atsumu’s—brand deals left and right, solo work trips during off seasons, commercials; the whole thing. When Atsumu wasn’t training, he was either traveling  or attending events and photoshoots. Always on-the-go. Moving. 

And he knew you understood, knew you knew him and his tendencies to overwork; knew him, and his habit of getting stuck inside his own world. You’d driven to late practices with bento boxes to share, and you’d packed his gym bag more than a few times, brought in extra clothes without him having to say a word.

You’ve managed his lifestyle better than anyone could.

But, Atsumu has a bad habit of promising more than he should, of serving white lies just as easily as he does volleyballs behind the service line. 

“Won’t take long, baby. Swear it,” he holds on to the wall by your door, slipping his feet inside his dress shoes. “Pick ya up at 6:00?” 

He’d winked at you then, kissed you between your eyebrows and nose before sneaking one more right at that spot underneath your ear.

What he’d give to be able to do that right now. 

“Okay,” you giggle, swatting his chest as you nod, “better hurry then, you might be late.” 

When Atsumu remembers that moment, the way you’d agreed so doubtlessly, he hates himself even more. You trusted him, have trusted him so wholeheartedly this entire time, so maybe you’re right—

“Would it hurt for you to just be honest?” 

—Atsumu has no excuse standing you up on the date he promised you weeks ago all because he lost track of time in some brand event, listening to a potential collaboration on volleyball shoes. Atsumu has no excuse agreeing to “some drinks” right after just to meet the executives of the company. 

There are meetings for those things, ones that can be scheduled and agreed upon. Ones that don’t compromise or add on to the already long list of missed dates with you. 

“I know you’re busy and I understand,” you sigh, turning the knob of the kitchen stove as you heat up the kettle, “you know I do.” 

He stands before you a quarter past 11:00 p.m., cologne long faded and the smell of alcohol spilled on his sleeve. The kitchen island stands like a net on the court, the ball being sent over to his side. 

“Baby, I—”

He passes it back.

You turn from the stove, face fresh and hair tied into a messy low bun as you look at him—how could he have ever stood this–you–up?

You take the ball, “Can I finish what I have to say first?” 

He nods. The kettle begins whizzing.

“I’m happy and so, so proud that you have all these opportunities,” you reach for the cupboard above head to grab a mug. The box of tea bags sits to your right, a mix of Lemon Balm and Chamomile that Atsumu swears keeps his anxieties at bay during the night. “But at least tell me if you can’t make it.” 

You tear open a tea packet, dangling it inside the mug. The kettle whistles, and he feels the onset of a spike. 

“Please don’t keep my hopes up every time.” 

You turn back towards the stove, turning the burner off as you pour in the steaming water inside the mug. 

“Baby, I swear, they just–they started talkin’ ‘bout these shoes, ‘n I thought t’was cool, ‘n the execs–they said the execs’d be there in the afterparty, and—” he breathes, “won’t happen next time, baby. ‘M so—” 

“Can I really believe you next time?”

You approach the kitchen island slowly, holding the piping hot mug carefully as you set it down in front of him. 

Atsumu stood you up on your date, and you still made him tea. 

You hold his stare for a brief moment before you walk away, sadness and disappointment all-in-one.

It is now that Atsumu knows, he’s fucked up.

The ball lands on his side of the court. 

And so, he’s spent this entire day trying to make it up to you—breakfast in the morning, right before training (which he absolutely tanked because all he could think about was how sad you looked the night before); flowers that he brought home after lunch time, just to find the apartment empty. It’s only after a full text thread and three missed calls to your phone that he finally gets a response.

“Nail appointment. Going out tonight,” is your reply (using speech-to-text too, he suspects, with how formal it sounds). 

Which is fine and dandy to him; you should do everything that makes you feel better after he practically took you for granted. It’s just—he hasn’t even said sorry yet, can’t even call you “baby”, can’t even touch you even though he really, really, really wants to. 

And now, with you closing the door on him while you’re changing—there’s nothing else he can do, really, but to walk away and give you some space. 

He shifts his feet, dragging them lightly against the wooden floors of your bedroom.

The moment he hears the door of your walk-in closet slide open, he hurriedly sits down on the edge of your bed, acting as if he wasn’t just anxiously pacing, waiting for you to come out. 

He feels like shit, if he’s being honest—like how he does when he misses a serve; if not, worse. 

You look good. Make-up done to only emphasize the features he loves (which is your entire face, really), and your outfit perfectly accentuating the dips and curves of your body. 

He follows you as you exit the room, tailing after you like a lost puppy. When you stop by your entryway, all he can do is watch as you bend down to put on the straps of your heels. And it sucks, because if you weren’t fighting, Atsumu would be right by your feet, crouched low so that you wouldn’t have to. 

It’s pathetic and a little helpless of him to just stand and stare in the middle of your living room. He should say something at least, but, you just look so good, and his throat feels dry; his heart all achy and stomach twisty. 

He doesn’t want to be away from you. 

And it’s not that he doesn’t like you going out looking like this—he loves it. But as soon as you step out the door with a soft “don’t wait up for me” mumbled from your glossed lips, Atsumu can only taste bitter regret at the fact that he wishes he were coming with you. 

He couldn’t even give you a goodbye kiss. 

The blond groans, pulling at his hair as he rests his elbows down on the kitchen counter. 

“Don’t wait up for me,” you said. As if he can even sleep without you around. 

.

.

.

The hours go by but they feel like days. Atsumu’s done every possible thing he can do in this apartment and it still hasn’t breached 11:00 p.m.. He’s cleaned down the kitchen (twice!) and arranged the food inside the fridge like those ‘stock up my fridge with me’ tiktoks he’s seen on Sakusa’s phone. The clothes on his side of the closet have been arranged by color and length, with all the ones in his dresser refolded, Marie Kondo style. He’s also pretty sure he’s scrubbed the bathroom down enough that you can probably see your reflection on the tiles of the damn thing. The laundry baskets for both your clothes are now empty, and he’s changed the bedsheets too and—

He’s still restless. The numbers on the clock taunt him, moving up agonizingly slowly. He can’t stop looking at the time, itching for you to come home. 

Atsumu is sorry, so so so incredibly so, because you’re right―he hasn’t been fair to you at all, and he needs you to know that he knows it, too. 

His eyes go over the clock again, only a minute having passed since the last time he checked it. 

Is this how you felt? Every time you waited for him to come home for a date he promised you? 

He squeezes his eyes; it hurts him just thinking about it. 

That’s it, he decides, grabbing his phone and wallet as he walks out the door. 

. 

.

.

Atsumu doesn’t check your location often (maybe only a few times). It’s not a trust thing, he swears; it’s just for when he wants to make sure you’re somewhere safe, or in a place he can reach you should you need him there. 

And, you clearly don’t need him right now, but, Atsumu is a little selfish, he admits. 

Sitting at home with all his regret feels worse than seeking you out to beg for your forgiveness, whether you want him to or not. 

He’s barely dressed for the venue as he steps inside the bar, a pair of sweatpants and a white t-shirt with those fashionable Birkenstock clogs on. A few people seem to recognize him, tilting their heads and murmuring among themselves as he walks through door, but none of them approach him, thankfully, except for a server asking if he needs assistance. 

His eyes scan the tables first, searching for any semblance of the outfit he’d seen you leave in earlier. The dim lights make it increasingly difficult for him to look for your properly as he squints his eyes some more, narrowing his vision to the people at the front bar this time. It’s after the fourth person he dismisses that he feels himself getting desperate, nearly turning towards the server beside him to ask for help.

Until he spots you—tucked in the corner of the front bar, sitting on the barstool with your legs crossed as you swirl around your drink. 

You look bored, and a little sad, chin resting in your hand as you lean your elbow on the table. 

He frowns, thanking the server on the side as he makes his way to you slowly. You barely notice him as you bring out your phone, tapping on the screen as you stare at it almost longingly―a photo of you and him some time ago after one of his games. He knows it well, can still remember that day so clearly: when he became a PR nightmare because he couldn’t help but announce your relationship by kissing you in front of everybody. 

It makes his chest hurt. 

Then, you swipe it open, and he’s close enough now to be able to catch a glimpse of what’s on your screen: your text thread with him, his last message being, “Did you make it safely?” 

(You pout, eyes pricking with tears. You didn’t reply to him then because you weren’t ready to fully talk to him yet, still upset and disappointed. 

It was easy to make yourself feel better by dressing up and stepping out of the apartment earlier, the promise of good drinks and good company awaiting your arrival; you couldn’t think about how you felt if you were busying yourself with others. But now that all of those feelings have died down and most of your friends have started chatting up other people they’ve found, it’s beginning to hit you all at once just how much you still prefer Atsumu’s company more than anything else.

Your fingers hover over your text box, typing and deleting. Typing and deleting.) 

He’s two stools away from you now, and he can barely contain it―

“Baby,” his voice trembles, unsteady. 

Recognition fills you as you turn to the sound, half-confused at whether you’re hearing things; whether―

(“Tsum,” you mutter, eyes catching a pair of familiar warm brown staring back at you. His bottom lip quivers, the embodiment of a dam starting to crack, vibrating.

Your emotions are a mess, your breath on hold as you feel tears welling up in your lashline too. You still feel upset, still a little sad, and a tiny bit disappointed, but what coats them all is a sense of relief because—)

―he’s here, standing in front of you like he just rolled out of the house with barely enough time to get dressed (which, you’re sure is exactly how things went), and you’re sliding off the bar stool in the prettiest outfit, looking like the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. 

“‘M so sorry,” he breathes out, stepping closer as he grabs your hand, “Don’t ever wanna make y’feel like that again.” His knee gives way as he starts sinking to the floor, “I won’t do that anymore―” 

“Tsum,” you try to call his attention.

He’ll beg for your forgiveness whether you like it or not. 

(The interaction is causing nearby tables to look, murmurs and whispers in your periphery as you catch vague sentences here and there. He still is a public figure, after all.) 

But Atsumu is unaware, looking at you and you alone as he pleads, “No, please hear me out first. I promise I’ll tell ‘em they can speak ‘ta―” 

“Tsum,” you squeeze his hand, whispering more firmly as you try to pull him up. 

“Baby, please. Gimme the chance ‘ta show ya that I―”

(You look around and notice even more eyes on the two of you, fond looks on their faces as they prepare their phones for what seems like something momentous. Then it hits you, how this looks―)

“Tsum, please stand up,” you tug at his hand strongly, urging him to stand. His eyebrows furrow as he obliges, only comprehending why when you explain it to him softly, “people were starting to think you were about to propose.” 

He pauses for a moment, a slight, “Oh,” as he ponders on it. “Well, if that’s what’ll prove it t’ya, then—” 

You roll your eyes, the corners of your lips curling slightly as you hit his shin with your foot and squeeze his hand again, “Don’t joke about things like that.” 

Well, it’s not the first time it’s crossed his mind, if he’s being honest. 

He sighs, sitting on the stool beside you as he rubs his thumb over your hand again, bringing it close to his lips to kiss softly. 

“‘M really sorry, baby,” he mumbles against your skin before moving your hand over his heart. “Don’t ever want ya feelin’ like this again.” 

“I know,” you give him a small smile, patting down some of the strands of his hair that stick out, “you didn’t have to come out here though, you know. I was about to go home soon, anyway.” 

“Can ya blame me? Seein’ ya off like that?” he grips your hand tighter as his voice softens. “Y’re too pretty to be sad,” he plays with your fingers, intertwining them with his.

You hit his shin again, feeling shy. You always do when Atsumu likes to sweet-talk you. 

“Do ya forgive me?” he asks after some time, as you take the last few sips of your drink. 

You hum, looking him in the eyes as you nod, pouting, “I don’t like being mad at you, you know.” He lights up, beaming, but you add on, “We still have to talk about it properly, though. Later, when we get back.” 

He nods in agreement, holding your hand as you slide off the barstool, guiding you out of the bar and into the car. 

. 

.

.

(You both do talk about it properly, and the next time Atsumu promises you a date, he blocks it out of all of his calendars, sending the date to his manager even, just to be extra sure.) 

a/n: this has been such a long time coming, i'm sorry to those who waited! i hope you enjoyed even though this simmered with me for way too long 😭 i love writing atsumu a little lovesick but i also think he deserves someone who is equally as in deep as he is 🥺

thank you notes: to 🍧 anon for helping me figure out "what would make you mad at atsumu?" and to @ceroseis and @mieiri for always listening to my shenanigans pre-writing!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[soapcloth]

Fantasy au -> Warrior!Soap x Healer!Reader

CW: 18+ MDNI, light bloodplay, noncon undertones, dacryphilia if you squint

not edited - 800 words - dividers -> @/cafekitsune

You’ve had just about enough of that axe-swinging asshole, built like an ox and thrice as stubborn.

You’re absolutely beside yourself asking why you’re sticking it out in his half-baked party. John, as he had practically breathed the name down your neck, couldn’t keep a decent healer and now you know all too well why. He was mean, smelly, loud, and worst of all- overly familiar despite your best efforts to stamp out any flame of acquaintanceship. You could write ballads dedicated to reasons you should leave this party, but truth be told? You were down on your luck. You wondered sometimes if you were cursed with misfortune, a hilariously horrid timeline of events leading you to this very position right now. So you’ve made a few mistakes, hasn’t everyone in the pursuit of dungeon crawling?

Even so, was the state of your freelance healing career really so bad that you had to saddle up with someone like John MacTavish? The man had been naught more than a trail thief brute-forcing his way into other parties’ treasure a few years ago, but because of a few lucky encounters in monster slaying, suddenly he was picking up jobs in adventurer hubs like it was something he was born to do. It pissed you off to no end and he knew it. Loved seeing your indignant scowl while you healed him up knowing better work was near impossible for you to come by.

“Och- that’s it, ‘m sore there.” He’d groaned, humid breath fanning your skin, god, why was he always so close? “Gonna show me that pretty glow, lamb?”

“No.” You bit, rubbing the salve a touch deeper than needed. Your lips twitched seeing his eyebrows draw tight. “It’s not so bad that you need healing, stop being a baby.”

The man snorted in response. “That’s why no other parties’ll take ye on, lamb.” His deep blue eyes searched your own, a wild smirk twisting across his mouth. “Terrible bedside manner.” You flushed slightly, shooting him a sharp glare that caused him to lean back on his makeshift fallen and rotted log seat with a pleased grin as he inspected his wound. Like the ever-expressive man he was, his face suddenly took on a shade of concern. “Ach-!”

“Huh?” Was all you could muster, confused as to what he could be so worried about.

“Think I got nicked by something venomous, lamb, need yer healing.” He seethed out. “Oh for- let me see.” You sighed, grabbing his uselessly huge hand. As expected, his palm was fine, albeit still a bit bloody as the salve worked to stop it.

Wrong move.

Upon inspecting his wound, the adventurer managed to shove his palm into your face with a vicious grin, huffing through his nose a bit as he smeared blood across your mouth. Sputtering only invited the acrid taste of bitter salve, sweat, and copper onto your tastebuds as he laughed and continued to wipe his hand across your face. “See?” He chuckled “M’still hurt.” His eyes seemed to glisten like the northern stormy coast seeing his own blood on your skin. “Suits you.”

You pushed his hand away, misinterpreting his words in a way that scratched at a sore spot of your own. “I didn’t kill them, John! Stop holding that over my head!” You snarled, causing his eyes to widen a fraction. You wiped his blood off your face with your arm, only to smear it around more and get it on the limb. Great. It was then you realized you had a runny nose as well, were you starting to cry? “I fucked up- but my god, they lived, okay?” And now you couldn’t get a gig better than this one because of that fact, a voice in the back of your head snarked. It’s true too, they made sure no party worth its salt would ever take you on. You still have no idea why John did either in all honesty, for all his faults and the high turnover rate, he had a seemingly bottomless fount of healers willing to take a shot at being the one to stick.

John cupped your cheeks. “None of tha’.” He spoke lowly. One of his calloused thumbs swiped at an emerging tear before it could fall and you had to watch, mouth slightly agape as he brought the pad of his thumb to his lips without much thought, tongue darting out to taste. You blinked as he clapped that hand down on your shoulder, leaning closer. “None of tha’…” he repeated, quieter this time. He looked so focused. “Dinnae give a shit about those no-names, lamb, neither should you.”

You swallowed audibly when met with his intensity, his voice a rolling growl. “Fuck- seeing ye all covered in my blood’s got me stiffer than a rock. Palm’s busted and you won’t heal me. Cannae do a thing about it, feel like ah’m gonna-“

“I can heal your hand.” You urged, the oppressive haze he left you with suddenly lifting.

He snorted in response. “Though so, lamb.” His palm connected with your hair, ruffling his blood into your locks before moving down to pat your cheek. “What a dutiful healer ye’ are… So good te’ me. Let me see tha’ gorgeous glow.”

[kuronarnze]

a/n: i have came back with a sae x reader oneshot... Idk this oneshot idea just randomly came to my mind, sooo i randomly made this oneshot, its pretty cheesy hehe, but enjoyyy !

Itoshi Sae x Reader !

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

“P.S. I Love You"

The mornings always started the same way. The smell of fresh coffee. The faint sound of a closing door. And a folded note on your nightstand, written in neat, sleepy handwriting.

Buenos días, cariño.

You looked too peaceful to wake up, so I didn’t. You kicked me in your sleep again, by the way. I think I bruised.

There’s breakfast in the fridge. Drink water. I love you.

—Sae

You smiled, pressing the paper to your chest, still wrapped in his blanket. He always left letters. Every morning. Without fail.

Sometimes they were just a few words, other times full of sleepy rambles about the dream he had (“we were fish… I don’t know either”) or small reminders like “Don’t forget your scarf, it’s cold today.” But always—always—signed with “I love you.”

You stretched and wandered into the kitchen. And there it was: another note.

Tucked behind the honey jar:

P.S. I’m watching you. Eat something. I mean it.

Inside the coffee mug:

P.S. This mug smells like you. I’m keeping it next time.

Under the potted plant on the windowsill:

P.S. I bet you didn’t expect one here. But now you’re smiling. Gotcha.

You giggled. “He’s such a nerd.”

Your phone buzzed.

Sae: Did you find the one in the sock drawer yet?

You gasped and ran back to the bedroom. Sure enough, buried under mismatched socks, was a tiny folded note.

P.S. I miss you already. Come visit me at practice later? You can pretend to be my manager. Or my wife. Or both.

Your cheeks burned as you fell back onto the bed, clutching the note.

~

That evening, when he got home and dropped his gym bag, you were waiting at the door with your own little folded letter.

He blinked. “What’s this?”

You leaned in, kissing his cheek. “P.S. I love you too.”

~

You had gotten used to Sae's morning letters.

Sometimes short, sometimes teasing, always left carefully by your pillow or the coffee pot or even inside your book, like little breadcrumbs leading you back to him.

But this morning felt… different.

There were no short notes on the counter. No hidden scribbles in the fridge or mug. Just one thing—an envelope. Thick, sealed with a little wax stamp you didn’t know he owned, resting on top of your folded blanket.

Your name was written across it in his handwriting. Not his rushed post-practice scribbles. This was slow, deliberate, careful.

You sat on the bed, the early sunlight casting gold across the page as you opened it.

~

Mi amor,

I know I leave you silly notes every day. Sometimes they’re not even full sentences. Sometimes I’m half-asleep while writing them, and I forget words. But I thought today I’d try something else. Something I’m not good at.

I wanted to write you a real letter. One I’d be proud to leave behind, even if I couldn’t write another one after.

I don’t talk much. You know that. I’ve always struggled to say what I feel in the moment. But when it comes to you, words get stuck somewhere between my chest and my throat. Like I’m trying to explain the feeling of morning sunlight, or the smell of rain. Like no word really fits.

You make this apartment feel like the only home I’ve ever wanted. You laugh at my bad coffee. You steal my hoodies. You fall asleep with your face in a book and wake up saying my name like it’s something soft.

You make it easy to love you, and terrifying to imagine a life where I don’t.

I used to think football was everything. That I had to choose between chasing the future and holding onto something real. But you’ve taught me that love isn’t the thing that slows you down—it’s what keeps you grounded while you fly.

Every time I kiss you, I think: I’m lucky. Every time I leave a note, I think: I want you to smile when I’m not there.

And every day, I fall more in love with the way you say my name, the way you touch my wrist like I’ll disappear, the way you make even silence feel like music.

So… this is my way of saying it.

I love you.

Completely. Quietly. Wildly. In every language I can’t speak.

Yours, always,

Sae.

~

You read the letter three times, hands shaking slightly, heart aching in the gentlest way.

And when he walked through the door that evening, sweaty and tired and freshly showered, you didn’t say anything.

You just kissed him—slow, sure, lingering—until he whispered, “Did you read it?”

You nodded, eyes warm. “Write me a million more.”

He smiled softly, brushing your cheek with the back of his hand. “Only if you keep reading them.”

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! i hope you have a nice dayy (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠) this one shot was super cheesy lmao

[remlionheart]

Dazai with a reader who got a HUGE oral kink, like they just cant stop giving him oral

₊ ⊹MDNI₊ ⊹

ft. whiney, whimpering, overstimulated dazai :(((

Dazai had little to no self control when it came to most things in life, but especially when it involved the feeling of your soft lips wrapped around his overly sensitive tip. The content little hums you'd let out in between breaths while you flattened your tongue and ran it faithfully up his length for the third time in only a few hours.

"Oh - fuck, fuck... fuck." He groaned, teetering on the verge of overstimulation. He wasn't sure what he'd done to get so lucky. Wasn't sure what he'd ever done so right to deserve a girl that loved to devour him the way that you did, but god damn, was he thankful to whatever divine intervention had led him to you.

Every time he thought there was no possible way he had another drop of cum left to spare, you somehow always managed to coax it out of him anyway.

“Angel,” he nearly whimpered, little tremors hitting his slender body in waves, making his legs shake against the firm grasp of your palm. “I’m - mmm, so… sens...itive - hah-”

His breathy obscenities went straight to your center, making you all the more determined to take him in deeper. A mixture of guttural moans and lewd slurping filled the room as you continued to grind against his leg. Your clit desperately searching for friction while your hand and mouth worked in perfect synchronicity against him.

“You want me to stop?" You asked, batting your eyes up at him through heavy lashes. You already knew the answer from how feverishly he kept thrusting into you though, his tip hitting the back of your throat in a way that slurred and strained your words. "All you have to do... is - tell me to stop... and I will...."

His mind was on fire - stuck somewhere between wanting you to go slower and faster. Easier and harder. "S'too much, angel" and "Don't you dare fucking stop."

He was delirious, spilling out the prettiest, whiniest noises as his long fingers tangled into your hair while he watched you. His mouth dropping open in awe. "I can take it." He gritted out, not ready to pull himself away from the salacious warmth your tongue was gracing him with. "I can take it. Keep going."

It was cute, how hard he tried to seem in control while being at the mercy of your touch.

"I just want one more," your voice was velvet across his tender skin, pleasure mixing with pain as you let out the softest demands. "You're doing so good," you praised, noting the way his eyes had began to roll back. "Good boy, just like that."

Having two switches in a relationship could be a real problem sometimes - neither one of you easily willing to submit to the other. It was a competition almost in the way that you'd both fight for dominance, but today - oh today, you had him right where you wanted him. Even if he wanted to deny it, he couldn't. Not with the way he was writhing under you and whimpering out your name in the neediest voice you'd ever heard from him. Cock twitching when the words, "good boy" left your mouth.

"Give me one more, baby. Just one more." You let the spit that you'd gathered up pool down over his shaft as your hollowed out your cheeks to take him in further, trying not to smile at the way his hips bucked up towards you. His grip tightening in your hair as more incoherent little nothings echoed out into the space between you. "Yeah, there you go. Look at you, you're so close."

"I'm -" he struggled, his pretty brown eyes nearly watering from how overwhelmed his senses were. "Fuck” he hissed. “I’m gonna -”

Your stare locked with his, a wicked smile splitting across your face as his release coated the back of your throat. Cum leaking graciously down your chin as you swallowed every last drop you could before placing a light kiss on his tip, admiring how swollen and perfectly pink it was.

He wasn’t sure if it was an angel or the devil himself that had brought you into his life with the beautifully depraved way you were looking back at him, but either way - he was fucking thankful.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

[littlejoels]

“Accidents”

synopsis: after going on a run with joel and ellie despite joel’s request for you not to, you get hurt in the process, and joel helps you recover. word count: 1,4k warnings: smut, female receiving, use of curse words

joel has always had pretty eyes, guess seeing him this close and in the light you truly noticed how pretty and tired they are. the wrinkles in his face that haven’t yet been mirrored in yours—god, that thirty-year age difference was sometimes worrisome. you desperately want him to see you with crinkled eyes and wrinkles; brushing his hands through your grey hair like you did his when he goes—

“darlin, are you even listening to me?” he groans out on his knees, massaging your injured ankle. “this is why i tell your dumbass to stay and not go out on runs with me. i already have to keep myself safe and ellie safe, but you just…” he trails on about safety.

he wraps his thick hand, covering the entirety of your ankle. you can feel his calluses rub against your skin. it makes you wet just thinking of those same hands wrapped around your neck not even a day ago.

“you guys needed help and i didn’t want you to get hurt,” you manage to make a noise, putting your dirty thoughts away. “i’m young, meaning i’m strong… isn’t that a quote?”

on the run, joel, ellie, and you were spotted by clickers. trying to protect him, you jumped in front of him before a clicker got him, but as you killed the clicker, you twisted your ankle.

your handsome man lets out a groan and a laugh. “you’re lucky i put up with you.” he finishes the massage, wrapping it with medical tape. “you’re not going to be able to go to the movie night.”

“man, that blows,” you say, leaning on the pillow he brought out of the bedroom. “i wanted to see forrest gump. i’ve never seen it.”

he smiles, not reaching his eyes. “you and i are going to stay here until i patrol, and ellie will switch. you can see forrest gump another time.”

he grabs a blanket, covering your legs. you hadn’t noticed that it got cold, even though you were only in your panties and his flannel. you mumble a thank you, grabbing a book from the bookshelf next to you.

he picks you up, placing you on his lap, blanket still on you; rocking you back and forth, kissing your neck and biting your earlobe. aw man, what did you do… he always did that when he wanted to either have sex or he was upset but didn’t know how to express it.

“what’s wrong, baby?” you say, putting your book to the side and leaning closer to his touch.

“i just… i was scared… god, you just don’t listen sometimes,” he groans out, still sucking the skin around your ear. “i can’t always protect you, sweetheart.”

you nod against his lips as they travel down your neck. “next time i tell you we’re going to be okay… trust me… me and ellie came here after so much, so we can handle it.” he pulls your legs open, careful with your left ankle.

“i know—i know i’m just a little protective over ellie… i don’t want anything to happen to her.” you moan lowly as his hand finds the inside of your thighs. “i, uh—mhm—uh, i was worried about you too.”

joel's breath is hot on your skin as his mouth trails down your neck. his beard scratches against your pulse point, a coarse drag that makes your thighs twitch. his fingers press into the flesh just above your knee, working higher, the calloused pads teasing the soft skin of your inner thigh. 

you’re still wearing only his flannel, swallowing you whole, sleeves rolled up to your elbows, the top few buttons undone from when you tugged on the collar earlier, needing to breathe.

his hand brushes just beside the wet patch forming on your panties. he doesn’t move fast. joel never moves fast unless he’s angry or desperate, and right now he’s just worried and horny; trying to express it the only way he knows: by touching you.

“you’re real mouthy for someone laid up with a busted ankle,” he mutters, lips curled just slightly as he looks up at you from where he’s pressing soft kisses into your collarbone. “goin’ out there like you’re fuckin’ invincible.”

“i just wanted to help,” you breathe, trying not to writhe against his lap like a bitch in heat. his hand is under the blanket now, pushing it aside, fingers ghosting along your hip, then back down between your thighs again. your panties are soaked, practically clinging to your lips.

“help?” joel chuckles darkly, teeth scraping against the shell of your ear. “you’re damn near helpless now, sweetheart. can’t walk, can’t run. you’re stuck right here.” his fingers hook under the waistband of your underwear, dragging them down your thighs, slowly. the air is cold against your slick folds, but his fingers are warm—he's warm—thick digits sliding through your slit.

“you listening to me now?” he says gruffly, pushing two fingers into your cunt, slow and firm, the stretch making your breath hitch.

“mhm,” you murmur, thighs trembling. “i’m listening.”

“good,” he whispers, pumping those thick fingers in and out of you, the rhythm steady, relentless. “ ’cause i need you to listen when i tell you that if somethin’ ever happened to you, i’d lose my fuckin’ mind.”

your pussy clenches hard around his fingers, the rough rasp of his voice sending sparks down your spine. he curls his fingers just right, pressing against that spot that makes your vision blur. his other hand cups the back of your head, fingers tangled in your hair, holding you steady as he tongues the crook of your neck and bites down hard enough to bruise.

“joel—fuck,” you whimper, grinding helplessly against his hand, your fingers gripping his flannel, knuckles white.

he groans low in his throat, a gravelly, needy sound as his palm presses harder against your clit. “that’s it, baby. let me take care of you, yeah? you need this. after scarin’ the shit outta me.”

“i’m—i didn’t mean to—”

“shhh,” he cuts you off, sucking a mark into your throat that you’ll probaly feel for days. “you can say you’re sorry with your cunt.”

now that makes you moan. the sound rips from your throat as your hips start rocking against his hand without shame, soaking his fingers. he adds a third finger, making your whole body jolt.

“you hear that?” he growls against your ear, lips slick with spit. “listen to how wet you are, baby. drippin’ all over my fuckin’ hand.”

slap, slap, slap—the obscene noise of his fingers plunging in and out of your pussy echoes in the small room. you grip his shoulder, nails digging into the soft flannel, trying to anchor yourself as your orgasm coils tighter.

“i was fuckin’ scared,” joel whispers again, almost broken now, voice cracking as he sucks your earlobe into his mouth. “thought i was gonna lose you. and the worst part? i wouldn’t even know how to go on. not after everythin’.”

“i’m here,” you manage to gasp, barely able to speak as the pleasure crescendos. “i’m here, joel.”

“show me,” he growls.

your whole body jerks when he flicks your clit with just the right pressure, and the dam breaks. you cry out, grabbing at him as your orgasm crashes over you, pussy clenching hard around his fingers, body trembling in his lap. he doesn't let up, fucking you through it until you’re twitching.

joel pulls his fingers out slowly, smearing your slick all over your inner thigh, then dragging them up to his mouth. he sucks each one clean, eyes locked on yours, expression unreadable.

“you’re stayin’ here next time,” he says, voice firm, leaving no room for argument. “don’t care how young or strong you are. if you want to be useful, you stay alive.”

you nod, still panting, chest heaving.

he kisses your temple, soft and slow. “next time, you tell me what’s goin’ on in that stubborn head before you throw yourself into danger.”

you grin, still hazy. “next time, you just fuck me before patrol and i’ll be too sore to even leave the house.”

that gets a real laugh out of him; his hands settle under your ass, shifting you closer on his lap. his cock is hard under you, pressing insistently through his jeans, but he doesn’t move to unzip. but for now, he just holds you, body warm, rocking you gently till you fall asleep.

notes: my first joel writing ahhhhh

special tags: @inbred-eater , @wintfleur , @555aturn

[giannaln4]

GIANNA'S KINKTOBER '24 SEASON

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Kinktober day eight.

Car Sex (1k words)

summary: Lando was eager to use his brand new car with you.

warnings: NSFW, +18, smut, MDNI, stablished relationship, unprotected sex, public-ish sex.

Having a secret relationship with a Formula One driver meant having to sneak around even in the most private places; somehow, someone always managed to find him, but so far, you had been lucky.

There is no denying that it was a little annoying how hard it was sometimes to not even be able to have him come into your apartment building or come into his, since you were both worried someone would spot you leaving each other places, start a rumour, and have people even more interested in his love life than they already were, so sometimes, meeting somewhere to spend time together inside his car was the best option.

Like tonight. He had just come back from England and you knew he had to leave soon for the American triple header, so you needed to make the most of the time you had together before leaving again, even if it was just a few hours.

“I’ve missed you- so much,” Lando said in between kisses. He grinned when you straddled his lap. You struggled a bit, but when you finally managed, his hands immediately finding your hips.

“Yeah?” You asked, slightly moving your hips to create some friction, the action making him moan. “How much?”

“So much, I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he admitted, softly biting at your lower lip. His hands explored your torso like he had never touched you before, thumbing at the soft flesh under your shirt.

“Really? You couldn’t stop thinking about me?” You teased, wrapping your arms around his neck and moving your hips one more time.

“Mhm,” he hummed, “I can’t seem to get you off my mind, love.” You smiled at the pet name and leaned in for another kiss. It always got really heated really quick after he had been away for a while, and you loved to get him all worked up, to the point where he couldn’t keep himself from dragging your hips against him to intensify the pleasure. 

“I missed you too," you mumbled back against his lips that were slowly moving along his, keeping your hands on his hair. Lando occasionally travelled from under your shirt to your thighs, humming and moaning softly into the kiss until he allowed his hands to explore further down, finding the hem of your skirt. 

He teased you for a bit, but eventually he decided he needed to take you, to feel you. 

One of his long fingers sneaked past your underwear and into your soaked folds, making you slightly lift your hips to give him more acces. He smiled at this, loving how needy you were for him. Lando started rubbing your clit with his thumb while his middle finger teased your entrance.

At this point, you were a moaning mess as he worked to get you to an orgasm. “More,” was all you managed to say, and he happily complied, rubbing harder and faster as his finger slowly entered your hole. He was planning on making this quick, because the sooner you finished, the sooner he would get to be inside you.

His pace was desperate, and even more desperate were your moans, making Lando needier than he already was. He entered a second finger, and he knew it was over when you started to squeeze them hard. 

“Come for me, baby,” he said in a tone you could never get tired of. This really pushed you over the edge, because before you knew it, your orgasm finally hit you. “There we go.”

Lando slowed down as he helped you through your orgasm, and when you stopped moving, he quickly pulled his painful cock out of his trousers. 

You couldn’t help but look down, almost salivating at the way he gave it a few slow pumps before pushing your underwear to the side again and running his head through your folds to coat it in your juices. This made you hiss, but God, you were dying to have him inside you. 

A loud moan scaped both your mouths when you started to sit on him, fully taking him in, and as soon as he was deep inside you, he took your hips to lift you up and then made you go down again. You tried to set a pace for the both of you, but the small car made it harder than you were expecting.

“You couldn’t have brought a flashier car?” You told him, trying to ride him in the very limited space.

“No, this car is perfect for this.”

You rolled your eyes in annoyance, knowing you couldn’t expect anything less from him, but that eye roll was quickly replaced by one full of pleasure when he hit that sweet spot inside of you.

“See? You are still enjoying it.”

“Shut up.”

Lando continued gripping at your hips, helping you move as he thrusted up to meet you half way so you wouldn’t have to do all the work alone.

The car was hot and the windows were foggy, his Ferrari F40 bouncing with the intensity of your own movements. If anyone drove past you, they would know exactly what was going on. But honestly, neither of you could care less about that; you were just chasing that so-close release.

You would never admit it, but you did find the situation kinda hot, and maybe it was just that you hadn’t been intimate in a while, but you already found yourself with the feeling on your tummy about to snap. 

“‘m close,” you whimpered, and he was so lost in pleasure he just let out a ‘uh huh’ before intensifying his motions. You knew he was close too, so you started devouring his neck just the way he liked. 

A few more thrusts, and he was already there, the warm feeling of him inside you making you come just seconds later. 

You stayed like that for a few minutes, trying to come down from your high, and once you fully caught your breath, you carefully went back to your seat, sitting on his hoodie so you wouldn't stain his new car. 

His jeans, on the other hand, were a complete mess. You could see your juices mixed with his own, trying hard to contain your laughter as he visibly worried about how he would get into his apartment looking like that.

↺ back to navigation — Kinktober masterlist

[organic-bloodbath]

can you pls do a thanks x reader where reader is like lowk a bad ass. enemies to lovers kind of thing. maybe they have known each other for years. she tripped up during mingle but someone saved just in the nick of time but later in the bathroom he yells at her telling her he can’t lose her because he loves her. and then they kiss and stuff and fall asleep together (im a sucker for angst with a fluffy ending🙏)

I love you, fucking idiot

Thanos x Reader

Summary: As above.

A/N: Hope you like 🫶🏻

☆☆☆

You and Thanos had known each other since middle school. You wouldn't consider the two of you friends, honestly you didn't really know what you were since you wouldn't think of you as enemies either. You had always disliked him, atleast that's what you thought, but it wouldn't go as far as hate. More like he simply annoyed the shit out of you. Thanos had been teasing and bickering with you ever since you were teenagers, and he seemed to enjoy it. It was always harmless, he never actually bullied you.

"Well, well, well – look who it is," Thanos said as he approached you and looked at your figure from head to toe before continuing. "I see you've dyed your hair."

Your hair was naturally dark brown, but you had dyed it pink a few months ago.

"Did you do it to match with me?" Thanos smiled. "Didn't know you were so obsessed with me."

"You wish," you denied, rolling your eyes. "I haven't had a single thought about you in several months."

"So, you admit you've sometimes thought about me," he pointed out and brought his hand to rest on his heart. "That's so touching, Cotton Candy."

"Don't be so full of yourself," you scoffed. "And cut the nickname, it's gross."

When the game started right after, Thanos leaned a little closer to you.

"Wanna race?" he asked.

"For what?" you asked, right brow lifted in curiosity.

"If i win, i'll get to keep the nickname for you," he suggested with a smirk.

"And when i win?" you asked. "Because there's no way i'm losing to you."

"I'll drop the nickname."

"Well, challenge accepted."

As you were running forward, trying to ignore Thanos near you, someone suddenly pushed you, making you fall on the ground. You laid there on your back, managing to stay still when the doll turned around to scan any possible movements in the area.

"As clumsy as always," Thanos mocked quietly above you, smirk on his face.

"Shut up," you mumbled in annoyance.

When it was time to move again, Thanos offered his hand to pull you up.

"I don't need your help," you muttered and started to get up.

"Stop being grumpy and take my hand," he insisted.

You rolled your eyes and let him pull you up. However, he pulled you with more force than you had expected, making you almost to trip forward again but he held you still. You were standing against him now, your heads facing each other to make you lock eyes. Right then the doll turned again, forcing you to stay still for a while.

"Did you always have freckles on your cheeks?" Thanos muttered quietly as he examined your face closer, just thinking outloud.

"Duh," you mumbled and got off his grip when you could move again, taking a quick sprint forward to get ahead of him.

In the end, you did win the game just couple of seconds before Thanos, he was running right beside you the entire way.

"Ha! I win," you mocked him. "Didn't know you let yourself go out of shape when you started focusing on rapping."

"You were just lucky this time," he huffed and rolled his eyes, not wanting to bruise his ego by admitting his defeat to you.

"This time? You want to do this again, huh?"

"Until i win."

☆☆☆

The second game arrived the next day and you were supposed to form groups of 5 with each other.

"Alright, Y/N, you're with my team," Thanos stated, as if he had done the decision by himself.

"Um, no thank you," you laughed.

"What do you mean 'no'?" Thanos narrowed his eyes, taking a step closer to you.

"Now, what kind of competition would it be if we played in the same group?" you asked, crossing your arms on your chest. "The group that finishes earlier than the other wins."

"I see," Thanos hummed. "So what's the prize?"

"You'll see," you said and winked, leaving Thanos on his own without another word to search for your own team members.

Thanos wouldn't show it on the outside, but seeing you go and find a different group stinged his heart a little in a horrible way. Having you in the same group would have meant to either die together or live together. Being in different groups would mean the other could die while the other lived. But he couldn't force you to be in his team, no.

Your group played first and you did end up winning five seconds earlier than Thanos' group. It pissed him off so badly how you could win him twice and then rub it on his face afterwards.

"So, what do i owe you?"

"Besides all those pens you never returned to me in middle school?" you asked. "Hm. New shoes."

"Aw, is that a way to ask me to go shopping with you?" Thanos asked, having that same smile on his face which you hated. "I knew you liked my company."

You just punched his shoulder before leaving.

☆☆☆

The third game started, and along with his own team, you stood next to him as well.

"Now, you're not going to start wandering around this room on your own, got it?" Thanos said to you.

"What are you, my dad?" you scoffed, but having a playful smirk on your face. "You can't tell me what to do."

God, it started to annoy him how you took this as a joke. He wanted to keep you safe – no, he needed to keep you safe.

"You're not going to leave my side, are we clear?"

"That bossing me around is both annoying and kind of hot," you admitted, one of your eyebrows lifted.

"Are we clear?" Thanos asked firmly, voice getting louder.

"Yes, sir," you agreed, but Thanos could see that you didn't take him as seriously as he would have hoped.

As the rounds went by, you did stay with him and not go on your own ways. For that, Thanos was more than thankful. Since he had noticed that you kept following him, one round he didn't look so closely at your way anymore. He trusted that you were right behind him again, because the time was running out very, very quickly now and his team was struggling to find a free room. Thanos eventually did get into an empty room right at the last second.

Thanos turned around as the door had closed and locked itself, but when he saw a guy instead of you, his heart stopped. There were three players in the room with him, and none of them were you.

You had been right behind him, he had seen you. Barely two steps behind running and searching for a room with him. Thanos had been sure of it. But you weren't in the room now.

Thanos instantly ran to the gap of the door to peek out as the shootings started.

"Y/N!"

His heart was racing faster than ever before. Several people had been left outside, you included, and now their bodies were being carried into the black coffins tied with those fucking pink bows. It was too dark to recognise which body belonged to you.

Thanos leaned against the wall in disbelief. You couldn't be gone, that was impossible. You could survive anything. You had to.

He looked at his remaining team mates who were all staring at him. Nam-gyu, Se-mi and Gyeong-su, who looked at Thanos with the most terrified look out of all three.

Thanos stormed towards Gyeong-su and slammed him right against the wall, holding him captive by his shoulders.

"Where did you leave Y/N?!" Thanos shouted. "It was supposed to be Y/N!"

Nam-gyu had to pull Thanos away with a good amount of force so that he wouldn't start beating Gyeong-su up completely.

"Chill up, man," Nam-Gyu tried to calm Thanos down. "She probably found another room, don't get all heated up in the middle of the game."

Thanos took a deep breath and scrubbed his face with his hand in frustration. God he was angry - mostly at himself how he had let this happen just like that and not kept a closer eye on you. He should have held your hand to make sure you were there, but he knew you would have refused and only pulled your hand away.

For the next round, he didn't see you anywhere among the players. There were a lot left and he didn't go through the entire carousel because he had lost all hope. He was sure there was no way you could have survived finding a room in just a few seconds.

Thanos didn't say a word as he walked back with his team after the challenge was finished. Nam-gyu tried to talk to him but he didn't spare any attention on him at the moment.

Then, his heart stopped for a mere second when he saw you walking next to another player, having a conversation with her which Thanos couldn't hear. You laughed at something what player 120 said to you.

You were alive. He heard your laugh, which was always louder than many other people's laugh normally were. Thanos was frozen still for a few seconds, only looking towards you.

He was disappointed when he noticed that you kept your attention just on player 120 and didn't scan the room for Thanos as closely as Thanos did for you. But he didn't waste one moment longer until he stormed towards you with large and loud steps that made many other players around him to turn and look at him.

Thanos grabbed your hand without a warning and pulled you behind him towards the bathroom. You tried to yank your hand off but his grip was too tight.

"Su-bong," you said. "Su-bong, stop."

He didn't listen to you, only dragged you after him so fast you were about to trip soon.

"What the fuck, Y/N?" Thanos shouted when the door had closed. He didn't know if anyone was in the stalls right now and he didn't care.

"What?" you asked with brows furrowed, confused what Thanos was on right now.

"Don't you 'what' at me," Thanos spat, then pointing his finger at you. "What the fuck was that in the game?"

"What was?"

Thanos took a deep, frustrated breath in not to explode in total pieces in front of you.

"You didn't come to the room with me," Thanos said with a chuckle, though he found absolutely no part of this conversation funny. "You weren't in our room, Y/N. Why the fuck weren't you there?"

"I tripped," you shrugged. "You were gone already so i found another room."

You looked so indifferent and how this wasn't a big deal. You looked like you didn't care and it made Thanos even more enraged, fire building inside him unbearably hot.

Thanos laughed. Actually laughed. He didn't know where it came from because none of this was funny, but his emotions unfolded in uncontrollable laughter for a moment.

"Okay Thanos, what's going on?" you asked and crossed your arms. "I tripped, found a room and i'm now here."

"Don't you understand, Y/N?" he said in desperation, putting his arms on both of your shoulders. He had stopped laughing, his face completely serious and turning into anger and annoyance again. "You could have died!"

"Yes, Thanos, i know," you took your turn in laughing. "That's the point, they kill who lose-"

"But you could have been one of them!" he yelled at you, his face now only a few inches away from you. As he looked into your eyes, his wide eyes softened and his face relaxed more, voice turning a lot more quiet as well. "I could have lost you, Y/N. I was meant to protect you."

His hands moved upwards to cup your cheeks in their gentle hold.

"I can't watch you die," he said by barely a whisper. You leaned your face into his touch, a smile spreading on your lips. It annoyed Thanos. "What's so funny?"

"You like me," you stated with a grin. "Admit it, you like me."

Thanos huffed and rolled his eyes, letting go off you. He turned around to leave without another word.

"Come on, just say it," you said playfully, starting to follow his back. He gave you only silence and tried to ignore your finger drawing zigzag patterns on his back. "Come onnnnn, Su-bong. You like me, you like me, you like-"

He turned around in a mere second, stopping on his tracks so aprubtly that you bumped on his chest.

"I love you, Y/N!" Thanos shouted. "Don't you get that?"

Your eyes widened and so did his. The words weren't supposed to leave his lips like that, but you managed to press his buttons in a way to squeeze them out of him. You looked at each other, him sparing a quick glance at your lips.

Before either of you knew it, both of you leaned in towards each other and crashed your lips into a hungry kiss.

His arms were roaming all around your body, pulling you tightly against his body by your lower back. You had your arms wrapped around his neck, fingers brushing through his purple hair. His tongue forced your mouth open wider and was able to dig itself deeper to explore new parts of you.

Then, the door of one of the stalls opened slowly a few metres behind you, startling both of you out of the trance of savoring each other.

Min-su looked at both of you awkwardly, hint of pink on his cheeks, then quickly going to wash his hands and avoiding any eye contact with you. Neither you or Thanos moved during this time, not an inch besides of your heads to follow his movements. Your left hand was resting on his shoulder, your right fingers against the back of his neck. Thanos had his hands on your lower back.

Min-su glanced at you, both of you staring at him and waiting for him to leave, and then hurried out of the bathroom without another look. You and Thanos both burst out laughing at the same time.

"Oh my god," you mumbled and wiped a tear out of the corner of your eye.

Thanos put his finger on your chin, a smirk playing on his face.

"So, want to continue this," he suggested, trailing his tattooed finger along your lip and jawline, "somewhere more private, hm?"

You pushed his hand off.

"As if."

You were about to walk past him, but he grabbed your elbow and spun you around back to face him.

"So you're just going to leave me hanging like that, Y/N?" Thanos asked, eyebrows raised close to his hairline.

"Thanos, i'm not going to go to the damn stall with you."

Thanos grabbed your face into his hands, making you look at him. You thought he was going to kiss you again, but he only looked deep into your eyes.

"Y/N, i meant it," he said seriously. "I love you."

Your brows furrowed.

"I love you and i can't handle the feeling inside me when i even think that something bad might have happened to you," he explained with such a vulnerability in his voice you had never experienced before.

You looked at him seriously for a while, until you started to giggle.

"You loveee me," you teased.

"Shut up," Thanos mumbled, rolling his eyes, and turned his back to you.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders from behind and rested your chin on his left shoulder, gently caressing his chest with your palm in a soothing and calming way like you were trying to calm down a child after a breakdown. He stayed still under your touch.

"I think i like you too," you admitted.

"Just 'like'?" he asked. "Like, a friend or what?"

"Well, i wouldn't want to have you die either," you admitted. "It would make me sad."

"Would you cry over me?" Thanos asked.

"I might. A little bit."

Thanos knew you didn't show your true emotions easily to others and especially didn't admit them with words. He had always known that you showed your emotions through actions, not through speech. It would be useless to force you confess 'i love you' back even if you did love him.

"Would you be okay if... you saw me with another woman?" he asked slowly. "Someone else kissing me like we did, hm?"

You were quiet for a moment, still standing behind him on your tiptoes in the same position, but now grabbed his cheeks with your hand, turning his face towards yours. Your faces were so close your noses were only an inch apart from each other.

"You're mine, you hear me?" you stated seriously with a stern voice, fingers pressing hard on his cheeks. "No other woman is going to touch you as long as i live, got it?"

Grin spread on Thanos' face.

"You likeee me," he mocked you with a smile, imitating you.

"I'll hit you if i have to," you threatened but kept your hold on his shoulders as gentle and relaxed as before.

"I know you've fallen so madly in love with me," he insisted.

"And how are you so sure about that?"

Thanos turned around to make your bodies face each other.

"Because when i do this," Thanos said and simply put his hands on your cheek and lower back, pulling you closer, "you get all flustered and you scrunch your nose like this," he explained, slightly scrunching his own nose. "And you get jealous."

"I don't get flustered," you refused, narrowing your eyes, but you could feel your cheeks getting warmer.

"I'll get you to admit it some day."

"Get over yourself."

☆☆☆

When it was time to finally go to sleep, you had just laid yourself on your bunk, until felt another presence behind you. You didn't have to turn around to see who it was.

"If you think i'm going to have sex with you right now, you're very much mistaken," you stated and turned your back to him. "Go to sleep, Thanos."

Thanos scooped over to lay on the bed on his side behind you.

"Who talked about sex?" Thanos asked, like the entire thing was a foreign concept to him. "I'm tired after the game too, you know."

"What are you doing?" you asked as he put his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to his body, your back against his chest.

"Getting a comfortable position to sleep."

You stretched your neck to look at Thanos over your shoulder.

"You planned to sleep here?"

"Obviously, señorita."

"Why?"

"Because that's what men do when they love a woman – or so i've heard."

"We're not a married couple, Su-bong."

"Do i have to fall on my knees to propose to you right now to make you shut up and accept me as your sleeping buddy?" Thanos asked, looking a little too serious that he'd actually do it if you kept resisting.

You eyed him for a moment until turned your head away from him back to rest on the pillow.

"If your hand wanders anywhere else than my waist i'll kick you to the floor," you stated seriously as you closed your eyes.

"Fair." Thanos lifted his head to plant a soft kiss on your temple. "Goodnight, grumpy princess."

"Gross."

"I know you love it."

[transmascaraa]

bf!kinich headcanons!

simple life.

bf!kinich x gn!reader

author's note: hi i'm back with something new after a month or smth anyway i hope you guys have been doing well^^ (this one is basically about how you two live and i'm excited to write for kinich lmao i hope he's not ooc)

"you like it, no?"

-(this man managed to become my favorite char after 3 years of scara)

-he's literally ideal like not only is he literally gorgeous, but he's also so fucking kind-hearted regardless of the fact that people see him as scary

-he's nonchalant but at he same time not at all

-anyways that wasn't the point

-he always wakes up before you somehow and if he has a commission early in the morning, he'll probably just kiss you goodbye and leave in silence

-but if he doesn't have any commissions early then enjoy the morning with him

-his good morning kisses are usually on your forehead, but you're sometimes lucky to get a kiss on the lips from him(he's such a good gentle kisser trust me)

-HE DOES THE COOKING IN THE HOUSE. NO EXCUSES. AND COOKS THE BEST FOOD EVER. (he's latino in my mind and i literally can't imagine him not cooking for his s/o)

-you can clean if you want but he's always cooking the best food ever and he loves doing it especially since he gets to see your happy face afterwards and your compliments for his cooking

-you two probably have a little garden near your house where he grows vegetables and you plant flowers all around as decorations

-if he ever comes home injured you're quick to patch him up and scold him about taking some random dangerous commission

-he says he won't do it again and that he knows exactly what you mean but it just keeps happening unfortunately

-i forgot to mention ajaw in your guys' relationship. well shit.

-he ruins any situation you have with him so that's the reason he's in timeout 90% of the time dw (the 10% is just arguing with eachother until kinich throws him to the sky)

-i believe he has ptsd in some way so nightmares might not be uncommon for him

-the worst this about it is that he would never tell you. never ever. he thinks it's not fair that you comfort him but he can't repay you in any way

-so even if you reassure him it's okay because he also comforts you, he always finds an excuse like "but i'm not good with words, my comfort isn't as valuable as your's."

-next up, he's probably not into pda

-sure you can hold hands and add a kiss here and there but it's nothing too much

-if you're into it, he'll try to make it up to you but it won't really work out too well so you can try to find a balance with him which will be easy for you both

-his love language is probably quality time with some additional physical touch and gift giving

-he has such gentle hands probably because he plays a lot of games(gamer kinich is undeniable)

-usually likes when you play with him because he finds it as something that builds your relationship further

-but if you just feel like watching him play that's alright as well like literally just sit on his lap while he plays some random game and you can fall asleep there because SOMEHOW he's pretty calm when he loses and doesn't exactly "rage" and just whispers "fuck/shit" or something

-he brings you trinkets from his commissions definitely especially when it's from somewhere far

-even the simplest things

-he'll make a bouquet out of random flowers and plants he found on the way and tie them together with some strong grass or something

-at night, when the both of you have nothing to do for the rest of the day, there's a few things you could do with him

-he could give you a massage, you could watch him play, you could play with him, he could simply cuddle with you, or watch a movie with you, or take a walk outside together, hang out with mualani and/or kachina, basically anything

-when he isn't with you he listens to the playlist he made to remind him of you

-loves when you send him videos of like cats and then say "us" because he finds it cute(he hearts every msg)

-very good at teasing but he doesn't do it often for whatever reason

-also doesn't really get jealous since he trusts you

-but he knows when you need him to protect you since you're like a rare emerald in his eyes

-doesn't break promises because he takes them really seriously

-if you suggest getting a pet(let's say it's a yumkasaurus in this situation) he would agree immediately

-he'll first of all explain to you everything you need to know about them and what they do, what they need and like

-and if you're okay with it in the end, then you can expect a yumkasaur as a present on your anniversary, birthday, or some holiday you celebrate

-he makes your birthday really special but ofc often forgets his own so when you surprise him it takes a second for him to understand the situation and then says you didn't have to

-finally, going to sleep with him is also perfect

-cuddles most likely, and if you prefer, he can play something simple like minecraft or stardew valley etc in bed next to you until you can finally fall asleep

-in simple words he's the perfect bf if his personality is what you're looking for :p

-(bonus for the people who also hc him as latino or simply spanish-speaking, he would definitely help you learn spanish if you don't already speak it. and if you also speak some other language he would love to try and learn it.)

~~~~~

DAMN this was long

probably because it was a random rush of motivation all of a sudden

i wish this happened more often smh i hope you all enjoyed anyway lol

| @mariaace <3

[pinkie-quinns]

rocker eddie/actor steve | exes to ?? | fame au p2 | p1 p3 p4 p5 interlude p6

The picture itself is not incriminating.

In the five years since Eddie’s wet dog apology they have been cordial to each other. Eddie seemed to have finally grown up. Finally got the hint. He doesn’t bug Steve after that night. He stays in his lane.

After a few years it’s a nod at a charity event. A half-smile at the town’s trendy new restaurant. A card when Steve gets an Emmy nod for his HBO series. Steve tries to not mind it. Tries to not let it get under his skin. He doesn’t send Eddie anything when he gets his Grammy.

LA is a small town. Eddie moved back once he finished his first tour. Steve does his best to keep his circle separate but LA is a small town. He nearly ends up at Eddie’s 30th after his coworker tries to drag him to some “rager in Loz Feliz.”

Sometimes, after another break up leaves him feeling shit-all, Steve drives past their dingy old place in West Hollywood. Tries to picture the version of the story where Eddie wasn’t eaten by his monster ego. Lets himself imagine them happy. Lets himself cry over it again. Like it happened yesterday instead of a decade ago.

But then he blinks and it’s been twelve years and yeah, maybe he hasn’t felt home like he did with Eddie, maybe no one else has fit him quite so right. But maybe he was just young and everything felt bigger then.

He feels weirdly at peace about it all. It’s not forgiveness, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to stomach that, but it is acceptance. It took a long time to scar but it's finally just a faded pink line. He’s happy.

And then the photo starts to circulate.

The picture itself is not incriminating.

It’s their old WeHo apartment. Eddie’s hopped on the grimy kitchen counter, acoustic guitar in hand. He’s smiling at Steve and Steve is leaned against the wall and he’s smiling back. And it’s Them. And Steve thinks they’ve never looked so young.

He doesn’t know who took the photo. Maybe Robin or Nancy or Jon. They visited a lot in that first year.

He doesn’t know how it ended up digitized, posted to a random pop culture subreddit.

What he does know is that he and Eddie have never publicly acknowledged each other.

The internet treats the picture like a cute little chachki in the first few days. A buzzpop factoid #67. It’s “Did you know Tommy Lee Jones and Al Gore were college roommates?”

But then news outlets were picking it up. And Eddie was halfway through promoting his third album.

They’re dead lucky the picture is not incriminating.

Steve’s still not technically out– he’s had quiet relationships with men but his team preferred a starlet on his arm at the carpets.

Eddie’s out the way a rockstar is. He’d fuck anything as long as it made him a pervert.

Their teams move fast.

The official story is that they’d both moved to LA to pursue their careers. They roomed together because they knew each other from their small town. Then Steve booked his show and Eddie moved to London and they lost touch.

Eddie repeats it on talk show after talk show. He lies and says they’re still friendly now, but their schedules keep them both so busy. They haven’t caught up in a while. He goes wistful when he says it. Steve tries not to feel downright bitter. It does quiet the chatter down.

In November, his manager tells him he’s presenting at the Golden Globes. The studio had asked him specifically, still under contract to promote their animated movie. He agrees cause he needs eyes on the tiny indie he'd finally gotten made.

In December, he finds out who he’s presenting with.

Steve throws a fit. It’s uncharacteristic. It’s not at all in line with the nice-guy persona he’s spent years cultivating. But they’ve managed to get this far without him actually having to talk to the guy. He doesn’t ever want to have to talk to Eddie Munson again.

His manager lures him off the ledge. It’s too late to change the line-up. He's put in years of work to get his movie made. She reminds him that it’s Hollywood. Everyone has to deal with this shit. Not worth blowing it all up because he can’t handle 30 minutes with his ex.

So Steve plays nice but Eddie skips out on rehearsal. Of fucking course. Twelve years and he’s still so predictable.

Steve reads the teleprompter next to a random PA and decides then and there to say Fuck Healing. He did that. And now he’s being punished. Again. He’s fucking pissed.

He’s pissed that the photo got out. He’s pissed at whoever leaked it. He’s pissed enough to convince himself it was Eddie. He’s pissed Eddie’s shouldering his way back into his life even if it wasn’t him.

And yeah, he’s still fucking pissed that Eddie left in the first place.

Steve first sees him on the carpet. It’s from a distance, and he’s determined to keep it that way for as long as possible. He wishes Eddie dashed for the real thing too, but he knows his ego couldn’t take the blow. Eddie Munson loves attention too much.

Eddie looks great, cause he’s a celebrity & it’s a 10-person job to make him look great.

Eddie looks great cause he’s always looked great. Even when his hair was all frizz and his hygiene habits were questionable at best. And Steve hates him but his dick has never gotten the memo.

Steve deals with it by drinking a lot. It’s the Globes! He sits at his table and smiles and they give him alcohol and he drinks it. It’s stupid and it’s reckless and it’s the only thing that’s gonna get him through this torture. So he picks at his ugly velvet suit and he drinks.

The wranglers grab them 20 minutes before they’re set to present. It’s earlier than usual but Munson’s been known to dash.

They’re sitting on opposite couches in the green room. Eddie’s vibrating. Leg jittering nonstop. Steve’s starting to feel woozy. They’re not talking.

After five minutes, Eddie clicks his tongue and gets up. “Gonna take a leak.” His wrangler starts after him. “Follow me and I cut off your dick.”

Steve looks at the kid, weighing tearily whether his job was more important than his penis, “I’ll- I'll make sure he’s back on time.”

Steve stumbles riled down the hall, opens the door with a slam, “You leak the photo, Munson?”

Eddie’s already washing his hands. Steve catches his reflection in the mirror. He looks weirdly hurt.

“Steve,” Eddie says his name so... sad, “C’mon, man. I- I wouldn’t do that.”

Steve laughs cold, puts his hands in his suit pockets. “Sure, yeah, man. You’d just disappear for seven years. Come back with some horseshit apology because you finally got what you wanted. Cause your ego could finally handle being around me. But sure. You wouldn’t do that.”

Eddie steps back into the wall, looks at Steve with those watery brown eyes. They’re framed by crows feet now. “Steve, I–”

Steve boxes him in, makes it so he can’t slip away this time, “You know there was a week there where I thought you'd fucking died.”

He feels like a live wire. He feels every awful thing he’s felt for a dozen years bubble to the surface.

“Mike Wheeler told me where you went. Mike. Wheeler. I thought you were dead in a ditch, you asshole. Thought I’d lost you forever. But no. You just skipped town– Skipped town because I loved you and you fucking hated me.”

He doesn’t know when grabbed a fist into Eddie’s shirt. He wants to tear it. It’s probably insured.

“Stevie,” Eddie’s blubbering. Their faces are close enough that Steve can see his lip quivering. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, baby.”

Now Steve really wants to laugh. Baby. It’s such garbage. Total bullshit.

“I wish you’d died. It would’ve hurt less.” He says it dry, with his big wide movie-star smile. Then he spits, bullseye on Eddie’s cheek, “I fucking hate you.”

It’s so strange to see Eddie up close after all this time. He’s blurry in the memories but so vivid here, so harsh. Makeup cracking into nicotine wrinkles. Different. A mask of the person Steve knew.

He breathes, “I know.”

----

Eddie's tongue still tastes the same.

[springtyme]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐫𝐭 𝐎𝐟 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐌𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ♡

Derek Morgan x reader || Main Masterlist || Spotify

summary: It was not your plan to dump into a tall, handsome FBI agent, but sometimes you get lucky.

word count: 666

𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞: 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟏𝟔) 𝐌𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐂𝐮𝐭𝐞

It is a typical Tuesday morning at your favorite coffee shop, a cozy little place where the rich aroma of roasted coffee beans mingles with the sound of clinking mugs and soft chatter. The morning crowd buzzes, and you are nestled in your favorite corner, sketchbook open, pencil flying across the pages as you capture the vibrant energy around you.

You are so engrossed in your work that you don’t notice when the line for coffee snakes its way closer to your table. Your concentration breaks when the barista calls out a name, you stand up, but you didn’t really hear what was called and you are unsure whether it was yours or someone else’s. You look up, slightly confused, just in time to see a tall man brushing past you, his shoulder barely grazing yours.

“Sorry about that,” he says, his voice deep and warm. 

You glance up to look him in the eyes and your pencil pauses mid-air, he is muscular with a charming smile and warm brown eyes. He wears a leather jacket that hugs his athletic frame, and you can tell he is someone who knows how to take charge of any situation.

“No problem at all,” you manage to say, trying to keep your composure. “I get lost in my own world too.”

The man chuckles as he leans over your sketches, an appreciative glint in his eye. “Wow, you’re really talented. Is this coffee shop your studio?”

“Something like that,” you reply, your cheeks warming at the compliment. “It’s a great place to people-watch,” you say, gesturing to the rest of the coffee shop.

He glances around the bustling coffee shop, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he returns his gaze to you, smirking, a spark of interest flickering in his eyes. “People-watching is an underrated art form.”

“Sure is, I like capturing the small moments… It’s nice.”

He glances around, then back at you with a smirk. “You might be capturing my moment, then. I was just getting coffee to gear up for what could be a long day at the office.”

“Office?” you ask, intrigued.

“Yeah, FBI,” he says casually, as if it is just another job.

Your eyes widen in surprise, thoughts racing. “Like, really? You must have some incredible stories to tell then.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” he says, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “But I can’t share those. Privacy and all that, you know?” He winks, making your heart skip a beat.

Before you can respond, the barista calls out his name: ‘Derek’. It suits him, you think. He sighs dramatically, turning to grab his coffee. “Guess I’ll have to keep some of my secrets, but I think I’m able to tell a few… Perhaps you can exchange  stories with me sometime?”

His boldness catches you off-guard. “Sure, if you promise to tell me one of yours, I’m telling one of mine.”

As you exchange smiles, something shifts in the air between you. You jot down your number on a napkin, along with your name, handing it to him as he reaches for his drink.

With the warmth of your touch lingering on the napkin, Derek looks at you, a confident grin plastered on his face. “I’ll take that as a challenge. Coffee soon? Or maybe a drink?”

“I’d love a drink,” you reply, heart racing in anticipation, feeling a secret thrill at how easily the conversation flows between you.

Derek jots down a quick line on his own napkin before handing it back to you. “Text me when you want to meet up.”

With that, he turns to leave, but not before glancing back over his shoulder, that captivating smile promising an adventure that lies ahead.

As the door chimes behind him, you can’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, fate has decided to add a dash of excitement to your routine. You smile to yourself as the barista calls out your name and you turn to get your coffee.

[pen-observing]

beauty and curiosity

synopsis: As Dottore's research assistant, you had to keep your curiosity on par with what he expected. You never thought that what sparked it after so much time would be Capitano himself

word count: 3k pairing: capitano x gn! reader (slight dottore if you wish to imagine it so, I did)

The door that greets your open eyes is the same like always. Brown wood that someone else picked before you. You can't say that they had bad taste, the door is placed nicely to the right corner and you little friend from last night - the spider- greets you even with this dawn. You wonder if he stayed there the whole night while you were sleeping as a thank you to the mercy you extended him. You did not kill him, and he did not move to make a new web. maybe he saw that as an equal trade? You probably would have left him alive anyway. Someone told you long before that seeing a spider was like a hint that you will get lucky in the following few days. So, even as your feet touch the cold wooden floor, you decide to still have mercy and to open the door without killing him to get breakfast. 

Maybe they are lucky omens, maybe they are not. But it is not like killing him or carrying him out the window would change much for you. Your eyes would see the same door tomorrow. The floor would feel cold again and you would pick the same mug off the drying dishes in your kitchen to start the day with. 

These routines did not bother you themselves, no. What was bothersome was the fact that you realized how, eventually, everyone develops to have them as creatures of habit. It was inevitable to turn into someone who repeats the same things over and over again. Even the harbinger you serve - one with multiple bodies, had his own routines. His younger clones had far more rebellion towards them but even they still had a need to keep a specific space, to prioritize one thing over the other like second nature. 

Truth be told - you were not asked to pick who you would serve. Dottore ended up being the harbinger you would serve as an assistant. and you were not the only one picked for that role. He liked to keep plenty of staff. Part of it was that he needed an audience to showcase his own talents and immense intelligence to, while another part of him was a bit less selfish. Dottore was willing to teach those who had true curiosity and spirit according to his own criteria and for whatever reason, you managed to remain as one of the few assistants he kept close at hand. As close as he would allow that is and with a man like him that still meant millions of lightyears away. 

You do not mind that in the slightest. What kept you around despite your failures and 'shortcomings' of having a moral compass in his lab was that he deemed your curiosity the highest out of anyone he had met. He once told you that if you were not serving him, the abyss would have swallowed you whole because you would wonder about its properties the same way you wondered about colors when you were younger. 

"Why are apples red and why is the sky blue? from your childhood would just turn into questions about the inside shapes of the abyss and you would be swallowed by curiosity." Were his exact words. 

Dottore believed that true curiosity could not be fabricated even at his own hands so while you were the not best person for experiments at the start, you were the one who suited his own curious nature. 

'What good is a doctor who cures a disease without wondering about the cause? Without wondering about its transformations? What good is an engineer who cannot disassemble parts at the same speed he would assemble them at? And what good is a person who cannot see beyond the usual?" 

He said you could see beyond the usual but in all honesty, sometimes it feels like you can't see past this mug. Or this window looking out into the street next to your breakfast table. Sometimes you felt like you could not see beyond the speck of dust or the peel of a citrus fruit. 

Maybe that is why when he gave you a choice to leave, you decided to stay. While every Dottore clone had his own routines, they managed to keep a constant cycle of novelty. Working at his lab eventually brought more interesting things than you could have found yourself. 

Was beauty in the new? Or was it in the old? 

You were deeply unsure. 

Dottore was not above punishing you despite keeping you around. For a few days, Dottore did not hear you utter a singular question in his lab and he found it so offensive you would dare to become ignorant to his breakthroughs. It seemed like you were bored of him and his research and he decided that a proper punishment would be to have you spend a whole month in the city farthest away from the main fatui base and from the tsaritsa. 

if you were so bored of constant novelty - you might as well experience true boredom by residing in his abandoned lab in a peaceful town where everyone with something exciting to offer already moved away. The worst part? You did not feel like anything changed. 

Numbness even touches curiosity. So, what if your door is now on the right instead of the left? What if the mug is pink instead of white? What if you were there or here? Differences are miniscule and nothing could make your curiosity perk up. If you were still like this when he summoned you back - you would be sent home and that is all there was to it. Or, he would further punish you by extending your stay. He could laugh at you when you mixed the things in the wrong way or when you failed to fix a core and it would explode. But what he absolutely refused is to have your curiosity dim down. If it did, you would be useless. 

And it isn't like you have not tried to find something interesting. While you were on the trip to get to here, you tried to find something interesting. Perhaps some plants that would show something new or an animal that would make for a good study case. You did want to try and see how many generations it would take for animals to break a trauma response their parents exhibited alone but even that went out of the window after a few seconds. 

If you could not find anything worthwhile in this town - you would be doomed to feel this way forever. Black and white thinking but not without basis. Stubborn curiosity and stubborn numbness started to go hand in hand for you. Maybe if you closed your eyes and prayed, your spark of curiosity would find an object for it to love and latch onto? 

In the next moment, your spoon made a small noise. It moved from one side of your mug to the other. Nothing unusual, right? You just wanted to make the tea and honey come together but when you looked down you realized that your hands did not make it move. You already finished doing that around three minutes ago. To prove to yourself what it feels like, your hands moved to make the same motion and the fog over your brain lifted as you felt that danger was near. Somehow this spoon moved and it was not your doing. 

With all your senses, you tried to pinpoint what exactly had happened but you were unsuccessful. Even if something was here, it masked its presence so well that a ghost would be ashamed. You did not feel a void, but you did not feel any warmth either. Unnerving. Unusual.   Interest could be found in fear but you were unsure where to search. 

Luckily for you, the presence had decided to make itself know. With a slight thud, footsteps approached you without your door ever opening. Was this mercy extended towards you in the same way you treated your spider? It sure felt that way. 

"My sincere apologies for startling you." Now you had to look up from the mug to search for the stranger. But, with his deep voice and polite manner of speaking, you knew who it belonged to already. Capitano, the first of the eleven fatui harbingers. Your own Lord always said he did not care much for rankings but a certain sour taste would be in his words whenever he spoke of this man. You had not made contact with him previously but in a way, you felt that it was cruel fate that only one number separated you from the most noble and righteous harbinger and a heretic. 

"Based on my previous visits to this abandoned small lab, I never encountered another soul here. When I felt your presence, I had to judge if you were sent here or if you were trying to steal information that belongs to our organisation." 

You stood up and saluted him. It comes like second nature. "Lord harbinger, you were doing your duty. No need for apologies." 

"Nonsense. I felt that I had startled you and should have thought of Dottore sending his own forces to abandoned labs before I made such a move." 

Talking to other lords never came quite easy to you. Dottore enjoyed much of questioning and random rambles but other Lords were known to punish just for being asked a question by wretched vermin. But suddenly, you felt that Capitano filled the room with a presence. It seemed like he could choose to be a void or actually have spiritual warmth. How many years had he taken to perfect this? 

In fact, how many years has he been alive? Did your lord simply hate him because he was branded with number two? Why did he always wear a mask? 

You had heard so many rumours in bars and gatherings of other servants and soldiers but Capitano's own men never gossiped. Not even when they were at their most drunk. That is - they never spoke of their own lord with anything other than praise. 

Where did that admiration come from? Had anyone seen him without a mask or cry perhaps? 

"Your silence makes for a rather awkward companion. But I can tell you have questions." 

"I have been called curious before, but it has been a while since I was curious about anything deeply." 

Capitano moved a few steps to open a drawer with syringes in it. 

"Are you not a researcher and is this not a lab of your famed lord?" 

"Yes is my answer to both of those questions." 

His gloved hands picked up two syringes and he did not look at you while he was doing so. You were not part of Dottore's team when he made them and their unique mix of colors piqued your interest. One of those colors looked like synth vaguely but the other one was similar to lava. Just how many experiments of Dottore's were you unaware of? 

"And should this not be a prime place for you when the answer is yes to both. What have you been doing all this time?" 

"Looking around this lab without actually touching anything for longer than a few seconds. I also kicked out a lot of spiders but last night I let one stay." 

Capitano did not seem perplexed with your paradoxical answers. He could see your eyes eying his syringes with interest when you refused to take them apart and analyse the contents for however long you have been here. He felt no malice or dishonesty in your being, so he simply continued to move like you were not here. He had done this countless times before. 

"I will not tell you what is inside of these syringes if that is one of your questions." 

He sat down on a chair on the other side of your mug. 

"I did have questions about the contents but I would have asked the syringes themselves not you. Even if it seems that I might melt or change shape from simply being exposed to them in any capacity. 

"Hmm. You make a valid point. What keeps me a monster would make you disappear. I suggest you stay away from these unless you wish to meet a cruel fate." 

"Lord first, you give me a kind warning but you speak of being a monster." 

"And what is your observation meant to accomplish?" 

"Nothing. Well, I could say it will help me keep my form too." 

"You are an ordinary human." It didn't feel like an insult. It felt like he was praising such simpleness. 

"What form do you speak of?" 

This time he was looking at you. You could not see his eyes from his helmet but you could feel his gaze on you. Without flinching or moaning, all while keeping his eyes solely on you - Capitano stabbed his thigh and his heart with the two syringes he had prepared. 

It seemed like he felt nothing but you felt both warmth and cold at once and in a second the overwhelming feeling was gone. It was so overwhelming that your curiosity made you run over and place your hands over his own to feel any remnants of energy. Touching any other harbinger so casually would have meant a number of different fates but Capitano was a kind man. 

"If you are here to inspect me, there is no need. I know what I am doing and these will not kill me." 

You helped him remove them even if he truly seemed like he did not need help. You could run towards the drawer he pulled them out from but the object of your interest were not the syringes themselves. 

Your curiosity was this man himself. For the first time in a while, your brain started to race with questions and theories. Just who was he and what was he hiding. 

"What is the reason you are so familiar with using these? Why are you here? Are you a monster?" 

"Indeed. I belong to them." 

"Beings? You speak of yourself as if you are not human. Just what is behind that mask of yours?" 

Perhaps Dottore was right, the abyss would swallow you whole if it interested you. Maybe it still can? If you get out of this situation alive - if you survive removing the mask of the famed and powerful harbinger - you could go out to uncover new condensed abyssal energy. 

You finally got your curiosity back and allowing it to run out would be a crime against yourself. Curiosity filled your whole body and Capitano felt cold to your touch as you looked at his face. 

"You call yourself a monster because of this?" 

"Are you perhaps about to call it beauty like that twisted doctor you serve?" 

Maybe he expected a bigger reaction than this. Maybe you failed him, but you did not fail yourself. 

"Beauty? There is nothing beautiful about it." 

"At least you don't call rot beautiful like your own master." 

"Your ice is above my head so I suppose your reputation proceeds you. You are kind enough to let me get my words out." 

"Speak." 

"There is nothing beautiful about the rot of skin. However, you are not a monster. You are undoubtedly human." 

"Laughable." 

But he did not laugh. He found you foolish. You dared to overstep twice. Removing his helmet was one thing but trying to comfort him was another. 

"You are human, lord harbinger. Did you know that my own lord does not rot? Did you know he has made others unable to rot? In an odd way, this rot makes you more human than you believe." 

You can't tell if your words caused a change or if they were comforting or insulting. This man has lived more lives than you ever will and he had seen and spilled more blood than you can imagine. He does not need comfort from you. That much is clear. 

Still, as the ice descends, he makes it disappear with his hand and you emerge unharmed. 

"Your curiosity saved you." 

"I always thought it would eat me alive." 

"It almost did. I never heard of anyone gaining a vision and immediately aiming at themselves." 

A cryo vision had manifested in your lap without you even noticing. When you looked back up, Capitano had already pulled down his mask. 

"Why didn't you stop me? You could have made me regret my choice the instant I tried to touch you."  

"I had never seen anyone gain a vision in such a way. I suppose my own curiosity got the better of me."  

He got up from the chair and you noticed just how much taller and imposing he was from such close proximity. You really were in the presence of danger and still chose risk instead of safety. Capitano was already moving towards the door and something compelled you to sit back down and finally drink the tea that had grown cold.  

He was in the doorway now. You were thinking of what would happen to you now that you had a vision. Maybe you could try to boil it? You heard they were indestructible but surely something could dissolve it? Visions were not a completely natural thing in this world.  

"Come. Bring that vision and follow me." 

"I still do not have orders to leave this place." 

"Since when were you allowed to refuse any orders from a harbinger? Dottore is not the only one you ought to listen to and I doubt he would be suitable to teach you how to use your new power." 

You would be risking Dottore's wrath and plenty of unpredictable outcomes based on which clone greets you once you are back. But, losing the object of your curiosity would doom you to a worse fate in your own eyes.  

Following Capitano would unlock a new world for you. Something told you that you would be able to find new beauty and curiosity if you took him up on his offer. 

a/n: guess who is back !! after a year!! I hope my mutuals are around still to actually guess that it is me who is back. i realized the last time i wrote was in november and the new archon quest finally inspired me.

to give you a few updates: i changed two jobs and I became less creative I am afraid. I got into a situationship/delusionship with a narc for a few months but i did not cry. i am welcoming any thoughts because after so long this was vv hard to write.

i hope you are well and that you have enjoyed this at least a little bit

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Playing With Fire

24/12: A Fancy Party & Praising - modern!Aemond Targaryen Word Count: 2.1k~ | Warnings: raunchy texts, pussy slapping, public sex, p in v sex, praise, dirty talk A/N: missed these two??? It's our Perfect Score duo!

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

She hates these events. Hates the pomp and ego. Her situation has changed but the figure skating business certainly hadn't.

Since returning to Singles, Rhaenys had encouraged her to get involved in it all again, as much as she knew she loathed it. Connections were everything after all. And she supposed it was an excuse to have a glass of bubbly.

Rhaenys was in her usual flawless getup. A floor length pale blue, with the corset littered with sparkles. Except this time, instead of dragging her around by her forearm, she'd bought her doting husband, Corlys, and was dragging him around instead.

She gravitated instantly to Baela and Rhaena, dressed in matching blues. Baela wore a skin tight dress without sleeves and it was such a dark blue that in some light, it could've been black. Whereas Rhaena matched her blue to Rhaenys, bar all the sparkle, since she insisted it was 'tacky'.

She'd rolled her eyes at that.

Some things never change.

"Hello, you", she turned to find a familiar face, voice and mop of curly brown hair.

"Jace!"

He gave her a tight-lipped smile and a friendly hug somehow without really touching her, "nice to see you out on the ice again."

"Oh, you know me, can't keep away", she smirked, throwing a lock of waved hair over her shoulder.

Yet another familiar face poked from the shadows, "miss me?"

Both Jace and her smiled brightly, "Cregan, nice to see you!"

"You too," he smiled, "fucking hate these things."

She gave a dry laugh, "yeah, me too. Just an excuse to have some fancy food really."

Cregan laughed, "at least you're honest."

As the glasses of bubbly began to work their magic, her head swirling pleasantly, she watched Jace and Cregan laugh with each other, and then Baela and Rhaena alike.

There was a full ache in her chest, tapping her fingernails against the glass flute, wishing that a certain person was also here to accompany her.

She had respected Aemond's decision to not attend events such as this.

He would support her at matches, cheering from the sidelines, even watching when she practised, sometimes joining her, but he couldn't for the life of him force himself to go to an event where he might catch a glimpse of Alys Rivers.

He'd get no judgement from her for that.

Besides, if Alys Rivers ever dared to show her face in the same building as her, she'd face her wrath.

She finds herself, absentmindedly sipping the tart prosecco, her third she notes, listening to Corlys Velaryon harp on about how amazing Rhaenys was in her day. How sensually she moved, how she used to wink at him from the sidelines and-

“Okayyy…I think I've heard just about enough.” She says awkwardly. Without that he might have gone on forever.

“Apologies. I can't say enough things to describe her.”

She nods, “I'm lucky to have her as a manager, certainly. Excuse me.”

She blinked a few times as she slid away, through the brilliantly dressed people, downing the rest of her bubbly as she pushed the glass doors towards the back of the hall to get some fresh air.

She fanned herself with her hand, feeling all hot from the humid air vaped off everyone’s bodies inside. Her phone illuminates her face as she pulls it from her clutch, a smile rising to her lips to find Aemond’s name as the most recent contact to have sent her a message.

She laughed quietly, her thumbs moving quickly to reply, heart all aflutter.

There’s a long quiet. Those three lines to say he’s replying come on, then off, then on again.

Um.

What. 

Okay. What the fuck.

Her eyes were like saucers, the cold blue light bouncing off them as she stared at his response.

Gods, what the fuck was Aemond on??

She found herself looking around briefly.

Aemond hadn't known what she'd worn. How could he have?

She was stunned for a moment, her thumbs unmoving as her eyebrows furrowed at her screen in confusion.

It was a good job she was outside, the squeal she let out bounced off the walls when she felt two hands sliding around her waist.

If she were a different person, she'd have used her clutch as a weapon, it was certainly heavy enough.

But in the end she's glad she didn't as she whips around to be greeted with the familiar smirk, platinum tied-back hair and mismatched eyes of Aemond.

Her phone nearly falls from her hands in shock, "Aemond, what the fuck?!"

He chuckles breathily, "Nice to see you too, princess."

"What the hell are you doing here?" she asked, gaining her breath back slightly, her chest feeling hot but at the same time, a smile rising to her lips at his presence. Stupidly, seeing him is just what she needed.

"Thought I'd come and see my girl, only to find that yet again that cunt Northerner is trying to get into her pants."

She swallowed at the way he'd said it, all low and halfway between flirty and angry. And ashamed as she is to say it, a warmth drifts between her thighs, her insides clenching around nothing, remembering perhaps the borderline dirty words he'd typed over text.

"I was...just being nice-"

"Oh were you now?" he drones, leaning forward impossibly close, a platinum strand falling from behind his ear to frame his sharp features. His hand on the wall on one side of her head feels close, half caging her in and the anticipation of his proximity is suffocating.

His gaze drops to her outfit, akin to the one she wore when her and Aemond had to attend their first shmoozing event back when they worked in Pairs.

"You do look gorgeous," he starts, humming appreciatively, "I remember you wearing something like this back when we hated each other."

"We didn't hate each other." She rolls her eyes, not able to help the smile that quirks at her lips.

But Aemond cocks his head, narrowing his gaze, "Uh huh, sure. Well you hated me then," he grins, "in any case, princess, I'm not sure I can wait for us to ditch this place."

Her lips part, unsure what he means until he has her pressed to the wall, his tall, broad form easily framing her in to trap her, rather enjoying the lost, dumb look on her face as his fingers trickle down to the hem of her dress.

"Aemond!" She whisper shouts, looking around as her face burns at the thought of being so brazen out in public like this. If anyone came through those horrendous glass doors... the thought has her core throb with danger and her skin alight with nerves.

"What? I promised, didn't I?" He muses, his lips descending to place open-mouthed kisses on her neck, below her ear, "I said I'd fuck you stupid."

Yes, but I didn't think you meant here, is all she's able to think.

But her mouth fails to move as he rucks up her dress to her middle, surprised in himself to find there was nothing beneath.

"Trying to impress someone?"

"Can't wear underwear with this dre-ah!"

She has to cover her mouth when Aemond slaps her harshly right onto her hot core, throbbing with want for him by now she's sure. The action, so lewd and exciting, has her clenching around nothing.

"Yeah yeah, don't want your pathetic fucking excuses, princess," he utters darkly, his tongue running over the bit of skin he'd just bitten lightly, and she mewls, turning into a choked moan the second he eases two fingers into her.

She's not as wet as she would be with some preparation, but right now that's half the thrill. She's still excited enough from his words over text alone that there's no pain but only the stretch of his fingers as he crooks forwards, brushing that spot inside her that has her toes curling in her heels.

She grabs his wrist, "fuck-Aemond-"

"There it is. Such a dirty fucking girl for me, aren't you."

She nods feebly, not even really listening, too focussed on tightening her grip on him as he pistons two fingers into her, the tightness in her belly beginning to crest as Aemond brushes her sweet spot with every push inside.

"Fuck-I can feel you tightening around me you little slut."

He punctuates it with yet another wetter slap as he pulls his digits from her, making her let out a muffled squeal.

She barely has time to crack her eyes open before Aemond is pressed up against her, his hands grasping her thighs to pull her up the wall against him. He only really needs one hand to do it, his chest anchoring hers to him as his other fumbles with his belt.

"Tell you what, if you can be quiet for me, I'll let you cum." He breathes against her lips, his jaw all tense like this is all he's been able to think about since he saw her.

"Aemond, wai-"

He doesn't.

Both of them have to stifle a sort of relieved moan as he slides into her, the stretch of him never failing to steal the air from her lungs. Her arms tighten around his back, all ideas of being caught or the fact that there are several dozen people inside the building next to them right at this moment, is completely distant.

The first genuine thrust he gives makes her want to cry out, but she thinks better of it and presses her lips together, each movement of himself inside her making that task ten times harder. But the prospect of not being allowed fulfilment is the thing that keeps her from it.

"That's my girl - that's my good fucking girl - doing so well-"

She's ashamed to say how the praise shoots straight to her core, tightening around him so impossibly much that she swears Aemond fucking whines when he tries to push inside her again.

"Aw, did you like that, baby? - do you like being my good girl?"

She's not sure if she nods or if it's the force of Aemond's brutal thrusts that is making her head move, but he takes it as confirmation nonetheless.

"Fuck - I could stay buried in your pretty little pussy all fucking day -" he muses, his voice all strained the longer he continues his rapid pace, his skin that pokes out from beneath his shirt meets hers with a soft slap, her face heating up when she feels that her slick is beginning to come away on him each time.

And she knows she's done for as soon as his hand drifts down between her legs, his thumb playing with her pearl with the aid of her arousal.

And he expects me not to make a sound or cum? she thinks to herself.

She keeps herself together through sheer stubbornness if anything, the two overwhelming pleasures at once threatening to have her topple over the edge at any moment.

"My perfect girl - come on, I can't wait any longer, want you to fucking soak my cock, come on-"

He almost sounds impatient, and if the needy tone of his voice doesn't propel her into rapture, the way he presses his thumb against her clit certainly does. And she falls over the edge with a muffled whine into his neck, near sobbing with pleasure as Aemond doesn't let up, fucking into her with abandon to chase his own when he feels the way she clamps around his length.

She lets out another moan to chase the last as she feels Aemond's shuddered breath and the warmth fills her as he hits his own high. Staying like that for a brief, warm moment, before he sets her down on wobbly feet.

He grins at the exhausted look on her face as he pulls her dress down, not missing the way he's already started to leak out of her. But he can't talk, he's all flushed in the face as well, tugging his trousers back over his hips.

She adjusts her hair, all frizzy from the moisture in the cold winter air.

"Come on then." He grins wolfishly.

He walks the opposite direction she expects. And her brows furrow in confusion as Aemond heads to the glass doors, to go inside the venue.

"Where are you going?"

"Can't go without at least saying hello to everyone, now can I? Maybe I'll speak to Cregan Stark."

Her mouth hangs open in shock, "Aemond-"

Your cum is running down my thighs. She wants to say.

And he seems to understand, based on the way he smirks at the warmth that graces her cheeks in embarrassment, "Come on, princess, don't be rude now."

She bites her lip in annoyance, hooking her arm into his.

If she didn't love him, she'd kill him.

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @virtualsweetsqueen @watercolorskyy @fan-goddess

[forsaken-headcanons]

Did you know that I love Coinrush / paycheck? Anyway headcanons about those two losers

- Elliot isn’t the biggest fan of pizza crust, ironically enough. Chance however is! So they’re given the crust from Elliot’s pizza.

^ This has become a lot less common as more time goes on in Forsaken due to Elliot finding pizza to be unappetizing.

- Elliot doesn’t blush easily, however Chance’s dumb flirting always manages to at least get a light blush from him

- Chance isn’t aware Elliot is rich, so he jokes that he’s only interested in Elliot for his money. Elliot plays along, and sometimes jokes that he’s going to steal Chance’s money when they “win big”

- Chance knows how to do card tricks, and puts on a show sometimes! Elliot is always amazed even if he’s seen the tricks a million times by now

- Chance calls Elliot his “good luck charm”

- Elliot sometimes finds a few stray dollars in his room / cabin as payment for healing Chance. He always stashes them somewhere in Chance’s room- When found, Chance returns the money to Elliot. At this point it’s a game between the two.

- Elliot has doodled Chance’s bunny Spade before after listening to them talk about Spade. Chance keeps the drawing in a pocket in his suit.

- They’re both ambidextrous, but when holding hands Elliot prefers the left side to keep his left hand free, and vice versa for Chance, with their right hand.

- Chance has offered Elliot a job at his casino if they ever get out of Forsaken.

- They cook together!!

^ Though Elliot is the better cook, he still loves having Chance help.

^^ Chance usually makes desserts! They’re more of a baker, and make cake the most often after finding out that it’s Elliot’s favorite.

- Elliot is the only person Chance is comfortable taking their sunglasses off around

- Chance can knit, and decided to try embroidery one day. This resulted in the flame and star patterning on Elliot’s clothes

- Chance likes pineapple on pizza. Elliot actively despises this, but his mindset of “the customer is always right” overrides him actually voicing this.

- Chance saves any doodles that Elliot draws

- Elliot has a “lucky coin” in his pocket from Chance

- Chance gets flustered easily and Elliot finds it funny to whistle at him, because it always catches Chance off guard.

- Very much yapper x listener

- Loud noises usually make Elliot anxious / worried because he thinks Chance blew up again

- Elliot is taller!

- Chance would play and write songs for Elliot on the piano if there was one in Forsaken.

- Elliot calls Chance his “shooting star” sometimes

- The two usually hover around each other during rounds

- Chance runs cold, while Elliot runs hot- usually resulting in Chance cuddled up against Elliot

- Chance is aware of how draining the rounds are on Elliot, and the whole “can’t mentally afford to burnout” thing. They try their best to get Elliot to take breaks.

^ this is really difficult due to Elliot’s work ethic and wanting to help people.

^^ Which is another reason Chance tends to cuddle up against him; Elliot is forced to take a break.

- Chance likes to kiss the freckles on Elliot’s face

- Elliot traces patterns on Chance’s arms

- Chance’s love language is physical touch, while Elliot’s is quality time!

^ Honestly Elliot is just happy to be around Chance

- Chance has burned himself trying to help Elliot cook- they don’t realize that Elliot has a high pain tolerance, and has a built up resistance to heat on his hands.

- They both have scars from explosions! Chance from his gun, and Elliot from the few times a coworker put a soda in the oven.

- They actually met before ending up in Forsaken! It was at a party of sorts when they were younger. Neither realize this; they do however feel like they’ve met before. Just don’t know why.

- Chance is aware of Elliot’s dislike towards 007n7- and they’ve heard the rant a few times

- Chance is one of the few people Elliot would let pick him up- he prefers his feet on the ground most of the time

- Elliot has nightmares about not being able to save his teammates. He doesn’t talk about them, but he usually cuddles with Chance a lot after that.

^ Chance never asks why, because Elliot won’t tell him, so he just offers silent support

^^ This is one of the few times Elliot seeks out physical comfort

- On that note; Elliot isn’t exactly a physical person. He’s not a fan of being touched. Chance is the exception.

- The two dance together sometimes!

I have more but this feels like it’s,, too long.

I hope you enjoyed!

- ⚠️

I don't mind the length of headcanons, if you need to talk then talk! I'm your listener! Anyhow, these are some of the cutest paycheck headcanons I've heard in a WHILE, I enjoy these ideas of them joking around and just in general having fun messing with eachother! This is all so wholesome,, they seem like they'd be a very kindhearted couple to eachother oh my stars! If you do wish to speak more, don't be afraid!

Anywho, the idea that Elliot just draws for Chance is WONDERFULLY adorable!! AND the DANCING??? YOU'RE GONNA MAKE MY HEART SQUEAL HERE!!